A Life Working With Bashofu
Ms. Toshiko Taira
Birth year：1920
Birth place：Ogimi Village
My childhood in Kijoka
I was born in Kijoka, Ogimi Village. All the people of Kijoka were involved in making bashofu (banana fiber cloth). My family has been promoting the spread of bashofu since my grandfather and father’s generation. My mother did not go out to work in the fields, but was constantly weaving bashofu instead. I grew up listening to the sound of the loom as if it were a lullaby, and from an early age, I helped my mother with spinning. When I was ten years old, I started weaving on a loom. But I was still too short to reach the loom with my feet, so I just adjusted the height with a board. I didn’t weave with basho thread but with cotton thread. Basho thread breaks easily so I chose cotton. By the time I was in the fifth grade of elementary school, I was able to weave my own kimono and also wove one for an older female relative. In my first year of the upper course of elementary school, I wove a kasuri (splash pattern) kimono for my mother. After graduating following my second year, I helped my mother weave bashofu.
Returning home from working in mainland Japan
After a while, I began working in Shikoku and Tokyo. When I was working in Tokyo, my father came to take me back to Okinawa because there was no one to work at home. I immediately packed my belongings and returned to Kijoka. Every day, I worked as a member of a youth group and took care of the families of soldiers who had gone to battle. I was so busy, doing things like collecting firewood, that I could not do any housework for my own family. In the meantime, in 1944, a teacher from a youth school visited our house. Maybe he had already chosen me. He said he must send out thirty women from Ogimi Village and asked me to join the Women’s Volunteer Corps without telling my father. I gladly decided to work in a munitions factory on mainland Japan. We departed from Naha Port on March 30. Five people from Nago and thirty people from Nakijin, about 120 people, were mobilized to go. The ship made its way through the islands and arrived in Kagoshima on the ninth day.
To the factory in Kurashiki
Then we moved on without being told where we were going, and arrived in Kurashiki, Okayama Prefecture. That day was April 20, and we were welcomed under the cherry blossoms in full bloom. At the factory, there was already a welcoming ceremony going on, led by the president. “The Women’s Volunteer Corps have arrived, crossing the line of death,” they said. Then, at the training factory, we received practical training for one month. We were given hammers, cloth headbands, and work clothes. Every day, when we went from the dormitory to the factory, we sang the volunteer corps’ songs and marched as we went. Since we came from Okinawa under these circumstances, we did not want to be called a disgrace to Okinawa in any way. At the time, Okinawans were discriminated against so much that no one would bathe after Okinawans had taken a bath.
Learning to weave after the end of the war
In June 1945, we were told by the plant manager at the memorial service that Okinawa surrendered. On August 15th, there was a broadcast announcing the end of the war. President Ohara said to us that those who had relatives could leave with them, or they could stay here (at the spinning factory). He gave all of us a savings passbook in which 200 to 300 yen had been deposited. The Okinawa volunteer corps were disbanded, and about sixty people including myself remained at the factory. We were then transferred to a spinning factory which was in operation.
One day after two months had passed, President Ohara told me that he wanted to preserve Okinawan culture here in Kurashiki, and asked us if there was anything he could do to help. I replied that I couldn’t do pottery or dyeing, but I used to help my mother make bashofu in my hometown. “That’s great you can weave. We’ve also got Mr. Tonomura,” he said. At that time, president Ohara was the director of Kurashiki Museum of Folkcraft and had been working to support Kurashiki’s folk art activities, following the footsteps of his father. He consulted Mr. Muneyoshi Yanagi, who was involved in the folk art movement. With the aim of “rebuilding Okinawa’s culture,” he included it in the business plan at a time when the company was struggling to even rebuilding itself. He invited Mr. Kichinosuke Tonomura of the Japan Folk Art Association to join the company. I learned techniques such as soshikiori (criss-cross pattern weaving) from Mr. Tonomura. “Weaving comes from the heart, and your heart is reflected in the weave,” he would always tell us. He taught me not only the techniques but also the necessary mindset for weaving.
Departure from Okayama
In 1946, I was to return to Okinawa and at the time I had mixed feelings about it. The company prepared a lot of things for us, so we were free to do what we wanted. We were paid a salary, meals were provided, as well as a dormitory, so we were able to live without any inconveniences. So, I felt terrible about leaving. Many Okinawans living in the plant and Okayama area came to Kurashiki Station to see us off. President Ohara, Mr. Tonomura, chief and executives of the company were also among them. “Even if you go back to Okinawa, we want you to protect and nurture bashofu and Okinawan textiles,” they murmured to us as we were leaving. Hearing these words, I was filled with gratitude and bowed repeatedly as I said goodbye to everyone. I boarded a ship from Ujina Port in Hiroshima and landed at Kubasaki. When I arrived in Naha, what I witnessed was a burnt-out land as far as the eye could see. There were tent houses everywhere. We got on the truck and headed back to our hometown. The scenery of Okinawa that I saw on the way there was very nostalgic with its blue ocean and green mountains.
To my hometown of Kijoka
When I came back to Kijoka, the coastline had changed. Tents and thatched-roof houses lined the beach, and many houses in the village had been burned down. As soon as I arrived at our house, I tried to pray at the Buddhist altar, but when I saw the tablets, I felt something was wrong. The tablet that used to be there had been replaced with old ones. We had a large Chinese style tablet in our house. When I asked my family about it, they told me that there were American soldiers stationed at Kijoka Elementary School and that the tablet was displayed in the captain’s room. Many things in the house were missing due to the chaos of the war, such as the transoms, alcove decorations, and storm doors. My house had been rebuilt in 1941, and parts such as the storm doors should have all been there, but those new storm doors had been removed and replaced with old ones. When I looked inside the takakura (elevated warehouse), I found a pile of valuable lacquerware.
Bashofu revival after war
At the time, the villagers were working for the military. They would leave on Mondays on a U.S. military truck, and return on Saturdays. Basho fields from every house in the village were gone. The U.S. military had burned down the basho fields because they were a source of malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Even so, the buds of the basho soon appeared, and the basho had just begun to grow in the house. At that time, there were no big fields and we could not weave bashofu yet. Instead, they untied tents, gloves and socks and wove with the threads. Each family in the village had looms and tools for weaving. The loom in our house was used by my aunt. In the takakura were weaving tools. We used to have a lot of silkworms in our house, so there were silk threads kept in the ceiling. My mother took them out and made yarn from cotton to make textiles. I didn’t want to just use plain fabrics, so I dyed them with Miyako dye and fukugi.
Reconstruction and challenge of bashofu making
Tools called soko (heddle) were soaked in a typhoon, so I wanted to find a way to make them somehow. My aunt did not know how to make them, but she had one and gave it to me. I used that heddle as a model to make my own. There was a tool called osa (reed), and I picked out all the old ones. There are also weaving tools called hi (shuttle) and shinshi (temple). I made temples out of pig bones. I used my creativity in this way to make the tools. It was not until some time later that I was able to try my hand at making bashofu. I was able to weave bashofu, but compared to the experienced weavers, I was no better than a child. At any rate, I made sure that the bashofu I wove was ready for exhibition. I wanted to use the thread my mother had in any way that could, to make bashofu, like dying the fabric with a plant called “sharinbai.” Anyway, I challenged myself to make new textiles. My mother’s thread was not enough, and since there was a lot of basho thread in Noha village close to Kijoka, I requested to get some. I used good quality thread for weaving bashofu, and poor quality thread for my own use. So I just kept on buying thread that way. At that time, even a plain piece of fabric cost 600 in B yen (U.S. military scrip). Enough thread to make a single piece of clothing cost just 200 yen. When we had enough basho yarn, we made men’s hitoeobi (single obi). This was the first thing I made, and then I used the remaining yarn to make a cloth to put under the vase. I asked the people of Kijoka to make them and spread word about them. We made obi belts, and with the leftover kasuri, (fabric with splash patterns) we made noren (split curtains) and letter racks. It was very well received by the Americans. Some people heard about it, so our products were sold at the airport store as souvenirs. At that time, the U.S. military was stationed in Okuma, Kunigami Village and some people came to visit from Kadena Air Base. I also asked the people of Kijoka to do some work. I made my own calculations of how long it would take me to do the work and paid everyone for their time. I tried to sell bashofu for 10-20% more than if I sold it to a middliman. We also learned how to price them for actual sale. We negotiated to pay as much as possible to the people involved in making bashofu, including the cost of space.
A message for young people
I believe that young people today are educated and knowledgeable and have all the right environment. That’s why I would like to tell them to think not only about themselves, do solid work and leave it behind for future generations and how they can pass the baton.
In 1974, Kijoka’s bashofu was nationally designated as an Important Intangible Cultural Property. Ms. Toshiko Taira became the chairperson of the Kijoka Bashofu Preservation Association and devoted herself to the promotion of bashofu and the fostering of future generations. In recognition of her achievements, she was designated as a holder of Important Intangible Cultural Property (Living National Treasure of Japan) in 2000.
My childhood in Kijoka
I was born in Kijoka, Ogimi Village. All the people of Kijoka were involved in making bashofu (banana fiber cloth). My family has been promoting the spread of bashofu since my grandfather and father’s generation. My mother did not go out to work in the fields, but was constantly weaving bashofu instead. I grew up listening to the sound of the loom as if it were a lullaby, and from an early age, I helped my mother with spinning. When I was ten years old, I started weaving on a loom. But I was still too short to reach the loom with my feet, so I just adjusted the height with a board. I didn’t weave with basho thread but with cotton thread. Basho thread breaks easily so I chose cotton. By the time I was in the fifth grade of elementary school, I was able to weave my own kimono and also wove one for an older female relative. In my first year of the upper course of elementary school, I wove a kasuri (splash pattern) kimono for my mother. After graduating following my second year, I helped my mother weave bashofu.
Returning home from working in mainland Japan
After a while, I began working in Shikoku and Tokyo. When I was working in Tokyo, my father came to take me back to Okinawa because there was no one to work at home. I immediately packed my belongings and returned to Kijoka. Every day, I worked as a member of a youth group and took care of the families of soldiers who had gone to battle. I was so busy, doing things like collecting firewood, that I could not do any housework for my own family. In the meantime, in 1944, a teacher from a youth school visited our house. Maybe he had already chosen me. He said he must send out thirty women from Ogimi Village and asked me to join the Women’s Volunteer Corps without telling my father. I gladly decided to work in a munitions factory on mainland Japan. We departed from Naha Port on March 30. Five people from Nago and thirty people from Nakijin, about 120 people, were mobilized to go. The ship made its way through the islands and arrived in Kagoshima on the ninth day.
To the factory in Kurashiki
Then we moved on without being told where we were going, and arrived in Kurashiki, Okayama Prefecture. That day was April 20, and we were welcomed under the cherry blossoms in full bloom. At the factory, there was already a welcoming ceremony going on, led by the president. “The Women’s Volunteer Corps have arrived, crossing the line of death,” they said. Then, at the training factory, we received practical training for one month. We were given hammers, cloth headbands, and work clothes. Every day, when we went from the dormitory to the factory, we sang the volunteer corps’ songs and marched as we went. Since we came from Okinawa under these circumstances, we did not want to be called a disgrace to Okinawa in any way. At the time, Okinawans were discriminated against so much that no one would bathe after Okinawans had taken a bath.
Learning to weave after the end of the war
In June 1945, we were told by the plant manager at the memorial service that Okinawa surrendered. On August 15th, there was a broadcast announcing the end of the war. President Ohara said to us that those who had relatives could leave with them, or they could stay here (at the spinning factory). He gave all of us a savings passbook in which 200 to 300 yen had been deposited. The Okinawa volunteer corps were disbanded, and about sixty people including myself remained at the factory. We were then transferred to a spinning factory which was in operation.
One day after two months had passed, President Ohara told me that he wanted to preserve Okinawan culture here in Kurashiki, and asked us if there was anything he could do to help. I replied that I couldn’t do pottery or dyeing, but I used to help my mother make bashofu in my hometown. “That’s great you can weave. We’ve also got Mr. Tonomura,” he said. At that time, president Ohara was the director of Kurashiki Museum of Folkcraft and had been working to support Kurashiki’s folk art activities, following the footsteps of his father. He consulted Mr. Muneyoshi Yanagi, who was involved in the folk art movement. With the aim of “rebuilding Okinawa’s culture,” he included it in the business plan at a time when the company was struggling to even rebuilding itself. He invited Mr. Kichinosuke Tonomura of the Japan Folk Art Association to join the company. I learned techniques such as soshikiori (criss-cross pattern weaving) from Mr. Tonomura. “Weaving comes from the heart, and your heart is reflected in the weave,” he would always tell us. He taught me not only the techniques but also the necessary mindset for weaving.
Departure from Okayama
In 1946, I was to return to Okinawa and at the time I had mixed feelings about it. The company prepared a lot of things for us, so we were free to do what we wanted. We were paid a salary, meals were provided, as well as a dormitory, so we were able to live without any inconveniences. So, I felt terrible about leaving. Many Okinawans living in the plant and Okayama area came to Kurashiki Station to see us off. President Ohara, Mr. Tonomura, chief and executives of the company were also among them. “Even if you go back to Okinawa, we want you to protect and nurture bashofu and Okinawan textiles,” they murmured to us as we were leaving. Hearing these words, I was filled with gratitude and bowed repeatedly as I said goodbye to everyone. I boarded a ship from Ujina Port in Hiroshima and landed at Kubasaki. When I arrived in Naha, what I witnessed was a burnt-out land as far as the eye could see. There were tent houses everywhere. We got on the truck and headed back to our hometown. The scenery of Okinawa that I saw on the way there was very nostalgic with its blue ocean and green mountains.
To my hometown of Kijoka
When I came back to Kijoka, the coastline had changed. Tents and thatched-roof houses lined the beach, and many houses in the village had been burned down. As soon as I arrived at our house, I tried to pray at the Buddhist altar, but when I saw the tablets, I felt something was wrong. The tablet that used to be there had been replaced with old ones. We had a large Chinese style tablet in our house. When I asked my family about it, they told me that there were American soldiers stationed at Kijoka Elementary School and that the tablet was displayed in the captain’s room. Many things in the house were missing due to the chaos of the war, such as the transoms, alcove decorations, and storm doors. My house had been rebuilt in 1941, and parts such as the storm doors should have all been there, but those new storm doors had been removed and replaced with old ones. When I looked inside the takakura (elevated warehouse), I found a pile of valuable lacquerware.
Bashofu revival after war
At the time, the villagers were working for the military. They would leave on Mondays on a U.S. military truck, and return on Saturdays. Basho fields from every house in the village were gone. The U.S. military had burned down the basho fields because they were a source of malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Even so, the buds of the basho soon appeared, and the basho had just begun to grow in the house. At that time, there were no big fields and we could not weave bashofu yet. Instead, they untied tents, gloves and socks and wove with the threads. Each family in the village had looms and tools for weaving. The loom in our house was used by my aunt. In the takakura were weaving tools. We used to have a lot of silkworms in our house, so there were silk threads kept in the ceiling. My mother took them out and made yarn from cotton to make textiles. I didn’t want to just use plain fabrics, so I dyed them with Miyako dye and fukugi.
Reconstruction and challenge of bashofu making
Tools called soko (heddle) were soaked in a typhoon, so I wanted to find a way to make them somehow. My aunt did not know how to make them, but she had one and gave it to me. I used that heddle as a model to make my own. There was a tool called osa (reed), and I picked out all the old ones. There are also weaving tools called hi (shuttle) and shinshi (temple). I made temples out of pig bones. I used my creativity in this way to make the tools. It was not until some time later that I was able to try my hand at making bashofu. I was able to weave bashofu, but compared to the experienced weavers, I was no better than a child. At any rate, I made sure that the bashofu I wove was ready for exhibition. I wanted to use the thread my mother had in any way that could, to make bashofu, like dying the fabric with a plant called “sharinbai.” Anyway, I challenged myself to make new textiles. My mother’s thread was not enough, and since there was a lot of basho thread in Noha village close to Kijoka, I requested to get some. I used good quality thread for weaving bashofu, and poor quality thread for my own use. So I just kept on buying thread that way. At that time, even a plain piece of fabric cost 600 in B yen (U.S. military scrip). Enough thread to make a single piece of clothing cost just 200 yen. When we had enough basho yarn, we made men’s hitoeobi (single obi). This was the first thing I made, and then I used the remaining yarn to make a cloth to put under the vase. I asked the people of Kijoka to make them and spread word about them. We made obi belts, and with the leftover kasuri, (fabric with splash patterns) we made noren (split curtains) and letter racks. It was very well received by the Americans. Some people heard about it, so our products were sold at the airport store as souvenirs. At that time, the U.S. military was stationed in Okuma, Kunigami Village and some people came to visit from Kadena Air Base. I also asked the people of Kijoka to do some work. I made my own calculations of how long it would take me to do the work and paid everyone for their time. I tried to sell bashofu for 10-20% more than if I sold it to a middliman. We also learned how to price them for actual sale. We negotiated to pay as much as possible to the people involved in making bashofu, including the cost of space.
A message for young people
I believe that young people today are educated and knowledgeable and have all the right environment. That’s why I would like to tell them to think not only about themselves, do solid work and leave it behind for future generations and how they can pass the baton.
In 1974, Kijoka’s bashofu was nationally designated as an Important Intangible Cultural Property. Ms. Toshiko Taira became the chairperson of the Kijoka Bashofu Preservation Association and devoted herself to the promotion of bashofu and the fostering of future generations. In recognition of her achievements, she was designated as a holder of Important Intangible Cultural Property (Living National Treasure of Japan) in 2000.