June 2023
We’d really settled into a sort of rhythm in Japan. On Monday’s there were morning activities for the grannies at Shujin’s work, and Okasan also attended. I sometimes went in on a Monday too, and did my gardening and cleaning. The flower gardens were easy and enjoyable. The Japanese garden was still not looking like a Japanese garden. And the vegetable garden was turning into a jungle. Despite me mulching, I couldn’t keep up with the grass and weeds.
On Tuesday mornings I had Japanese class. In the afternoon the mini grocery truck came to our village. It was very convenient if we happened to need anything. From fresh produce, to pantry staples, bento boxes and fridge items.
On Wednesdays or Thursdays I often went in to garden.
On Fridays the Tofu Lady came to our village and we could buy fresh, locally made tofu.
And so it was, one Tuesday morning as I sat in Japanese class, that I thought to ask my teacher about counting. I knew ichi, ni, san, shi, etc (1, 2, 3, 4, etc) but I had heard Shujin say other words when I knew it was a number (like ordering 2 of the same meals at the restaurant). And the Tofu Lady said other words as though confirming the number of fingers I held up, but it wasn’t your standard ichi, ni, san or shi. My teacher happily obliged to teach me. I learnt how to count up to 10, using this other counting method. I was very happy to have learned something so useful that I could utilise in everyday life!
Later that week, on Friday morning, I hurried looked over my Japanese notes and starting writing out a proper sentence to speak to the Tofu Lady. Here I was, more than 6 months in Japan, and I was still using my fingers to show her how much tofu I wanted!
I wrote out my sentence and then doubled checked with Okasan.
tofu o mutsu kudasai (6 tofu please).
“Which tofu are you talking about? The one in the packet?” She clearly wanted to clarify. I wanted to buy all three types: the one in the packet, the thick, deep fried one, and the fried tofu skin.
“Yes, and the other ones too. The deep fried tofu and the skin.”
“For the one in the packet you have to say ‘roko’ for six, not mutsu.” Huh, roko? That wasn’t on my list! But I didn’t have time to comment, she kept going.
“How many fried tofu skin do you want?” She asked.
“Four.”
“The tofu skin is flat so you can’t say ‘yotsu’, you have to say ‘yonmai’. And for the deep fried tofu….”
My brain was starting to feel like a brick, with wires getting crossed and mixed up. What did she mean I had to use different counting words for different types of tofu??!!! I’d been so motivated and keen to speak properly to the Tofu Lady and not be so slack and lazy. Now all that went out the window. Argh! Why did it have to be so hard?!!!!
The next week in Japanese class, I learnt that the platform numbers at the station have their own number names. It’s not Platform Ichi, (Platform One), it’s Platform ichiban.
I mentioned this to my fellow classmates after class.
“Oh yes, counting is hard in Japanese! They have different numbers for levels of a building, different numbers for animals, different numbers for birds, different numbers for different types of vehicles, it’s so complicated!” Oh man, they are telling me more than I wish to know!
At home I had a little complaint to Shujin about it.
“Well, in English you have different names for baby animals. In Japanese it’s just a baby cow and a baby dog. But in English you have calf, puppy, kitten and all the rest!”
“What? In Japanese you just call a calf a ‘baby cow’? What a good idea!” I was very happy to hear that! If only counting had of been as easy!!
Ah, the challenges of language learning! How much I regret not choosing Japanese as a subject in high school!
Language wasn’t my only challenge. Challenges in parenting still continued… One afternoon Bob and Missy were fighting and trying to “kill” each other, then later Bob started fighting with Okasan and it appeared they were trying to “kill” each other too. I was in the kitchen, trying to cook dinner and ignore their behavior, hoping they would sort it out themselves, but eventually Okasan started yelling out "Debbie!" She needed rescuing. Their whole fight was in Japanese so I don't actually know what it was about! Who was in the wrong or right, I have no idea! But what I did know, was that two kids were more than enough for me, but now I had three! Argh!!! I have to laugh about it otherwise I’d go insane!
I finally got dinner cooked, took a test taste and almost died from the spicey heat of the curry! Then the 6 o'clock chime started singing (it’s a Japanese thing. In the countrysides of Japan, they play a tune at 5pm or 6pm every single day through the town loud speaker system. Like a “Time to go home children!” sort of notice). Now, with a large pot of inedible curry on the stove, and time really against me, I had to start cooking dinner from scratch because no one would be able to eat the curry! We were all hangry, my three kids were fighting, I was emotionally exhausted and stressed about dinner — and it was just one big disaster scene!! Someone please send me to a deserted island!! Warm sand, blue waters, sunshine, coconut palms, birds. No kitchen. No children. No diets. No fighting. Just the gentle sound of the waves, splashing onto the beach, and the wind in the coconut palms…
“MUM!”
One of my children called out to me and snapped me back into reality. The pot of curry tormented me from the stove top. I stared back at it and decided to count my blessings.
Well, that’s dinner cooked for tomorrow night! I will buy coconut milk and tame that curry down! I’ll buy two cans, just to be safe! I can purchase them from the supermarket, where I select my own food off the shelf and don’t have to know the correct numbers to ask for two! What a relief!!
For anyone interested in hearing the “6 o’clock” chimes, here is a YouTube clip: Kids Time to Go Home! Different songs are played in different areas, this is just an example.
Thanks for sharing, Debbie. I wonder what 'Count Dracula' from Sesame Street would do! It's lovely to read about your daily adventures and how you navigate through your days. As serial-relocation-expat cultural idiosyncrasies fascinate me and remind me of all the small gem moments I had....'remember that time when...' Perhaps I'll share some myself. Thanks!