The city gave way to heavily forested mountains and a wide river. The scene was peaceful, but upon approaching the school, that scene turned somber. The flower-laden memorial outside the school signified that Okawa Elementary School was no ordinary dilapidated building.
After stepping off the bus, we were greeted by our storyteller. He greeted us with a cheerful smile. He began to tell us about his daughter, who was in the sixth grade at Okawa Elementary School. On March 11th, 2011, her middle school uniform came in. That night her family planned on surprising her with it. She never got to wear it.
Of the many people that lost their lives during the 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami, only seventy-five of them were school children. Seventy-four of those children belonged to Okawa Elementary School. Our storyteller graciously allowed us to walk around the grounds of the school. He showed us the first grade classroom. The entire wall was torn off the one side and the inside barren except for chalkboards that hung on the walls. On one side of the room it had space for desks and, on the other side, there was room for class activities. We also were shown the place where a second floor walkway lined with glass windows used to exist. The remains of the walkway were twisted backwards and crumbling.
As we moved through the school grounds, he paused to tell us about the school courtyard. It was a green space, hugged by the school on two sides. This is where the children would play. They would ride on unicycles, host school festivals, and play make believe. Our storyteller paused for a moment to flip to a picture he had on hand. He pointed to a little girl running in the courtyard, with what was presumably a friend of hers. “That’s my daughter.”
On the other side of the school courtyard, there was a small stage. The stage had stone steps that the children could sit on to watch performances. The backside of the stage had a mural painted on it. The mural was battered and cracked apart in places, but the colors remained vibrant. The mural showed people of different cultures holding hands, uniting together. At the end of the mural was a long train floating in a starry night sky. The colorful mural was a sharp contrast to the tragic scene. It stood as a reminder that this was a place for children: a place of light and love.
It was mentioned briefly before, but the area the school was in was surrounded by heavily forested mountains. Directly behind the school, there was one of these hilly forests. It rose high above the school and was sometimes used for school activities. We barely ascended the mountain when we stopped at a white marker. Our storyteller told us that the marker indicated the height of the tsunami that followed the earthquake. It was approximately 24 feet off the ground. A height that could easily be climbed by small children. It seems confusing in retrospect why the children did not climb up to that point, but our story teller told us that children that ran to the hill were told to come back. There was protocol to follow and that was not part of the protocol. As I looked out at the school from that point on the mountainside, I could hear the storyteller say that if they had climbed, they would have been alive to enjoy this view. It really was a beautiful view.
As our walk through the grounds of Okawa Elementary School came to a close, we stopped at two posts we had seen on our way in. The posts barely had enough room for a single file line of people to walk through, but that is exactly what they did. After nearly an hour from the initial earthquake, the children were instructed to walk single file through that school gate. When they did, they walked right into the tsunami.
Our storyteller said he wondered what his daughter’s face would have looked like as the wave approached. What she would have been talking about right as the water came over. He imagined the teachers would have hugged as many children close as possible. I would like to imagine that too.
The story of Okawa Elementary School is undoubtedly a tragedy. It stands as a memorial to those lost and a reminder of what consequences stem from indecision. When I think of Okawa Elementary School though, I want to think of children playing in the courtyard and doing field trips up the mountain. I want to think of name placards that cannot be washed away. I want to think of the future.
-Kerrigan
(Images taken at Okawa Elementary School)