ニッケイ物語#2 — ニッケイ+ ~混ざり合う言語、伝統、世代、人種の物語~

「ニッケイ」であるということは、本質的に、伝統や文化が混合している状態にあると言えます。世界中の多くの日系コミュニティや家族にとって、箸とフォーク両方を使い、日本語とスペイン語をミックスし、西洋のスタイルで大晦日を過ごすかたわら伝統的な日本のお正月をお雑煮を食べて過ごすということは珍しいことではありません。  

このシリーズでは、多人種、多国籍、多言語といったトピックや世代間にわたるエッセイなどの作品を紹介します。

今回のシリーズでは、ニマ会読者によって、各言語別に全ての投稿作品からお気に入り作品を選んでもらいました。

ニマ会のお気に入りに選ばれた作品は、こちらです。

当プロジェクトについて、詳しくはこちらをご覧ください >>


その他のニッケイ物語シリーズ: 

#1: いただきます!ニッケイ食文化を味わう
#3: ニッケイ人の名前:太郎、ジョン、フアン、ジョアオ? 
#4: ニッケイ・ファミリー: 記憶、伝統、家族観 
#5: ニッケイ語:家族、コミュニティ、文化の言葉 
#6: いただきます 2!新・ニッケイ食文化を味わう 
#7: ニッケイ・ルーツ:私たちの文化の足跡をたどる

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A Japanese Chief

Yamato Taba arrived to Peru in 1921 from Okinawa, Japan, to harvest cotton in the Cañete area, 150 km south from Lima, the capital of Peru. At the end of his contract which he completed with great sacrifices, Yamato and his wife rented a little parcel of land where they grew vegetables and had sold their products in the town of Cañete and other locations. In a few years, they had saved enough money to be able to purchase the land that they had been renting before.

However, they knew that in 1912, the Morioka Shokay Migration Company ...

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Sammy's Shitkickers

I began to beat Sammy with his own leg braces, polished by mama to a new money shine, around the time people stopped looking at me, their eyes resting on Sammy, listening to his hospital stories, admiring his scars, a mountain range, crawling, stitch by stitch calf to heel. I would knock him in the head with his own hard, thick-soled boots.

“Siblings do that sort of thing,” daddy once said as he puffed on a well-chewed pipe, smoke connecting each word, slowing their delivery for our mother to translate his English to Japanese. Sammy’s burnished brown, hand-sewn boots ...

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What Tribe You From, Brother?

When my son Michael was in high school he was approached by a group of young Navajo men who asked him, “What tribe you from, brother?”

“Tribe?” he replied, puzzled.

“You look like a Dine from Shiprock.”

“Shiprock?”

“Yeh, you know, you guys from Shit Rock.”

When they slowly started toward him he backed away. “I’m not from Shiprock. I don’t even know where that is,” he said.

“Don’t know your own nation, brother?”

“You’ve made a mistake. I’m not Indian.”

“Indian? We’re not either. Those guys live in India. We’re not from ...

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Memory Says

Nearly every year my husband remembers that we got married on October the 24, 1998. We did not. Stereotypes aside, I, as the woman, and hence the one with the better memory, know for a fact that it was October the 17th, 1998, as I did nearly everything for the wedding. This is not something to be proud of; it is my biggest indictment. And it was my biggest mistake on all cultural fronts—I will get to that.

I remember the date clearly because I used beautiful Japanese purple silk kimono material around sage, clove, nutmeg, citrus, and cinnamon ...

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identity en

A Hapa Girl In Vietnam

I’m currently carrying out a Fulbright English Teaching Fellowship in Northern Vietnam. When I sit down to meals with my students, they are always surprised at my skill with chopsticks. I try to explain to them in broken Vietnamese: cha tôi là người Mỹ gốc Phi, mẹ tôi là Mỹ gốc Nhật. My father is African-American. My mother is Japanese-American. I’ve been using chopsticks since the day I was born. This always draws a wide-eyed smile of exhilaration across my student’s faces, as if I’ve shared some great secret with them.

In some ways ...

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