Survey: Ootsuchi

    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.