Okinawa Culture

Fumi Hokama used to have trouble controlling herself. She threw shoes out of windows because they were made by mere mortals, attacked devils on the street with butcher knives and snipped people's phone lines to stop the babble of the gods. Police took her to a mental hospital, but she escaped. Today, years later, Hokama is well and prosperous, serving the public as a shaman.

Fumi Hokama used to have trouble controlling herself. She threw shoes out of windows because they were made by mere mortals, attacked devils on the street with butcher knives and snipped people's phone lines to stop the babble of the gods. Police took her to a mental hospital, but she escaped. Today, years later, Hokama is well and prosperous, serving the public as a shaman.

Eleven months after an Okinawa Culture Assn. touring group performed at the Japan America Theatre, another sampling of Ryukyu culture turned up Saturday in the same venue. Sponsored by the Japanese government, "Music and Dance From Okinawa" bypassed the aristocratic court dances that had been the glory of the previous troupe in favor of folklore.

As 182,000 U.S. assault troops started ashore, World War II's last big battle began 50 years ago today. The Japanese worked a year, creating 60 miles of underground positions-enough to shelter all 100, 000 defenders. their strategy: a defensive battle to delay U.S. takeover of this key staging point to the Japanese mainland. 'Blowtorch and Corkscrew' A hallmark of fighting on Okinawa was attacks on caves and fortified positions that honeycombed the hills, escarpments and terraces.

Isabella Barone never dreamed that she'd possess more physical and mental vitality at 75 than she did at 50. But then she didn't realize when she signed up for a tai chi chuan class on a whim that eventually she would master the martial art form and become an instructor. "They say tai chi promotes longevity," said Barone, a resident of Sunland. "I guess they're right."

Picking my way over the bumpy dirt road behind the Sakae market, the melancholy strains of a shamisen, barely audible above the hubbub of voices, greet me as I duck under the curtain and slide open the door of the bar/restaurant Urizun. The regulars at the bar scoot over to make room for me on my first night back in Naha. Our host and friend, Tsuchiya Saneyuki, welcomes me back and introduces me to a few people I haven't met before.