Author's note: The poem transcribed below is a tribute by Noriko Fujita to her mother, and it recounts the hardships and difficulties that a girl, teenager, woman and mother had to overcome.

OKAASAN

I listened to her when our mother recounted her humble and simple childhood.
their little pranks with their shared siblings.

The rigidity of his father, the understanding and complicity of his mother,
I heard her telling about her friends, about school, about the secretly bought sweets.

Of penances, of patched but clean clothes,
of wonderfully poor, but happy times.

I heard from his mouth about the terror of war,
of pain, of hunger, of the times that, crawling
In the swamp, he traded a cup of rice for a cup of sugar,
Until peace came, and it was music in their ears.

I heard her when she said that they asked for her hand, and that's how the “tambo” went to jimesan,
She became a lady, and one day she left Kobe for Faraway America;
where forty-five years passed in a breath.

I saw our mother bend over the tea plants,
under a scorching sun harvesting its buds,
carrying them in the saddlebags that hung on his belly,
on his sunburnt face, streaks of sweat and tears
They rolled many times silently down their cheeks.

Giant trees, their arms extended
and on the red earth, strange figures were drawn.

Heat, humidity and sometimes torrential rain
and a cool breeze, owe the time to sit together
to the kitchen window, and then his eyes were lost in the thicket, his thoughts flew through the tangle, the seas and the skies
to other lands, their own, those longed for.

I saw our mother desperately waiting for that letter, which in its lines would perhaps bring some news about her mother and her brothers,
missive that she would read next to the “Night sun” a thousand times, wiping her eyes with the kitchen apron.

I saw that woman bravely give birth to my brothers, in the middle of the missionary jungle, a woman of firm principles, delicate as a cotton ball,
fine as a “kokeshi”, tigress to defend her own, “MOTHER COURAGE”.

I saw her bent over the board scrubbing, until the waves of the wood were worn out,
With frozen hands, red from the cold, and chilblains.

I also saw her happy with our small achievements in studies, joyful
She looked at the bulletins and her notes, proud of her four chicks.

He taught us the gift of humility, simplicity, patience,
honesty and love for his land.

I saw our mother, in harvest times, on what was sown
through his hands, he worked with enthusiasm and with that he produced the fruit that his effort produced.

I heard her sing, laugh and cry, enjoy the little things in life.

He never complained about anything, he kept his dreams in that wooden trunk
that he brought on that ship and there remained his desires, and a thousand projects and illusions.

He remembered that journey, his life story, of waving handkerchiefs, of dreams
and farewells, of cut streamers, that the sea has devoured.

I saw her watching a soccer game on TV, enthusiastically shouting:
“Go, go, go… Gooolll!

He thus changed the sounds of the “shamisen” for the chords of the bandoneon,
and the flavor of “sashimi” for the Creole barbecue, and the “ochá” for the Argentine mate.
I saw her excitedly and proudly cradle her grandchildren in her arms,
play in their telegraphic language with them and even sing to them happily.

I saw her discover in the mailbox the letters from her long-awaited children,
that sometimes they did not arrive, and then her son-in-law deceived her by inventing them,
with an envelope and cut-out stamps, which he placed with great stealth in that mailbox.
One day he saw that little trap discovered and with amazement and a big grateful smile,
without any anger he said, between laughs:
“Orulandoiatsta!!!”, (it was you).

I saw her when dad left, reproaching him for his abandonment, it seems that they had promised to make the trip together, and then her little head opened the chest of memories, and with her bundle of clothes, nostalgia and tears, she left again for her homeland. .

Emotions galore, the reunion with his children, his brothers, his land,
They filled her chest and she felt satisfied with the task accomplished and suddenly,
In the silence, he heard the call of his companion, who from that star that
shines in the firmament, he came down to look for her, fulfilling his promise of shared eternity.

And dressed like that, again like a bride, with her face made up and a calm smile, she left us…
And last night, I saw them, together, in that star that shone at night...
He left in each one the best of himself, his teachings and his wisdom, and above all his patient silent love...
ARIGATO OKAASAN!!!!...(thanks mom).
Noriko.

Thanks to the good predisposition and memory of the interviewee, we have managed to bring together the experiences of the Fujita family, in the construction of a living history, since oral histories are considered vital in the rescue of the events experienced and corroborated through of archives and bibliography, but most importantly, the feeling, the subjectivity of the interviewee and his environment.

© 2015 Irene Isabel Cafiero