The day my martial arts sensei suggested I wear armour in a parade, I was crushed. I wanted to go to the festival in a flowing, dainty kimono like the other girls. "You'll be great", sensei said. He reassured me, "You are just the right size for the armour and helmet, and you can wear the full mask." In his avuncular way, he patted me on the back, and told me I could carry his big tachi, a gold hilted ornamental sword.
I was thrilled to be a part of the festival representing the dojo, but I was aprehensive about the big box of pieces that I couldn't yet name, never mind put on.
My "senior" helped lug the heavy boxes into the cultural hall to begin the laborious suiting up. For the occasion, I had a photocopy of armor wearing instructions taken from a samurai history textbook.
Like many traditions in Japan, there is a strict order in which a participant should proceed. First, my training uniform went on as underwear. Second, on go the cotton tabi socks. Third, straw sandals. This is peculiar, I thought, as I tied the greaves around my shins. The moment I stretched to adjust the toe of my tabi socks I understood why -- the greaves are rigid and make it hard to reach to put on the sandals, proving that there are reasons for traditions.
Each piece goes on from bottom to top, armoured apron tied around, arm guard gauntlets laced, breastplate fitted, belt cinched, and swords thrust in the belt. And finally, the helmet and mask. I needed help each step of the way, lacing, securing and even simply hefting each piece onto my petite frame. By the time the helmet and mask went on, all but my eyes could be seen under all that metal plate.
Out in the street, lined up for the warrior parade, the most curious thought came over me. Nobody knows I'm a foreign woman under all this mail. My posture straightened, the armour settled on my shoulders, and I drew my sword at various rallying stations and shouted the battle cry, "Eh, Eh, Oh!" with the best of them.
In the jumbled line of the parade, I followed two willowy maidens in Edo period hairstyles, flowing kimonos and geta. I was so jealous. That was supposed to be me! I bowed deeply and greeted the maidens, and looked up to see the skewed grins of two 20 something men in lipstick and powder. We stared at each other incredulously for what seemed forever, and then we all burst out laughing. I muttered, "Uso!", No way, under my breath, and the boys shouted in English "Crazy! Crazy!" and we continued on with the parade.
Many period festivals later, I proudly suit up by myself. The perverse thrill of suprising spectators will never be as great as the first time with the bearded geisha.
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