Japan's tsunami survivors call lost loves on the phone of the wind

Japan's tsunami survivors call lost loves on the phone of the wind

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In a garden on a hill, under the wide boughs of a cherry tree, a white phone booth glistens in the early spring light.

Inside, Kazuyoshi Sasaki carefully dials his late wife Miwako's cellphone number, bending his large frame and cradling the handset.

He explains how he searched for her for days after the devastating earthquake and tsunami a decade ago, visiting evacuation centres and makeshift morgues, returning at night to the rubble of their home.

"It all happened in an instant, I can't forget it even now," he says, weeping. "I sent you a message telling you where I was, but you didn't check it."

. Rikuzentakata, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato
. Rikuzentakata, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Left: Sasaki holds a photograph of his wife Miwako.
Right: Sasaki visits Miwako's grave.

"When I came back to the house and looked up at the sky, there were thousands of stars, it was like looking at a jewel box," the 67-year old says. "I cried and cried and knew then that so many people must have died."

Sasaki's wife was one of more than 20,000 people in northeastern Japan killed by the disaster that struck on March 11, 2011.

Many survivors say the unconnected phone line in the town of Otsuchi helps them keep in touch with their loved ones and gives them some solace as they grapple with their grief.

. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato
Sachiko Okawa calls Toichiro, her late husband.

Earlier in the day, Sachiko Okawa calls Toichiro, her late husband to whom she was married for 44 years. She asks him what he has been doing with his days since he was swept away by the tsunami a decade ago.

"I'm lonely," she says finally, her voice cracking, and asks Toichiro to watch over their family. "Bye for now, I'll be back soon."

Okawa says she sometimes feels like she can hear Toichiro on the other end of the line.

"It makes me feel a little better."

. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Left: Okawa calls her late husband with her two grandsons Reo and Daina.
Right: Okawa poses for a photograph with her grandsons.

The 76-year-old, who learned about the hillside garden from friends, often brings her two grandsons here so they can also talk to their grandfather.

"Grandpa, it's been 10 years already and I'm going to be in middle school soon," says Daina, Okawa's 12-year-old grandson, as they all squeeze into the tiny phone box. "There's this new virus that's killing lots of people and that's why we're wearing masks. But we're all doing well."

. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato
Sasaki in his garden.

The phone booth was built by Itaru Sasaki, who owns the garden in Otsuchi, a town some 500 km (310 miles) northeast of Tokyo, a few months before the disaster, after he lost his cousin to cancer.

"There are many people who were not able to say goodbye," he says. "There are families who wish they could have said something at the end, had they known they wouldn't get to speak again."

. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Left: A visitor opens the phone booth.
Right: A disconnected phone.

The phone now attracts thousands of visitors from all over Japan. It is not only used by tsunami survivors, but also by people who have lost relatives to sickness and suicide. Dubbed "the phone of the wind", it recently inspired a film.

A few months ago, Sasaki says he was approached by organisers who want to set up similar phones in Britain and Poland that would allow people to call relatives they had lost in the coronavirus pandemic.

"Just like a disaster, the pandemic came suddenly and when a death is sudden, the grief a family experiences is also much larger," the 76-year-old says.

. Rikuzentakata, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato
The 'Miracle Pine', a tree which is said to symbolise hope and recovery after it survived the 2011 tsunami, stands in Rikuzentakata.

Like thousands of others in devastated coastal communities, Kazuyoshi Sasaki, the councilman, lost not only his wife but many other relatives and friends in the disaster.

. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato
Sasaki reacts as he steps out of the phone booth.

He had known and loved Miwako for most of his life.

He first confessed his love to her when they were both in junior high school, an offer she promptly rejected. It took another 10 years for the two to begin dating. Eventually, they married and had four children.

Sasaki explains to his wife that he recently moved out of temporary housing and that their youngest son is now building a new home where he can live with their grandchildren.

. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato
The phone of the wind.

Before hanging up, Sasaki tells Miwako that a recent health checkup showed he had lost weight.

"I'll take care of myself," he promises her as a strong wind blows outside. "I'm so glad we met, thank you, we're all doing what we can, talk soon."

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Slideshow

A woman from Ofunato who lost her junior high school classmates in a 2011 earthquake and tsunami calls her late friends inside the phone booth.
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

A woman from Ofunato who lost her junior high school classmates in a 2011 earthquake and tsunami calls her late friends inside the phone booth.

A note, hand-written by a visitor, reads: "See you someday! Until then, be fine. Let's talk about memories while drinking. Everyone is fine too. Let's tell a lot of fun stories."
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

A note, hand-written by a visitor, reads: "See you someday! Until then, be fine. Let's talk about memories while drinking. Everyone is fine too. Let's tell a lot of fun stories."

Tomoko Kumagai, 58, who lost her colleague in a 2011 earthquake and tsunami, visits the phone booth.
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Tomoko Kumagai, 58, who lost her colleague in a 2011 earthquake and tsunami, visits the phone booth.

A notebook with messages written by visitors reads: "I came to (Itaru) Sasaki's garden for the first time 15 years ago. You may not remember it. I brought a small child. I heard a lot about the concept of this garden and the roses at the time. I was really looking forward to seeing what happened to this garden from that time. I couldn't come after the disaster, but I suddenly thought about it today and came here again with the 20-year-old son. I will come again when the flowers and vegetation in the garden are overgrown!"
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

A notebook with messages written by visitors reads: "I came to (Itaru) Sasaki's garden for the first time 15 years ago. You may not remember it. I brought a small child. I heard a lot about the concept of this garden and the roses at the time. I was really looking forward to seeing what happened to this garden from that time. I couldn't come after the disaster, but I suddenly thought about it today and came here again with the 20-year-old son. I will come again when the flowers and vegetation in the garden are overgrown!"

A disconnected phone.
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

A disconnected phone.

The poem on the right, reads: "Who will you call, at the phone of the wind, you will talk to them from your heart, if you hear the wind tell them how you feel, surely your thoughts will reach them."
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

The poem on the right, reads: "Who will you call, at the phone of the wind, you will talk to them from your heart, if you hear the wind tell them how you feel, surely your thoughts will reach them."

The phone booth stand.
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

The phone booth stand.

Itaru Sasaki conducts landscaping work in his garden.
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Itaru Sasaki conducts landscaping work in his garden.

Itaru Sasaki takes a break inside his home.
. Otsuchi Town, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Itaru Sasaki takes a break inside his home.

Kazuyoshi Sasaki sits at a table in his home.
. Rikuzentakata, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Kazuyoshi Sasaki sits at a table in his home.

Kazuyoshi Sasaki looks at the formerly residential area which was devastated by the disaster, near the grave of his late wife.
. Rikuzentakata, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Kazuyoshi Sasaki looks at the formerly residential area which was devastated by the disaster, near the grave of his late wife.

Kazuyoshi Sasaki gently strokes his wife Miwako's tomb stone,
. Rikuzentakata, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Kazuyoshi Sasaki gently strokes his wife Miwako's tomb stone,

Footmark prints are seen at a beach which was devastated by the March 11, 2011 earthquake and tsunami disaster.
. Ishinomaki, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

Footmark prints are seen at a beach which was devastated by the March 11, 2011 earthquake and tsunami disaster.

A seawall stands at a coastal area which was devastated by the March 11, 2011 earthquake and tsunami disaster.
. Ishinomaki, Japan. Reuters/Issei Kato

A seawall stands at a coastal area which was devastated by the March 11, 2011 earthquake and tsunami disaster.