Last week Super Typhoon Neoguri hit Okinawa. It brought with it record breaking winds and torrential rain. On Monday evening, the supermarkets were crammed with people buying last minute provisions: bottles of water, canned foods and energy bars, extra-bright candles, matches and lighters. Even though every family on island keeps a fully stocked typhoon kit, this one looked to be a bad one, and doing those few last minute purchases helped to create a false sense of safety.
When I came home on Monday night, I filled my tub with water, checked the latches on all my windows, made sure my balcony was clear, and locked the door, slipping the emergency chain into place. It stayed that way for two days.
The thing people don’t tell you about typhoons is how incredibly boring they are. Provided you’re in a safe place, and my third floor apartment, with it’s concrete walls and metal barred windows is definitely safe, the biggest hardship of a typhoon is figuring how to fill the hours. While I can happily spend an entire weekend at home, when all of a sudden I’m unable to go out, stir-craziness sets in. I get restless. I pace the rooms of my apartment, I watch hours of television without being able to say what I saw, I read the same page over and over. During Neoguri, I cooked enough food to feed me the rest of the week, carefully packaging individual meal-sized portions in tupperware in my fridge. My lunch today is the final container.
The entire time, lightning flickered through the sky and my apartment howled as wind swept through cracks. My shoji rattled in their tracks, the paper covered with violent shadows. From my window I watched a large tree in my apartment’s parking lot be decimated by wind. The branches were torn off one by one and flung across the ground. When Wednesday evening came, not a leaf remained. At times, it was scary. I worried I would lose power, water, or gas. I worried that the ocean level would rise and sweep away my car. I worried that my friends who were in less safe areas would be hurt. Every hour or so my phone would ring loudly, and the screen would come up completely covered in Japanese. I recognized the characters for “emergency”, “evacuation”, “danger.” My neighborhood was never one of the ones on the list that followed.
Then it was gone. After leaving Okinawa water-logged and covered in debris, the typhoon began to head up to the main islands of Japan, losing power as it went. It gradually dissipated into a Tropical Storm, and finally dissolved all together.
Back in Okinawa, we are still doing repairs. The road by my house is closed, the bridge that I normally take to go to school completely swept out. Silt and rocks still coat the roads, and there are areas of the city where stop and street lights still aren’t back on, although business and residential areas have all had power restored by now. But we are lucky. This storm was a killer. Even here, in a wealthy developed nation, on an island designed to withstand typhoons, two lives were lost. Neoguri marks the start of the Okinawan typhoon season. As the summer continues, I can only hope that Neoguri is the worst one heading our direction this year.