A little while ago, my Japanese friend Kei asked if I could help her with something: her ten-year-old daughter Emma had a “world cultures” day at school, and they thought it would be fun to bring along a real foreigner. Meaning: me. And since I still owe Kei my eternal gratitude for everything she helped me with when I moved to Japan (without her I wouldn’t have had electricity, running water, or food during quarantine), of course I said yes.

A bit over a week ago, Kei and I met at Starbucks for a brainstorming session. The teacher had asked if we could show the class a Dutch game. I suggested koekhappen (a cake biting game), but that idea was quickly shot down – anything involving food was forbidden. Then I thought of sjoelen (shuffleboard), but honestly, where on earth do you find a Dutch shuffleboard in Japan on short notice? I started asking around. Dutch café The Lighthouse didn’t have one, but they liked the idea so much they said they might have one made. Apparently, there are only about three Dutch shuffleboards in all of Japan: one in Nagasaki, one in Hirado, and one at the Dutch embassy (or so a friend told me). But that all felt like a bit too much hassle, so Kei and I settled on Pin the Tail on the Donkey. We also threw together a presentation about the flat little country with the tallest people in the world, collected photos of my favorite Dutch foods, and made a list of Japanese words that originated from Dutch. There are quite a few, actually, which traces back to Hirado and Nagasaki; the first Dutch traders lived there starting in 1609.

This morning I arrived at the station at 10 a.m. From there Kei and I walked to the school together. She had spent the past few days painting a donkey on a big sheet of paper and making several tails with double-sided tape – because there was no bulletin board, it became more “Stick the Tail on the Donkey” than “Pin.” We were welcomed by the sign below, and then Emma and a friend came to pick us up and take us to the classroom.

When we walked into the classroom, the kids were still on break. Because there was construction going on outside the school, all the children were playing indoors. A few boys were busy spinning tops in the classroom. Later I learned that traditional games were part of the theme day – hence the request for me to demonstrate one. Emma and her friends were running around wildly, completely hyped for what was about to happen. A little further down the hall, some kids were lying on the floor – doing what exactly, I have no idea.

Maybe I had a slightly too idealized image of Japanese schools: you know, the idea that all children politely clean the classroom, serve each other lunch, and have the whole culture of respect and order drilled into them from a young age. It’s not that the kids were rude or anything. They were just… loud! Like probably any group of ten-year-olds, anywhere in the world. Even during the lesson they were full of energy. And while some students did neatly stand behind their chairs when asking a question, others just yelled theirs across the room.

Right, my presentation. I introduced myself and wrote my name in katakana on the blackboard. The kids were already impressed, but the best part was still to come: I gave almost the entire presentation in Japanese. Every now and then Kei jumped in to explain something, like the Dutch expression “Je bent toch niet van suiker?!” (“You’re not made of sugar, are you?”)

I showed them photos of Amsterdam (“Since we don’t have earthquakes in the Netherlands, you see a lot of beautiful old buildings”), talked about my favorite food (roti – a great segue into explaining that the Netherlands has many cultures), the flag, windmills, and cycling in the rain. Emma had brought her Miffy plushie, so I talked about that too. We went through the list of Japanese words with Dutch origins, like fōku (fork), supoito (syringe), and my favorite: morumotto (marmot – though ironically it actually means guinea pig).

The kids were allowed to ask questions, which gave me the chance to tell them about the legend of Hansje Brinker and his finger in the dijk (at which point one child enthusiastically shouted “Van Dijk!” across the room – still no idea where he got that from). They also wanted to know if smartphones are allowed in Dutch classrooms, and which Dutch video games I used to play. I felt about ninety years old when I had to explain that smartphones didn’t exist yet in my childhood, but that people did at one point get so obsessed with Tamagotchis that schools banned them. When I said – thinking it would be relatable – that I used to play on the Super Famicom (the Japanese name for the Super Nintendo), the whole class stared at me blankly. “What’s a Famicom, miss?” Oh god. The retirement home is calling. “Uh… kind of like a Nintendo Switch!” Thankfully, that they understood.

Then it was time for the most chaotic part of the day: Pin the Tail on the Donkey. For an educational twist, Kei and I decided the kids had to shout the directions in Dutch. On the board I drew four arrows and wrote links, rechts, omhoog and omlaag. The first child put on a sleep mask with anime eyes (blindfolds are sooo 1988), spun around a few times, and got started. The class was screaming directions so loudly (and all at once) that it’s a miracle the tail ended up anywhere near the donkey’s butt. A few more kids followed, and of course it was peak comedy every time a tail landed in a completely ridiculous spot.

Afterwards, one girl came up to me. In Japanese, she asked how tall I was. “184 centimeters,” I said. “Wow!” she replied. All in all, I think the lesson was a success. Around noon, Kei and I walked back to the station. I took a train to a Starbucks a few stops away – the same one where we had planned this whole event. This time I sat there alone, taking a moment to recover. I could never be a full-time teacher – way too intense. But it was really fun!