All that talk about Japan got me thinking; I was incredibly lucky to get under the skin of the place, thanks to Kenichi and family. I saw stuff and went places many of the other English teachers never did. Having a bike made such a difference, more than a car would have with the off-road opportunities added in. It was difficult to navigate, not being able to read the road signs, and there was no satnav or online journey planner in those days. For a trip of any length I would have to study the road map and transcribe the kanji characters of the key places along the way on a strip of paper, which I’d tape to the tank.
Kenichi, being a solid working class boy and confident in his element, suggested I stop at any mechanic’s workshop to ask directions, should I get lost. It was with a typical lack of appreciation of the enormity of the undertaking that he offered this advice. I did actually do this, however, and got help several times but if Kenny had been a hairdresser it probably would have been the same thing, only stopping at salons. People are funny like that, determined to stay within the boundaries of the familiar.
This was precisely what I wasn’t interested in at the time, it sounds like bravado but oddly a lot of it was down to insecurity. Since I was 18 I had heard of school friends taking off, going travelling, and this seemed like the biggest adventure to be had, the ultimate right of passage. While I applied myself to gothic punk in Bristol, my best mate took off for foreign soil. When he came back he seemed different and I got all defensive about it. “I travel in my mind,” I told myself, but the country of the mind tends to shrink when you stay in one place.
Eventually, after a panicky attempt to make up for lost time - involving a failed attempt to get to the Sahara in a rickety old Landrover - I got a call from a girl I’d worked with in a restaurant in Bristol. “Fancy a job in Japan?” she said, all crackly and distant. “I’ll give you a call next Sunday, when you’ve had a chance to think about it.” Next Sunday came round and I hadn’t really given it much thought. I’d moved back in with my mum and dad and was working in a music shop in Exeter, and I was severely depressed. When she rang back I said I’d go, mainly because the consequences of saying no were intolerable.
It was the best thing I ever did. It was challenging and sometimes downright scary, but I got out of the hole I’d dug for myself and after a while, when I stopped missing my friends, I didn’t look back. Every school holiday I’d jump ship for China, Thailand, Taiwan, eager to see more and join the ranks of my well-travelled peers. The fact that I’d grown up in Africa didn’t count. This was me alone, coming to terms with life with the world at my feet.
