1st Homestay - Obu, Aichi Prefecture

Only (was it 4?) days after beginning, our tour mommy and daddy already abandoned us to new homes. The two homestays, one suburban, one rural, are meant to be integral to the experience of learning about Japanese home life. They were definitely something on the itinerary that popped out at me when I was applying to the program. But I was just getting settled into our crazy schedule and it was definitely a nervewracking thought to know that I'd be shoved into another new situation so soon.

Now, this was my first homestay ever. I’ve had a ton of dinners, afternoon activities, and the like with families in Taiwan and China. I’ve done family outings and weekends with the extended families of friends. But I have never had a full-on stay-at-the-house-of-a-family-I-have-never-met-in-a-new-country homestay experience. I admit, I was really nervous. The idea of a homestay was exciting in the same way that a party boat was exciting—lots of fun, but if something goes wrong you have no escape route. What if they don’t speak English and my Japanese ends up being far more terrible than I suspected? What if they don’t really want to talk to me? What if they expect me to stay up late and socialize all night? Worse, what if we have nothing in common and end up staring at each other in awkward silence for an entire day?

When we arrived at Obu City Hall, our host families hadn’t yet arrived. We were seated, offered snacks, and told that the mayor of Obu would be coming to greet us, as well as a local TV crew. I was suddenly, definitely, way too dry-mouthed to eat anything, though next to me, my fellow teachers were casually chomping away and conducting beverage experiments involving lemonade and tea. Kazuko came over and did her little graceful raised eyebrow smile, and said, “Dokidoki suru, Karen?” I think I laughed weakly, but it wasn’t funny because it was entirely too accurate. My heart was pounding and I swear my vision went a little blurry. I think my entire nervous system was experiencing some kind of malfunction.

Host families started showing up, and it was kind of like a terrible orphanage line-up or possibly like picking team members for gym class. 15 minutes after the scheduled time, everyone’s family was there except mine. The formal presentations began, and the cameras started rolling, and my new worry became attracting attention when my host family arrived late in the midst of all this. First the woman in charge of the Obu International Association spoke, then Rob, then Kazuko, then someone representing the host families, then Amy. Then, with no warning whatsoever, we were all asked to give a short introduction in both Japanese and English to the TV crew. In the middle of these intros, my host family arrived, Yuki and her two little girls, looking a little harassed and out of sorts. We exchanged quick whispered introductions, then settled in to try to appease the girls with snacks and juice as the interminable speeches continued. The mayor arrived, and there were more speeches and more gifts exchanged. A lot of picture-taking. All of the children in the room began to wail, and the mayor’s voice got progressively louder and more determined. Yuki’s youngest started crying hysterically and she picked her up and started rocking her. The tension in the room thickened as all the Americans got increasingly uncomfortable by the fact that not a single parent took their child out and there seemed to be no expectation to do so. There were no glares or dirty looks, just staunch determination to see the ceremony through.

As for myself, I was feeling like maybe this was a glimpse of what my next two days were going to be like with a 4 year old and 1 year old in the house. I don’t know what my expression looked like, but it must have been some amazing combination of horrified and sickly, because as we were departing, Rob came over to us and said, “You know you’re going to have to help out, right? Do you like little kids?” How to answer that? I liked little kids. For small periods of time. In small numbers. From a distance. I’ve certainly never had to live with one nor feel responsible for entertaining one.

Thankfully, the terror dissipated almost immediately after we left the room of insanity. In the quiet car with only the two kids and Yuki, I felt much more like a human being. We arrived home and sat with the kids as they played for a bit. Rie was shy and quiet at first, playing with some cardboard fashion kit. She put different outfits on Ariel (yes, the princess from Little Mermaid) and then turned to Yuki and me to demand, “Mite! [look!]” Eventually, , the little one, began running back and forth across the living room. She hid under the curtain and figured I’d give the ole “Where did Haru-chan go, I can’t see her” game a go in my limited Japanese. She loved it, and Rie got so jealous she abandoned her dolls to join. Haruko then began pounding on my back, and Yuki started laughing. Apparently she’d been teaching her to give her back massages. Hey, gotta start this training early, I guess. I presented my gift to Yuki, wondering if she would put it away without opening it as Japan Society prepared us to expect, but she didn’t hesitate in opening it in front of me. The kids enjoyed digging through the confetti to unveil the ungodly amount of candy I’d bought from Dylan’s Candy Bar. The swirly giant lollipop was the biggest hit. Rie wouldn’t let it go for the rest of the night. I decided I was going to go ahead and give myself an A for interacting with the kids. ;)

I wasn’t sure what to expect for dinner. It seemed my arrival had interrupted their whole routine, and Yuki decided to bathe the kids before dinner. Her husband, Kazuo, still had not arrived home from work, and Yuki told me that he usually came home around 9pm. Dinner was cute and informal—Chinese food, actually! Yuki heated up some food she had prepared earlier: gyoza, eggplant with green pepper and pork, bean sprout salad, and a lettuce salad with prosciutto. Even Haru-chan said “Itadakimasu,” although it came out more like “itakimas.” There were no serving chopsticks out and I wasn’t sure what to do. I could just dig in with my own chopsticks, but Japanese people had so far seemed a little too formal for that. I was about to turn my chopsticks backwards when Yuki apparently realized she’d forgotten the serving chopsticks and ran off to get them. I noticed Yuki eating her food directly from her rice bowl and had to ask about it. Just the day before Rob had noticed some of us doing this and warned us that it wasn’t done in Japan—rice is supposed to be kept separate. I do this without thinking about it, since it’s the Chinese style of eating. You’re supposed to put the food on top of the rice, and it’s kind of nice if the sauce drips down onto it. Yuki really considered my question carefully, looking a little perplexed, like she’d never thought about it before. Finally she said, “Yeah, you’re right. In a very fancy Japanese restaurant, I guess I wouldn’t do this. But…I think it’s ok in my house, and even at some local cheap restaurants.” So serving utensils and eating over rice—anything goes in the house!

After dinner, Rie and Haruko watched some TV while Yuki cleaned up. She seemed very taken aback when I started helping her clear the table, but allowed me to do it. She drew the line at letting me help with the dishes, though. I took my first Japanese shower. I love how the whole room is the shower with one drain in the floor, though I don’t think I like scrubbing myself while sitting down. Eventually I just pushed the stool aside and showered regularly. I left the bathwater for Kazuo-san, as Yuki had earlier left the bath water for me. One interesting thing I noticed about the bedtime ritual was that Yuki used a kind of backpack to rock Haurko to sleep, and seemed surprised that Americans don’t do the same. Kazuo-san came home around 9:30 (normal, apparently), and we exchanged a few words before he retired to take his bath. I went to bed as well. My room was a tatami room with sliding doors. I unfolded the futon and laid out my blankest. The futon was thinner than most American cots or air mattresses, but it was really comfortable. Everything smelled like tatami straw, clean and natural. First day down, and I was exhausted. I feel asleep breathing in tatami and quiet.

The room I slept in. I won't include other pictures of the house because they're personal for the family, but aside from this room (and of course, the entryway where you take your shoes off), the house was very suburban-American, even. They had a couch and a coffee table, and a giant flatscreen TV, a big kitchen with a stove top, one of those Japanese microwave-oven things, and a dishwasher. Huge fridge. Breakfast nook where they took all their meals. Huge play area filled with a fake plastic kitchen, boxes of toys, and books. 

*btw, I gave everyone a fake name, just because I wanted to respect the privacy of the family.