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I used to be in the unenviable employment of a couple of Japan’s few followers of the Christian faith. They were nice enough people, and didn’t try to ram their beliefs down my throat too much, so we had a reasonable working relationship. They ran an English school at which I was one of the teachers, and through their church contacts had secured a contract to teach a few members of their local church’s children. I was the teacher chosen to take the classes.
The classes themselves weren’t too bad. I just did my usual thing, and although they were held in a church, the children behaved just like the other kids I taught. Some of them did look a bit funny though.
Anyway, one day my bosses asked if I would be willing to attend a Christmas party for the kids. It was to be held on a weekend and I would be paid overtime. I was assured that all I had to do was turn up and there were no other responsibilities. It sounded easy enough, and as my bosses clearly expected me to go, I agreed. They had always been good to me and I saw no reason to be difficult.
The day arrived and I was picked up by a woman of quite worryingly ugliness. At a guess, I would say she was still in her twenties, but she had the dress sense of my nan, teeth that horses would mock, and a hairstyle best described as pubic. We drove to the church in almost complete silence. Well, things had become a bit strained when she asked which church I went to and I said that I didn’t. I’m not sure what my bosses had told her, but it was clear she was a bit upset that I wasn’t a believer.
The party itself was about as good as you could expect an afternoon gathering with non-drinking Christians and their children to be. I made polite small talk, I agreed that I had a big nose and feet and I ate their food and drank their orange juice. Easy money, really. Until, that is, the games started.
Horsey took centre stage and explained the rules of the game. A church busybody explained them to me in English just in case I was going to feign misunderstanding in order to be excluded. My participation was very obviously expected, and I was too cowardly to say, “Oh, do fuck off!” even when I realised what the game was.
What it was, in fact, was something quite ridiculous. Horsey would stand at the front of the room, while we all stood facing her, and roll her hands over and over in front of her. All the while she would be saying something in Japanese which was of no importance, but at the end of which she would shout either “Papaya”, “Banana” or “Pineapple” and throw her arms either above her head, down to her knees or out to the side. No, I don’t really understand why either, but that’s what she did, and we were supposed to roll our hands over and over with her and then when we heard a fruit being shouted had to throw our own hands either up above our heads, off to the side, or down to our knees. Anyone who made the same move as Horsey was out.
“Fine”, I thought, “I’ll embarrass myself for one round and quickly get myself out.” Except I couldn’t. Bugger me, if I didn’t keep bloody winning! Eventually it was just Horsey, me and three weirdo Christian kids making arses of ourselves. And they were clearly enjoying it! Although part of me was now beginning to want to beat all those fucking little freaks, I was still mightily relieved when both Horsey and I went for a knee drop to “papaya” and I could stop my shame at being the big foreign dobber with no self respect. I sat down, consumed with shame, and realised that no amount of money was worth that humiliation. “Why couldn’t I just have been caught with a rent boy or something,” I thought. The only saving grace was that there was nobody I really knew there to see me.
I could continue this story by writing about how the event ended with a man playing a song on the guitar, the chorus of which was, “Jesus loves me I love him!” and to which everybody sang along while swaying their arms above their heads, but I’m afraid that to do so would have me racing for the cutlery drawer in search of knives.
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