That girl — Kumiko Shimizo

I went on to give them an impromptu Geography lesson on Japan and its importance in the industrial world. I told them that we needed the Japanese engineers who were involved in the construction of the Audrey Jeffers Highway and that Kumiko’s father was one of the main men in the project.

While I was speaking to the class, her expression changed gradually from sadness to joyfulness. As she looked at me, I saw a gentle blush on her cheeks. Generally, she was accepted by the class and soon became the number one student heading the class in most subjects except English. Her main problem was omitting the auxiliary verbs — primarily, “be”, “do” and “have” — in writing compositions.

I wanted to know what was the driving force behind her accomplishments. When we were chatting, she explained, “My father say, ‘Kumiko, you ess Japanese. You in strange land. You have to work hard to show people what Japanese can do’. And that what I do. I study hard.”

Once I asked her to teach the class the art of origami. She willingly agreed but when the day came and the other children brought their paper to fold and make figures of animals, Kumiko had already made little paper figures of dogs, cats and other animals and gave each pupil one.

Afterwards, she told me that her parents instructed her not to reveal the secret of origami. It was a big surprise for her when I showed her a book on origami giving details on how to fold the paper in decorative shapes and figures.

One day, Kumiko came to me with tear-filled eyes and said she would be leaving shortly to return to Japan and her parents would be selling lots of stuff. They wanted me to announce the sale to the class. I helped by purchasing a cassette player, two tapes with Japanese songs, some books and Kumiko’s red haversack.

Showing off the only Japanese word which I learnt from the movie with Marlon Brando, I said, “Sayonara, Kumiko,” — meaning “Goodbye, Kumiko”. As I stretched out my hand to shake hers, she reached up, hugged and kissed me for a moment as she cried softly. Her mom also kissed me and thanked me for all I had done for them, especially promoting the garage sale as almost everything was sold out.

About two months after, I heard from Kumiko. Her new class had about 150 students and she had to work very hard to keep up with them. I answered the letter giving her words of encouragement. As she requested, I gave her address to the class and some of them wrote her. Neither myself nor any of the students heard from Kumiko again.

About seven years after, a female voice on the phone asked, “I talking to Mr Kissoon. Yes?” When I answered it was. She replied, “This is Kumiko. You remember me?” She was back in Trinidad with her husband for a few days.

There, at the lobby of the Holiday Inn, was the little Japanese doll. If Kumiko had grown an inch, she had grown a lot. Her husband told me she talked so much about Trinidad that he just had to come to see the country.

I took them round to places of interest and she also met a school friend, Anesha Muller, who had recently won the Miss Port-of-Spain Beauty Contest. After an enjoyable holiday, Kumiko and her husband had to leave for their home in the land of the rising sun and so, it was “Sayonara” all over again.

Once a teacher wrote, “floccinaucinihilipilification” and told the class it was the longest word to be found in the dictionary. A boy stood up and said, “No, Miss. The longest word is ‘smiles’ because there is a ‘mile’ between the first and last letters.”