The city of Naha is a congested, semi-modern city. That is, it is modern in that it has electric lights and traffic signals (new and not always workable). The sewers are still running openly down the streets. Off the main streets there are still open market stalls on dirt lanes too narrow for anything but foot traffic and an occasional, discouraged looking horse and primitive looking wagon. I don't imagine these streets have changed much in hundreds of years, except for one thing, the American dollar and cents have arrived and, though they may speak no other English, they do know how to fleece the unwary. Maids more than earn their pay. First you go through, pick out the things which you want and then send your maid back to do the bargaining.
The American schools on Okinawa are run by the government and are very good. Patricia and Michael particularly enjoyed their school this spring. Their playground ran right down to the sea and they did their lessons to the sound of the pounding surf. Their school ended on 4 June and will begin again next September, like most Stateside schools. But there the similarity somewhat ends. Their bus drivers and such speak almost no English. Consequently, the school kids all acquire a smattering of "Pigeon English" almost the first day.
But my children have an even greater advantage. We live in a native village where their after-school playmates are all Okinawan. They ride the native Okinawan buses and visit the local version of the "corner grocery store". So it is beginning to look as though they will master the Japanese language in short order, even our babies. When I can't understand any of the varied peddlers, etc., who come to the door, I simply call Michael and he promptly translates for me. We started out to have a "family night" of teaching the children Japanese from a test book, but it is now they who are teaching us.
Our house is termed "Private Housing" by the military. That is, it is native built, but up to modern sanitary and electrical specifications with an approved water supply. However, it constantly reminds us of how over-grown we Americans are. We will probably remember it with fond memories, someday. That is, when we have gotten over the cricks in our backs, the stubbed toes, etc. To see Owen bending down to the bathroom sink and mirror to do his shaving reminds me of the Lilliputians and Gulliver. The bathroom shower is also something to remember. Shall one be scalded or frozen during the progress of the bath? That is the question. Whenever another tap is turned on in the house, the shower responds. Before anyone takes a bath, they proceed through the house warning all and sundry, "Don't turn on any taps." However, when you hear a yowl from the "benjo" you know someone has forgotten. No two floors are the same level and we are all constantly forgetting to step up or down at the proper places. It all makes for interesting living.
In addition, we live on the very crest of a hill and our scenery is worth everything. It's beauty, I can hardly describe. To the south and west of us lies the China Sea. This is, I believe, the most beautiful body of water anywhere in the world. It seems to change colors constantly from blue to green to turquoise. There is a row of breakers out a ways, where the waves froth up like whipped cream and on the horizon one can always find a ship in view. Sometime it's a large freighter, at other times it will be native junks with their square, peculiar sails. Sunset over that sea is a thrilling ever-changing, never-to-be-forgotten miracle that seems to combine all the brilliant colors of the world into one scene.
Can anyone write about Okinawa and not mention the tombs? They are just about everywhere you look. All of the hillsides, which are unplantable, are devoted to tombs. Since the American dollar has come to Okinawa there has been a new spurt of tomb building. An Okinawan might live in an earthly shack, but he feels that he must spend eternity in something better. Consequently, he spends a great deal more on his burial place than on the home in which he will spend such a short time while in mortality. The native religion is a combination of Shintoism or ancestor worship and the ancient Okinawan religion, which was a form of nature worship. Even those who embrace Christianity retain their love and respect for their ancestors and go regularly to the tombs. These visits to the tombs are not sad or mournful occasions. It is a time, rather, of relaxation, a time for family picnics and visiting with the dead in memory. Although there are some "modernistic" looking tombs, the majority of them are of the old "turtle-back" type. This seems to grow out of the very hillside and it is built to represent the mouth of the womb, for they feel that death is just a different form of birth.
Again, I must mention the children. Always I mention them, for they are the most delightful part of Okinawa. If I were an artist, I would spend all my time trying to paint them. They are such happy, beautiful children, dearly beloved by all adults. They are inquisitive but invariably polite and well mannered. They are also almost always bright and clean and, in a land where even ordinary sanitation is lacking, that is quite an accomplishment.
Just below us to the south is a native school. All day the school children pass back and forth outside my garden wall. Early in the morning, about 7:30 A.M., the smallest tots are on their way and, as the day progresses, the groups become older, so that in the evening, the high school students leave their work and go to school also. As nearly as I can count, they hold about 5 sessions a day in that school and use it seven days a week. Though their clothes might be old or hand-me-downs or even threadbare, they are always starched and shining clean and the children laugh and play along the way, just as school children do everywhere.
An incident happened, not long ago that I think is so typical. We are fortunate in having a "piped in" pure water supply from the Quartermaster Depot across the highway, but my neighbors are not so fortunate. They must rely either on rainwater cisterns or old wells that often go dry. One night I heard my outside water tap running and there was much splashing and noise. The tap stands on a little cement platform and is about 3 feet high. It is just outside my bedroom window. Turning off the light, I looked out. There stood a small Okinawan boy, about ten years old. He was naked and with a rag and piece of soap, he was having a wonderful time taking a bath. With the moon for light and the oleander bushes in full bloom giving privacy to his "bathroom", he looked like an engaging little elf. He saw me and started to leave, but I called him back with a "Joto. Use Mizu. Joto. Kombun-wa" ("Good, use water, good. Good evening.") Later, he knocked on the window and told me "Arregato, Oksan, Arregato. Kombun-wa" ("Thank you, Missus, thank you. Good evening"). He has since been back, but now he always asks permission.
Most of all, the people are good, so very good, I find. On a ride up the northern part of the island, we moved over on the very narrow "highway" to make room for a passing car. It went on its way and we were left stranded as the right side of the car sank hub deep into the soft mud of a rice paddy. Somewhat despairing, we looked about at the lonely scene with dusk coming on and five hungry children in the car. Then, down the road came a bus. It stopped and everyone got off and helped. Driver, lady-conductor, passengers, old and young, male and female, they waded into the mud and literally lifted our car back onto solid ground. Need I say that we said a heartfelt, "God bless you!", to that group who, without speaking our language or we theirs, still felt it was right to help us.
We have had the rare experience of seeing an ancient way of life moving over and making room for the modern world. It sometimes is amusing to watch and sometimes it brings a little heartache. I feel that much of what is good is being lost, that many worthwhile ways are being sacrificed to progress. But such is the world today, that it must be. Life on Okinawa is interesting, sometimes exciting, sometimes irritating or aggravating, but always worthwhile. I am humbly grateful for the opportunity of being here.
1962 Plaque of Appreciation
1962 Zelda and Her Plaque of Appreciation from the Koza Junior High School.
During our tour of duty at Kadena Air Base on the island of Okinawa, the base Public Relations Office sought out volunteers in their People to People program to help improve relations between the military and the native civilian population.
Zelda volunteered to teach English to the students and teachers of Koza Junior High School which was located a short distance from the base. She taught there for several months and was still teaching when we received our orders returning us to the continental United States.
She was awarded the above plaque by the principal of Koza Junior High School but we had departed before he finished the plaque. It was forwarded through military channels to Hill Air Force Base, Utah where she had gone to work as a civilian employee in the Civil Engineering department. The actual presentation was made by her division chief.
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