Nanzan

I looked at the calendar and was dumbfounded to see that we’re already into July. Between the rainy season and the school year here, one could easily believe it was still spring. But my time here in Japan is almost up. I even vacuum-sealed my winter clothes in an attempt to create a little more suitcase space. My last day of school is the 17th. My contract is up on the 28th. And I’ll fly back to the States on August 10th.

It’s a funny mix of emotions I have. Every day contains moments that underscore how ready I am to depart, as well as flashes of what I’ll miss when I leave. I wanted to share some scenes that to me, have become ordinary, but to you, may be extraordinary. I decided to take my digicam with me this past Monday to document the journey that I’ve grown to appreciate.

The start of my journey down the mountain – this is just around the corner from my school

The Japanese school year resets in April. Teachers get transfered, at the mercy of their schools and the board of education. A science teacher at my school, who speaks better English than any of the English teachers, once told me that the longest stint he had at any one school was just seven years, out of a decades-long teaching career. Back in April, I was dismayed to learn that the three English teachers with whom I taught the most would all be transferring to different schools. And I would be teaching at a new school, in addition to my main one.

I like this A-frame building

I was nervous at first. I told myself that even if it was a disaster, I would only have to visit my new school – a rural elementary school in the mountains – about a dozen times before my departure. But instead, my trips to Nanzan Elementary have become the highlights of my week.

This is the Oosazaki Shrine (old enough for the founding date to be unknown), which enshrines the Emperor Nintoku, who in turn is so old that scholars are only pretty sure that he existed, but don’t know when. He was the 16th emperor of Japan, according to the traditional order of succession, but the first historically verifiable one wasn’t until #29.

On Mondays, after third period, I hop on my bike at Kohnan Junior High and pedal about five kilometers to Nanzan. It’s not very far on paper, but steep enough that I arrive to my elementary school tired and sweaty after about 25 minutes. Once I arrive, a student comes to fetch me to join their class for lunch. This is a novel experience for me, as at my junior high school, I eat in the staffroom with the other teachers. I squeeze into a desk made for a Japanese child and eat with the kids. They’re amazed by the smallest things, from my height to how fast I eat. They pepper me with questions like “what snacks do you like” or “have you met Trump.”

It’s hard to quantify how different the vibes are between my two schools.

My junior high has some 600 students, with 30-40 per class. Relative to elementary school, the curriculum is more intensive. My duties range from making activities that complement the teachers’ lesson plans to reading aloud from the textbook. I do a lot of reading aloud. Sometimes I’ll read the same textbook passage a dozen times in a day. In the JET community, this is referred to as being a “tape recorder.” Every teacher has different styles. Some make an effort to integrate me into class. Others treat me like a piece of furniture. I do a lot of milling about, and looking out the window.

Lots of farms and rice fields around these parts

One teacher exclusively uses me to have one-on-one discussions with first graders in the hallway while he conducts a normal lesson in the classroom. I do my best to connect with these kids in those one or two minute bursts. Many of them are painfully shy, quiet, and loathe to participate. But some bound out all smiles, and answer enthusiastically.

Sometimes the teacher comes out and translates everything I said, word-for-word, which infuriates me because it defeats the entire purpose of what we’re trying to do. There’s a real Groundhog Day effect at play. I can’t take much more if it. I think only a handful of staff members at my school know I’m leaving soon. They would know if they bothered to ask, or ever spoke to me. But at this rate, I’m going to slip out in secret like the Baltimore Colts.

Is this building abandoned?

On the flip side, I teach 6th and 5th graders at the elementary school on Mondays. It’s only about 15-20 kids per grade, and it’s decidedly more relaxed. The kids are more friendly, outgoing, and generally cheerful. Even the quieter kids have distinct personalities. They are curious about me, and will come up and speak to me without much trepidation. By contrast, partially because there are so many kids at my junior high, many of them are downright anonymous – silent, invisible behind masks, bangs, and glasses. To be fair to these kids, they’re very busy, as most of them attend juku (cram school) and commit a lot of time to bukatsu (club activities) as well.

This ramen restaurant marks the gateway to the mountains

Getting elementary schoolers to follow instructions can be like herding cats, but it’s more fun for me as well as for the students. While I have a complementary role to the 6th grade teacher – who also loves basketball – I’m fully leading the 5th graders. The 5th grade teacher is sweet, but knows very little English. Together we try to get the kids to ask each other when their birthdays are. The kids are chatty, silly, and funny. One time, I was trying to explain how in English we call stickers, well, stickers. In Japan, they are called シール (seal), and to illustrate the difference between stickers and seals, I did my best seal impersonation, complete with clapping and barking. The kids thought this was hilarious, but I don’t think I got the point across (also I think my seal impression is actually a sea lion).

After my two periods, I get to ride my bike back home, downhill, with a sense of accomplishment. It’s a steep mountain road, and I ride on the bumpy, narrow sidewalk with my phone playing music out of my bike basket.

I couldn’t imagine doing this job for another year. It doesn’t feel like it matters very much to anybody: me, the teachers, or the students.

There’s always money in the banana stand

I don’t want to complain too much. The work is easy, and the pay is good. I just feel underutilized and understimulated. You might even say bored. I want something more engaging and challenging to do with my time.

I think if I was interested in teaching long-term, I would feel even more frustrated by the limitations of my role here – especially because there is no potential for upward mobility in this job.

What are the vibes like at this ramshackle karaoke spot?

But when I’m stocking shelves at Trader Joe’s or whatever, I’ll probably miss the cushiness of ALTing. I’m a real “the grass is always greener” kind of guy.

Yellow and purple (garbage?) trucks

I have a trip to Hokkaido on the books to visit my childhood friend Gen, who’s up there doing his best Jeremiah Johnson impression. That’ll be the week before I depart Japan for good. Before that, I’ll pop down to Kochi one last time to bade farewell to Jack and Walid (and to collect my bootleg Knicks champions T-shirt). But it’s not really “farewell” to anybody, it’s a “see you later.” Which is silly and cliche, but I know that our paths will cross again, and I’ll come back to Ehime someday.

It’s hard to say goodbye, so there will be a lot of tears these next few weeks.