In the fall of 1995, I had entered the last year of my undergrad. I can’t recall the exact moment when I decided I wanted to go to Japan upon completion of my studies. Looking back, I think there were two factors that played into this choice. The first is that I had been writing to my pen-pal Naoko since ca. 1986, which was really my first introduction to all things Japanese. Secondly, I knew two people in my small village of ca. 500 people who had gone to Japan to teach on the JET Programme and lived to tell the tale. Two classmates of my older brother had “done the Japan thing.” I went to talk to one of them when I was home the summer before my last year at Acadia. In retrospect, talking to Brent was the best thing I could have done. He reassured me of the quality of the JET Program and that it really was the best route to take if I was planning to teach English in Japan. He recounted tales of the two years he spent there and I remember getting excited listening to his stories. I was sold. But he did warn me that it was not an easy program in which to get accepted.
I applied to JET in the Fall of 1995. Professor Thomas made me re-write my statement of Interest included in my application package five times until it was perfect in his eyes. I think I was pretty happy with draft three. Professor Baldwin, who had spent a year in Tokyo on sabbatical the year before, spoke to me in Japanese everyday and yes, this drove me nuts. He thought learning the basic greetings would help me if I got an interview. Krista helped me pick out a black suit. I spent the majority of that fall and winter prepping and haven’t before or since, did so much work for one interview. This was primarily due to the fact that I had no plan B. I had put all my eggs in one basket so it was Japan or bust.
Before Christmas, I found out I had got an interview. I took the train to Montreal for the interview during study break in February of 1996. Montreal was the most easterly Canadian place offered by JET in which to undertake your interview (I sincerely hope they’ve improved this process by now for the far flung east coasters applying). My fellow Acadia History student, Tom, also had an interview and ended up taking that same train. We prepped for most of the train ride there. I wore my new black suit Krista had helped me pick out (but managed to forget the accompanying scarf at home) and endured the most stressful interview of my life to date. I thought I had done a terrible job in the interview and recall the agony of that long train ride back to Nova Scotia where I went over and over it in my mind. No one was more surprised than me when I got my acceptance. I knew a lot (over 100) had applied and only 30 were being selected from the Montreal interviews. Somehow I had beaten the odds. In April, I received my acceptance letter and can still remember the excitement I felt at seeing that fat envelope in my post office box in Wolfville. Cyndy Allen was the first person I came across after leaving the post office and when I told her my news she said, ‘Wow, I’ve never known anyone who got accepted to JET.” I graduated from Acadia in May and in July I was off. I’ll leave out the part about the horrifyingly tearful good-byes. For my family, I might as well have been going to Mars.
I had to depart from Montreal as I had chosen to undertake my interview there, but made a quick side trip to Ottawa to visit my friend Beth first. The night before I left Ottawa, I recall her casually asking me “Have you ever used chop sticks before?” That was my first moment of panic. I grew up on a farm in rural PEI – of course I had not used chop sticks before. I *thought* I had prepared for everything. I had spent the entire year reading about Japan. I could say “Hello” and goodbye” in Japanese. What more could there possibly be? This – the having to eat with chopsticks component – was the first in a very long and distinguished list of things I never remotely considered or put any thought into before going.
Next came a two day pre-departure orientation for the thirty of us who were leaving from Montreal. Like my very first day of grade school, I also can’t recall one thing from these sessions. Perhaps I was still mono-focused on the fact that I couldn’t use chop sticks and would spend the next year eating all my food with my fingers? The next thing I knew, I was on a plane with thirty strangers heading to the other side of the world. JET paid for the flight over, which meant we flew business class all the way to Tokyo. Picture it: thirty recent graduates with not two quarters to rub together – in business class. Needless to say, we were easy to please. We were all giddy with excitement – mostly due to the fact that we knew it would probably be the last time any of would ever fly business class on a long haul International flight again.
Arriving in Tokyo I recall three things: First was the feeling of death that comes with experiencing extreme jet lag for the first time. Second, was the wall of humidity that met me upon leaving the airport and wondering why anyone hadn’t warned me about this? Third was the army of green shirts. That same day that I arrived in Tokyo, so did three thousand other JET participants from all over the world. In preparation for this, there was an army of volunteers (mostly 2nd and 3rd year participants) wearing green tee shirts directing us everywhere: Go here to pick up your luggage – go there to drop it off – go here to get the bus if you are staying at this hotel – go here – go there – go here. Thank God. I was grateful to every one of them for every order they shouted at me. I had been on an International flight before, but nowhere as far away as Japan. Without that army of green tee shirts, I would probably still be stumbling around Narita airport trying to figure it all out.
In the midst of what seemed like at the time, insurmountable jet lag, I had another two day orientation session in Tokyo. I recall nothing from those sessions either, but do remember the excitement of walking around Tokyo in the evenings. During the course of the orientation, I did manage to find a few other JETs also destined for Tottori, and I met Michele who had been sent by the Tottori Prefecture Board of Education to collect us all and bring us to Tottori. Michele was a second year JET from Hawaii who had a job that was split working at the Tottori Board of Education and teaching at a local high school. I recall that she was very dressy, had perfectly applied make-up, wore tons of jewellery - gold rings and chains - and I recall my first reaction was “We will never be friends.” Little did I know she would become one of my best fiends over the course of the next two years. The next thing I knew, I was on yet another flight – this time it was destined for Tottori. The journey had encompassed a bus (Charlottetown to Moncton), two trains (Moncton to Ottawa – Ottawa to Montreal), and three flights (Montreal to Detroit – Detroit to Tokyo – Tokyo to Tottori), but it was finally over. It is only when you are young and foolish do you do these things. Just thinking about it now makes me tired.
We arrived in Japan a month before school began and it was a strategic move on JET’s part. That first month was so overwhelming. It really did take a few weeks to get my feet under me. I lived in an apartment that was owned by my school and the three teachers before me lived there as well. Although it was the size of a matchbox, it took the better part of a week to clean it thoroughly as the teacher before me was, well, not much of a housekeeper. Luckily enough, being in a small city like Tottori-shi, the second and third year JETs were quick to root us out and show us around. I recall them taking us through the city and showing us everything: what store sold sour cream and where we could get peanut butter; how to use the Japanese ATM machines; where the bus and train station were located; good bike stores, etc… It was humid as hell tramping around, but again, I was very grateful for the help.
That first month also proved to be quite a bit of fun. I explored the city, got to know the other JETs in the vicinity, and got used to the locals pointing at me and saying “gaijan” (the Japanese word for foreigner that literally translates as “alien”). I danced in the local Shan-Shan festival with other JETs and I use the term *dance* loosely. We made several trips to Mochigase, a village just outside Tottori who had for whatever reason invited us to dance with the village residents, so as to learn the steps of the dance. I believe there were only three steps, but we also had to learn how to contend with the paper umbrellas that were also an integral part of the dance. Dancing in that festival was the most humid three hour trek I ever hope to have to make with a paper umbrella, but it was my first cultural experience in Japan – and it was a great one. It helped to block out the other cultural experience I had that month in my rather unsuccessful participation in the local Chizu log pull. I’ll save that story for another post.
In that month, I also quickly realized that I was infinitely lucky in that two other JETs also lived at OM Mansion (my apartment building). Sarah and Michele were both American JETs in their second year of the program and both could speak and write Japanese fluently. I could say “Konichiwa” (hello) and “Sayonara” (good-bye). If nothing else I was comic relief for them that first year. Unlike other first year JETs who earnestly started Japanese lessons upon arriving in Tottori, I could have cared less. I was tired of school, tired of studying and you couldn’t have paid me to study Japanese. I picked up a bit here and there watching TV, but I got by with carrying around a pocket sized Japanese/English dictionary and I of course had Sarah and Michele to rely on – and we ended up doing everything together. It got to the point where when we went to the bus station to go somewhere Sarah would automatically just fill out my ticket for me. I know, I was a lazy arse.
As the first day of school approached, it became more and more real – I was expected to teach. I mean really teach - 400 students a week. How could I possibly remember names? Especially Japanese names? I went into school the week before classes began to get acquainted with everything. The first thing I noticed was that the school had done a lot of work for my arrival. My various lockers, my desk, my supplies were all clearly labelled – “Mary sensei.” At first I thought it was for someone else. I slowly clicked in and realized that all my official paperwork had been sent ahead to my school long before my actual arrival. To them, I was Mary – not Juanita. This was a school that over 1200 students and 80 teachers. After taking an hour to explain to three people that I go by my middle name, I quickly decided “Mary it is.”
I spent the majority of that week getting my lesson plans organized and familiarizing myself with the lay out of the school. Part way through the week, I was asked to make a speech at the opening ceremony for the new semester at school so as to introduce myself to the students. Although I am shy, I surprisingly don’t mind public speaking so I had no problem with it. The one problem I did have was that they asked me to make the speech in JAPANESE. At first I thought they were joking. When I realized they were not, I panicked – panicked panicked. A teacher had written a speech for me and helped with practice the pronunciation, but I knew what the end result was going to be. No matter what I did, I was going to look like a big gaijan idiot. And that was pretty much how it played out.
Because the opening ceremony was considered a formal occasion, I had to wear my black suit – and the heat and humidity was so bad. Every now and again I would head a “thud” not realizing at the time this noise was actually students passing out from the heat. When the time finally came for my speech, I was so hot and overwhelmed, I didn’t care: “Watashi wa Mary desu” (Hello my name is Mary) is all I remember. I rambled on in broken Japanese for what seemed like a hundred hours, and while doing so realized it was the first time during the course of that painful ceremony that the students giggled and smiled. They were of course laughing at my butchering of the Japanese language, but I didn’t care, mostly because I was too hot. I was the only person to make them smile at that ceremony. I hoped it was an omen of good things to come – and it was.
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