No, not the Nicole Kidman film, but a role I unexpectedly took on in my life here in Fukushima Prefecture—a place I've called home for over 20 years.
A few weeks ago, a message popped into my inbox. A documentary crew wanted to interview me about Fukushima. After 13 years of media inquiries—many of which twisted my words into negative headlines—I’ve grown wary. These distorted narratives have fueled misinformation and have consistently harmed local businesses. So, before agreeing, I scrutinised their intentions.
Despite knowing I couldn’t control the final outcome, I liked the documentary’s theme and agreed to the interview. But after hearing their itinerary, I knew this would not enable them to get the needed shots. I decided to step in and help. After many emails, rerouted plans, and a freshly designed itinerary, two camera crew members and a journalist, arrived in Iwaki by train from Tokyo, still bleary eyed with jet lag but ready to explore Fukushima.
Interpreting a Shinto Blessing Ceremony
I had my reasons for bringing the crew to Iwaki and Yumoto Onsen on their first day. Iwaki is the last major city before what was the no-go zone, but it’s also home to a charming onsen town, far removed from the hustle of Tokyo. I wanted them to experience Fukushima’s peaceful, welcoming side—a side often overlooked by the media.
We visited Koito Ryokan, a quirky inn that transforms from a business hotel during the week to a hotspot for cosplayers and kigurumi enthusiasts on weekends. It’s a place where people can gather, relax, and be themselves.
Then, I arranged for them to experience something rare for non-Japanese speakers: a Shinto blessing ceremony. The priest, from a lineage dating back over 80 generations, graciously allowed filming from specific angles. Shintoism, the foundation of Japanese culture, teaches gratitude for everything. Cleanliness is also key, explaining Japan’s fastidious nature. This is one of the reasons why the nuclear zone we would visit the next day was not just left as others around the world have been.
Interpreting in the Nuclear Disaster Zone
I’m not a professional interpreter, but when you speak both English and Japanese reasonably well, you get roped into such roles. Over the years, words like "Geiger counter," "radiation," and "interim storage facility" have become second nature to me. To my surprise, I found myself well-suited to guide the crew through the stories of Fukushima’s nuclear disaster.
Our first stop was a view of Fukushima’s second power station, which is a near replica of the plant that melted down in 2011. Attempting to get a drone shot of the actual power station that melted down is a surefire way to be quickly arrested. Standing in Tomioka, amidst its peaceful, tidy but almost empty streets, it was surreal to contemplate the chaos of 13 years ago.
Visiting the no-go zone today is less haunting than it once was. The deserted towns have mostly been demolished, leaving behind vacant land waiting for new beginnings. Beautiful roads, ports, and train stations now stand ready for returning residents or newcomers seeking a fresh start.
I’ve met a few of these newcomers—people whose lives didn’t fit the mold of typical Japanese society. In Fukushima, they found steady jobs, affordable homes, and a supportive community. Their stories are a testament to resilience and renewal.
Interpreter Down
On the day the reactor at Fukushima’s first power station exploded, I was already on my way to safety, evacuating to Tottori Prefecture. In the chaotic days that followed, something as simple as the direction of the wind determined who lost their homes and who, like me, could return—albeit with frayed nerves. For many years I was unable to help with the recovery, being the mother of two small children. But today was one of those days I could finally give back and so I prepared to visit one of the only ruins of the tsunami left in Fukushima.
Standing in what was Ukedo Elementary School, a sobering reminder of the tsunami’s power, I was overwhelmed. This school, just meters from the coast, was hit by a 10-meter wave. Miraculously, all the students were saved, thanks to the quick actions of the staff. But nearby, 180 residents were not so lucky. The classroom I stood in was no different from those my own children attend today, and the terror of that day was still palpable. I had to step away, leaving the crew to continue filming without me. Interpreter down. Perhaps also a bit dehydrated.
A Big Win for the Interpreter
Up on the hill where the children had evacuated to, a brand-new graveyard stands. The graveyard down in the tsunami zone that was trashed has been relocated to the hill and looks as new as a graveyard possibly can which is a strange site indeed. While we set up for an interview, a police car approached. I worried about how this encounter would unfold, given the area's history with dark tourists. Because of that foreigners and out of prefecture number plates get special attention. But the crew had all the right permits, and after a friendly exchange with the officers, we were back to work. The police even expressed interest in watching the documentary when it is released. The crew later declared it their best ever experience with law enforcement, which felt like a small but significant victory for me as the interpreter.
The Interpreter struggles with the rāmen ticket machine
Thanks to the great planning and local knowledge of our guide, by 2 PM, we were finished filming. It felt like the most successful day of filming ever. We celebrated with bowls of ramen at Tomioka’s humble “Food Court”—though I opted for udon with tempura shrimp instead. Not a fan of rāmen myself, I also learned I need to familiarise myself more with the intricacies of the rāmen ticket vending machine. As I said goodbye to the crew, I felt quite sad. We had shared an incredible adventure, and I had gained a new appreciation for the beauty of Fukushima—the beauty I had grown so accustomed to over the years and had stopped noticing. It also gave me food for thought on how we can best preserve the memories of what happened on 3-11 for future generations. It is said that there are still many decades left to decommission the nuclear power station site. The people who will be doing this work in the future have barely been born and will surely wonder how this could have happened.
13 years on we are largely finished with the rebuilding, now we are onto the revitalising of Fukushima. I welcome curious, respectful visitors to come and see for themselves. Come to the coast of Fukushima where the triple disaster has had the biggest impact on people’s lives and livelihoods. Quick tip, you will need to travel on the Joban line, not the bullet train.
Details on how to view the documentary will be update here when it is released.
Thanks to Alex, Dimo and Max, you guys were such great professionals, it was a pleasure to be part of your project.
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