Here again is my memorable experience in Okayama, Japan exactly 6 years ago where I had a rare chance to see Men's naked festival. Whenever I recall the memory of that particular night, I can't help myself not to grin. I don't think I can witness this festival next month though I am in Japan. I wish I could.
YOUNG and old men, laughing and waving at the crowd, marched in rows of four as they shouted in unison, “Washoi! Washoi!”
“It’s to raise their spirits,” said my interpreter.
Alongside thousands of Japanese and international tourists, I watched in bewilderment as Saidaiji, a town in Okayama prefecture in Japan, transformed into a hectic party on the eve of Hadaka Matsuri (Naked man’s festival) that falls each year on the third Saturday in February, the coldest month in Japan.
When my Japanese friend invited me to attend, I was ambivalent. Coming from Myanmar, where it is taboo to discuss let alone display nudity, I was overwhelmed with embarrassment. But my curiosity – and fear that I might never again have such an opportunity – got the better of me. I decided to go.
What will they do? Why? Are they wearing nothing? I thought.
My worries diminished only when I found a poster with a photograph of participants clad in a loincloth.
“OK, that isn’t so bad,” I thought. “It is similar to what Sumo wrestlers wear.”
Television crews and domestic and international media representatives collected at the Saidaiji Kannonin Temple, which was choked with the smoke of scented sticks and brightened by candles, on the evening of February 21. In the temple grounds girls played the taiko (Japanese drums).
Traditional food stalls lined either side of a lane leading to the temple’s main entrance. It looked similar to our pagoda festivals where vendors sell various Myanmar foods.
“Washoi. Washoi,” beaming with excitement, I repeated the slogan with the crowd.
Some of the young participants, dressed in loincloth, posed with me when I pulled out my camera. Others shivered in the chilly air dropping to 10 degrees Celsius.
My friend and I entered a hall where the participants were changing their clothes.
Their faces turned red with excitement and sake (Japanese alcoholic beverage of fermented rice).
“They drink a lot of sake to protect themselves against chilly weather and to hide their embarrassment,” my interpreter said.
She also explained that many Japanese believe that those who participate in the festival will have good fortune in the coming year.
The festival is supposed to bring a good harvest, peace and a good spring.
I watched men help their friends tie the ten-metre long piece of white cloth around their waists. The cloth must be tied tight, and some of them cried out in pain.
After the loincloth was correctly positioned they ran to ponds near the temple grounds to purify their bodies.
“It’s to raise their spirits,” said my interpreter.
Alongside thousands of Japanese and international tourists, I watched in bewilderment as Saidaiji, a town in Okayama prefecture in Japan, transformed into a hectic party on the eve of Hadaka Matsuri (Naked man’s festival) that falls each year on the third Saturday in February, the coldest month in Japan.
When my Japanese friend invited me to attend, I was ambivalent. Coming from Myanmar, where it is taboo to discuss let alone display nudity, I was overwhelmed with embarrassment. But my curiosity – and fear that I might never again have such an opportunity – got the better of me. I decided to go.
What will they do? Why? Are they wearing nothing? I thought.
My worries diminished only when I found a poster with a photograph of participants clad in a loincloth.
“OK, that isn’t so bad,” I thought. “It is similar to what Sumo wrestlers wear.”
Television crews and domestic and international media representatives collected at the Saidaiji Kannonin Temple, which was choked with the smoke of scented sticks and brightened by candles, on the evening of February 21. In the temple grounds girls played the taiko (Japanese drums).
Traditional food stalls lined either side of a lane leading to the temple’s main entrance. It looked similar to our pagoda festivals where vendors sell various Myanmar foods.
“Washoi. Washoi,” beaming with excitement, I repeated the slogan with the crowd.
Some of the young participants, dressed in loincloth, posed with me when I pulled out my camera. Others shivered in the chilly air dropping to 10 degrees Celsius.
My friend and I entered a hall where the participants were changing their clothes.
Their faces turned red with excitement and sake (Japanese alcoholic beverage of fermented rice).
“They drink a lot of sake to protect themselves against chilly weather and to hide their embarrassment,” my interpreter said.
She also explained that many Japanese believe that those who participate in the festival will have good fortune in the coming year.
The festival is supposed to bring a good harvest, peace and a good spring.
I watched men help their friends tie the ten-metre long piece of white cloth around their waists. The cloth must be tied tight, and some of them cried out in pain.
After the loincloth was correctly positioned they ran to ponds near the temple grounds to purify their bodies.
A young man who has participated in the festival four times told me that men usually give their used loincloths to their wives for a successful childbirth or their children for good health.
The temple and its compound began to fill with tens of thousands of participants and spectators. It was so congested that it felt like the heat of the bodies was generating smoke in the room.
“If I were not sprinkling enough water, they might get injured because of the friction among them,” said a member of the board of trustees as he tossed cups of water over the crowd.
Security guards told participants to not push each other, but some participants fainted and medical teams carried them out on stretchers.
The light suddenly went out at midnight and everything was dark except the blaze inside the temple. A priest threw two shingi (sacred sticks) from a window of the temple into the melee.
It is believed that the men who successfully clutch the sticks are the lucky men of the year. Their happiness is promised for the whole year.
“I was right in the middle of the temple stuffed with thousands of participants for more than one hour,” said Lars Nicolaysen, a journalist from the German news agency, Deutsche Presse-Agentur, who participated in the event.
“I got separated from my group. It was so crowded that I could not breathe properly and even a drop of water was vital for me.
“When I fell down I had to raise my arms in the air in order to snatch or grab someone near. Otherwise I would have been stepped on.
“I thought I was going to die in the next 10 minutes and just wanted to stop everything.
“I was about to touch a stick when I was hit, and my lip bled,” he said, pointing to his lower lip, which was swollen and bruised.
“As soon as it finished and the participants scattered away, I had a great relief. But my pain had not faded away because of the tight loincloth, which had hampered my breathing.
“It was so great but it was really hard,” he said shrugging his shoulders.
The fierce struggle in the dark was the climax of the festival. Shrewd participants performed clever, premeditated teamwork such as linking arms to keep others out of their circle.
The lucky man of the night was carried on his friends’ shoulders to a room where the media waited for him to erect the sacred sticks in a sand-filled box.
“This is the first time for me to participate in this event. As soon as I got the stick, I hid it from being snatched by others. My team let me go out of the temple,” he said.
It was about 2am when my friend and I left the temple for our hotel.
I never did get to see naked men, but it was a memorable experience nonetheless.
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