A few weeks ago, I participated in a four-day survey for
temporary housing residents in Ootsuchi, Iwate. The survey is in its second
year out of three years, and asks a range of questions.
*How the living conditions in temporary housing are now and
how have they changed
*Details about where the respondent was during the
disaster, and what their movements were afterward
*Their income sources and what their priorities are for
finding a job
*Their plans for housing in the future
*Their assessment of their own recovery and the recovery of
Ootsuchi
Last year, a total of about 1300 residents from 40-something
temporary housing units took the survey. The majority were in their 50s to 70s,
and a third were on retirement.
I participated in the survey as mostly a listener, paired up
with a nice college student named Tomite-san. Tomite-san would ask the
questions, and I would hold up an enlarged print-out for multiple choice
questions as needed. All I had to do (mostly) was just focus on listening and
taking notes, so I really owe a lot to Tomite-san’s patience in letting me tag
along.
Beautiful,
Inconvenient Location
I was relieved to see that the temporary housing units were
in beautiful areas. Out in the country, surrounded by trees and fields and
mountains. Often I could hear birds singing, or see little tree frogs crawling
around. Some of residents themselves said they were in a nice area.
Sometimes I go out at
night and look at the stars. It’s nice here, you can hear bush warblers and
pheasants calling.
Father here goes out
at night to look for fireflies. They come out here at night.
The problem was, many of these beautiful areas were remote.
They were far away from the highway, away from shops, and most often at the end
of a really long, narrow driveway branching off from a regular road. It was
inconvenient if you had a car, and even worse if you had no license. Some units
had shops, but that depended on the unit.
Transportation is
inconvenient, and there’s no post office nearby. It takes ten minutes to get to
the post office. I want more stores nearby.
I want a city.
Hospitals, stores.
The dentist around
here is so crowded. I had to wait 3 hours to be seen.
There are no shops
nearby, I’d like some shops. There are some mobile shops that do come around.
It’s hard to go inland
by car in winter. I’d like the train to come back.
Luck of the Draw
It seemed like everything depended on the unit. Many people
we talked to in different units had gotten bath temperature controllers, so
they could run a bath earlier in the day and it would still be hot for other
family members later. But other things, like stores, and number of rooms, and
whether there was a storage unit, depended on the area. One temporary housing
unit had a garden. Another had some kind of playground. Some units were having trouble with
flooding, while others had no trouble at all.
I can’t live here long.
I’m worried about floods. It’s not high enough ground here, and the drainage is
bad.
I’m worried about rain
and flooding in this area. During the big rains we had recently, I heard from
other residents that parts of their house were flooded.
We have storage units
installed here and a temperature regulator for our baths.
They say we’re going
to get storage sheds, but I don’t know when that’s going to happen.
The things that everyone seemed to agree on about the
housing units is: that they were hot in the summer, cold in the winter, and
cramped. There wasn’t enough space to put things, and there weren’t enough
rooms.
Good Neighbors, Weakened
Community Ties
Most people had nothing but nice things to say about their
neighbors. Some people would get together with neighbors for sewing circles and
for potlucks. The little old ladies we talked to, especially, had very positive
things to say about the coffee/tea salons set up by volunteers so people can
have a place to chat.
Two people even said that the disaster had had a positive
effect on people: that before, people hadn’t greeted each, but now everyone
greets each other. Everyone is equal now.
On the other hand, everyone we talked to agreed that the
bonds with people in their community had been weakened after the disaster. One
woman explained that there was an older lady in her neighborhood that had taken
care of her children, and both she and her children wanted to contact her, but
couldn’t because of privacy rules. They could know if the woman was alive, but
not her location or address.
Grain of Salt
Sometimes residents were told conflicting things about what
they could or couldn’t do. Measures to make things more convenient or fair
sometimes worked out, but sometimes didn’t. Reading the fill in the blank
responses from last year’s survey, some respondents had already stayed in
shelters where supplies weren’t distributed fairly. The people in charge of
supplies would take what they wanted for themselves, and give the rest to
everyone else.
I could hear in
the residents’ voices that they were taking everything they heard with a
grain of salt. “They say they’re going to give us this, but who knows?” “This
is what I want, but will that ever happen? While I’m still alive?”
We wanted drawers,
because if you don’t have drawers there’s not enough space to put things, but
they said we couldn’t have drawers. Then, they said we could have drawers, but
by that time my husband and I were both working and we were too tired to put
them in!
They said, you can
build your home in its original spot. Then they said, you can build there if
you make the land higher. Then they canceled and said we couldn’t build there
at all again.
They built a small
roof so we could dry our laundry in the back, but it’s too short! So it’s kind
of meaningless.
There was a problem
with parking. Residents had their own parking spot, but then new residents came
in and used reserved spots because there was no other place to park. It’s been
sorted out now.
“Everyone Has Lost
Someone”
The survey from last year had already asked respondents if
they had lost a family member, and more than a quarter had responded that yes,
someone was dead or missing. More than 10% said they had been injured, and
almost 40% said they’d experienced psychological damage and couldn't live their
lives like they used to.
This year’s survey didn’t repeat the question, but many
people said to us they had lost someone. Siblings, aunts and uncles, a little
niece or nephew, cousins, parents. One woman we talked to said she had lost her
husband.
My friends are gone.
They were all washed away, and I lost a son.
Everyone around here (temporary
housing unit) has lost someone.
Is it better now or
then? It’s worse now. Last year I was in emergency mode. Now, I have no one to
talk to, and I can’t sleep…I had work but I’m resting now due to high blood
pressure.
Sometimes my eyes snap
open in the middle of the night.
Longing
The most overwhelming impression I got overall from the
survey was longing. Longing for a real house, for friends and family, and for Ootsuchi.
Many people we talked to had lived in Ootsuchi their whole
lives, or since they got married.
The older people, who live on retirement, didn’t have the
income to take on loans for a house, so they had to move into public housing,
but again, when was that going to happen? Were they still going to be alive
when it happened?
I don’t know where
anything is in Ootsuchi anymore. It’s all been torn down. You can tell by
seeing tiles or something, “Oh, OK, that’s where it was.”
I’d just newly
decorated my place and it was washed away.
I’d like a house! All
the places here look the same. You mistake someone else’s place for your place!
Though that may have to do with my age, too.
It seemed like, as a general rule, a two person household
would get two rooms, and a three person household would get three rooms, but
that didn’t leave enough room for children and grandchildren to stay during the
holidays, or just when they wanted to come and visit. One family we talked to
said that when their daughter came to visit, the father slept in the car
outside because there was no room for her to stay.
I live alone, but I
just happened to be assigned to this housing unit and get two rooms. That’s
nice, so my daughter can stay here.
There’s no place for
our children to stay, so we just use phone and email to keep in touch.
Listening to these people talk about their houses and their
families and their city, I thought about my own life. How exciting it is to
have my own apartment and my own things, to have friends and a community. To
start to build a life with someone.
How lonely it is living so far away from my family, but how
comforting it is to go back for the holidays. Sit on our old couch, and pet the
old cat and grab something from the refrigerator. Take a stroll through
Silverton, get a cup of coffee and maybe a bagel, look at the churches and the
murals.
What if I couldn’t have that anymore?
Many people want to
come back.
I want us to have
matsuris again. We can get strength from matsuris, and the kids come back.
I’d say my recovery is
0-20%, and Ootsuchi’s recovery is 0-20%. I love Ootsuchi.
I don’t know how much
Ootsuchi will even recover.
Some of my friends
have moved to Morioka, or to Toono. They tell me, “Come to Toono! Why don’t you
like in Morioka!”
I don’t want to live in Toono. I don’t want to live in
Morioka. I want to stay in Ootsuchi.
