JETache February 2002

Days of Awa Lives

Blair McMillan
JET Tokushima Ken 1999 - 2001

Awa is the former name of Tokushima Ken, on North Eastern side of the island of Shikoku. For 2 years it was the tranquil home of my partner, Karen, and I. For those of you inclined to take note of what a particular region is 'famous for', Tokushima’s renowned bounty is not exactly inspiring. Sudachi (for those unfamiliar) are small citrus fruit that can best be described as being a cross between a lime and a lemon, achieved naturally, I might add, without so much as a hint of genetic modification. The caped hero 'Sudachi Man' (a guy with a big fruit on his head) appears at all major local events and the product of apparent notoriety 'Sudachi Wine' is, frankly, awful. On a scale of boasting about stuff from your prefecture this certainly ranks behind the likes of Udon from the neighbouring Kagawa Ken and Okanomiyaki from Hiroshima, but perhaps slides in ahead of Sendai’s cow tongue fame.

Sudachi wine may be a rather lame product to crow about, but the local festival, Awa Odori is an absolute rip-snorter. I realize that festivals are a dime a dozen in Japan in the summer months but I would venture to suggest that Awa Odori is indisputably as good as they get. Having enjoyed the experience of traveling to the Tohoku region one summer and joining in with the three famous festivals of the area; Nebuta Matsuri in Aomori, the Kanto Matsuri in Akita and Tanabata in Sendai, I can make this assertion with some degree of proud confidence.

Awa Odori is immense and is known as the 'Dance of Fools' based on the premise that the fools can dance or the fools can watch so they might as well be dancing fools. For 6 months leading into the festival the clanging of the iron bells, the sharp yet tuneful whistle of the flute, and the booming of the drums echo nightly throughout the prefecture as teams diligently train and prepare for their moment in the spotlight. Supermarkets play the tune on a never-ending tape, and mini-vans pound it from noise-polluting speakers as hachi gatsu approaches, but you never grow weary of it as the explosion of goodwill and happiness it brings with it is incredibly infectious. I vividly recall hearing it in the meat section of the local store for the first time in the summer of my second year and almost bursting with excitement at the pending festival.

Timing, poise, and rhythm are the keys to the elegant dance (keys which are all too conspicuously absent from the performance of the group representing the gaijin community) that takes place for four solid nights on every major street in the heart of the city. Estimates give figures of over 1 million partakers over the four nights who perform before grandstands filled with hundreds of thousands of onlookers. The city pumps like a sea of colour while the populace rejoices in life and it is easy to be convinced that this one of the largest dance festivals in the world, apparently second in magnitude only to Rio’s 'Carnival'.

I have very much missed Japan since returning home, never more so than when I hear the language spoken around me and I realize how it is slowly slipping away, despite recent efforts to revive it. What I miss the most is the blazing hot summer time, and the associated festivals like the one I have described. Seldom, if ever, have I been swept up into an atmosphere of such absolute pleasure that everyone experiences simultaneously for such an extended duration. That the Japanese are able to still continue this amidst the frantic pace of modern life is quite remarkable. Congratulations to them on managing to maintain this part of their history, and thank you to them for blessing me with the most vivid memories. I have never felt so alive.