When I tried to leave my mark
I am working in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, as a JICA Overseas Cooperation Volunteer.
The other day, I participated in a softball tournament held in "Colonia Okinawa," where many Japanese immigrants live.
In Bolivia, there are settlements established after the war through planned immigration by the Ryukyu government, and they are known locally as "Colonia OKINAWA."
I joined the team from the Okinawa No. 2 settlement, where a fellow volunteer is stationed.
There are three settlements—the first, second, and third—and each sends a youth team and a senior team to compete against one another. It is a battle of pride for every team, a game they cannot afford to lose...
I wore the uniform of the baseball team I belonged to when I worked in Japan, feeling like a hotshot baseball player who had just arrived from Japan.
In Bolivia, soccer is the national sport and enjoys overwhelming popularity; almost no one plays baseball.
Even in parks around the city, children are almost exclusively playing soccer, with basketball being a rare sight.
The results...
・Game 1
No playing opportunity
・Game 2
Entered as a substitute third baseman. Recorded one RBI on a sacrifice fly and reached base on a walk. Had many defensive opportunities as well.
・Game 3 (Semifinal)
Started at third base. In my first at-bat, with the bases loaded, I hit a bases-clearing triple. In my second at-bat, I hit a single. I injured my leg while stealing a base; I managed to get back to the base, but was substituted out for the next defensive inning.
・Game 4 (Final)
No playing opportunity
The team lost in the final and finished as runners-up. Personally, although I achieved good results, the price was high: I suffered a calf muscle tear in my left leg. It has been a week and I still cannot walk normally; I wonder if it will heal.
After the games, a large social gathering was held where, regardless of who we played against, everyone sat in a circle around beer in a spirit of "no side."
We talked with people of various ages and backgrounds, and the languages flying around were Spanish, Japanese, and Uchinaaguchi (Okinawan dialect).
The second-generation immigrants are older and moved to Bolivia as children with their parents, so they speak fluent Japanese. However, for their children and grandchildren, even if they understand Japanese, daily conversation seems to be centered on Spanish.
The sight of Japanese and Spanish flying back and forth during the softball game was interesting, and I felt embarrassed when I was told, "You don't have to force yourself to speak Spanish," while I was trying to speak it. Haha.
Many of the Japanese immigrants who still live in the settlements today make their living through agriculture and seem to fall into the category of being relatively "successful" within Bolivia.
In particular, grains such as soybeans, wheat, and rice account for a large portion of the domestic market share.
I learned at the Immigration Museum in the capital, La Paz, that we can infer that the current life they lead is thanks to the blood, sweat, and tears of the first immigrants.
They must have cleared the farmland and built a solid position through the diligence characteristic of the Japanese.
They know Japanese culture and systems well, and I felt that many of them envy Japanese culture, rules, and the characteristics of the Japanese people.
Perhaps it is closer to admiration than envy...
On the other hand, there were also young people who passionately expressed their own opinions about their country's systems and rules (the inevitable regulations).
Interactions in Okinawa, Bolivia.
I tried to leave my mark, but ended up with a scar instead. Still, it was a lot of fun to connect with their thoughts and perspectives, and I feel like I want to deepen our relationship even more.