¿No entiendes? – a reflection on (not) speaking Japanese

I’ve been in Japan one week now. Communication, or rather lack of, is definitely a struggle. My brain seems to think that a foreign language=Spanish. A couple days ago, the woman who greeted us as we came and went from our hotel in Tokyo said to me, “Going out?” as I was heading toward the door, and I said, “Si,” before thinking “yes” or the Japanese affirmative “eh.”

Last night I dreamt that I was getting a souvenir at a shop here in Japan, and at the register the woman began speaking to me in Japanese. At my reaction of a blank stare, she said, “¿No entiendes?” (Spanish for, “You don’t understand?), and I excitedly began speaking to her in Spanish. I think it was a reflection of my increasing desire for a personal encounter amidst the fast-paced world of Tokyo—that is, a personal encounter beyond the mute pointing and nodding that had gotten me thus far.

Now Nagaoka is an even more daunting challenge. Unlike Tokyo, it is anything but a tourist destination, especially for foreigners. But it seems to already be unraveling some small surprises.

Entrance to the train station.

Some houses along a small river through Nagaoka. 

This morning I wandered into a small gift shop, after having passed by without entering, debating about it, and finally deciding to go for it. It was full of little wooden carvings of Japanese symbols like monkeys and dragons and various other carvings for home décor. The store owner emerged, a woman about 60 years old.

“Konichiwa,” I said, acknowledging her. She began speaking rapidly in Japanese.

“Nihongo.. skoshidake…” I stumbled. Japanese… just a little. And she nodded and watched me silently. I got up the courage to use one of the phrases I had been practicing all week with no real-life application to date.

“Atsui des ne.” It’s hot outside, huh? She agreed, then quickly disappeared through a side door. She emerged a couple minutes later with hot tea, and poured me a cup. I took it, thanked her, and sat down to drink. After a few moments in silence, she tried to speak English to me.

“You like…(some mumbling)?” I said yes. Then we began to have a broken conversation with bits and pieces of her English and my Japanese, as I explained where I was from and why I was in Nagaoka. As we reached the limit of our basic language skills, she went next door and came back with another woman, a friend.

Her friend appeared to know even less English, but quickly became quite concerned about me and my situation.

For the next two hours they attempted to help me figure out things to do in Nagaoka, first calling an English teacher friend they knew to translate. He suggested they take me back to the hotel where somebody would speak English. So, even though my hotel was right across the street, they closed down shop and escorted me to the hotel desk for help. The hotel clerk suggested taking me to some information center. So, they walked me a few blocks to the International Center where we could get some materials in English. Following one of the suggestions of the girl there, they then walked me to a main events center, where they directed me toward a 3-D theater showing a 15-minute video of Nagaoka’s famous fireworks show.

Itki, Me, and Yoku, posing for a picture before saying goodbye.

Though we had only known each other a few hours, we had trouble saying goodbye. We took a picture together, we shook hands several times, I thanked them, they said lots of things in Japanese that I didn’t understand, and they finally left.

Me watching the 3-D movie
of fireworks.

Not knowing a language certainly makes meaningful human interaction harder to come by, but not impossible—if only I were always brave enough to walk through the door of the small, mysteries gift shops!

my sad is

Really good days are those when I am attentive enough to appreciate the mystery of the people around me. Part of my current job is picking up eight high school newcomers from the high school and driving them five blocks to the middle school, where the newcomers program is based, and then driving them back. I don't teach them, so our contact is pretty minimal. Our conversations are basic, with their limited English and my efforts to avoid speaking purely in Spanish with most of them (to push them to learn English, and to not exclude those who aren't Spanish-speaking). But they are a cheery bunch and we usually manage to have positive interactions. One day this week I loaded up the girls and as we started moving, I asked them how they were. Some didn't catch the question; somebody said "fine" from the back of the van. "Are you happy?" I asked emphatically. I got some nods, and a couple of smiles. One of the girls raised her hand. "I am sad." "Sad? Why? Did something happen?" I asked in English before slipping into Spanish to make sure she understood. "¿Algo pasó?" "No. My sad is my brother." Her brother still lives in Guatemala, so she hasn't seem him for several months. Then another girl chirped up from the back. "My sad is Guatemala." Then another voice joined in--"My sad is my grandma." I didn't quite know how to respond, so I taught them to say, "I miss..." But somehow their attempt to speak with incorrect English seemed to convey their feelings better. I am thankful for the simple honesty with which those girls expressed deep and painful truths. I pray that we can all speak our sadness--and our happiness--and be a support for one another each and every day.