A River of Carp in "Little Edo"
The sight of hundreds of colorful carp swimming through the sky is one of the most defining images of spring in Japan, nowhere more enchanting than in Kawagoe.
Known as "Little Edo" for its well-preserved warehouses and narrow alleyways, Kawagoe offers a backdrop that feels suspended in time. A few years ago, I walked beneath the canopy of the shopping arcades where the streets were draped in a river of Koinobori. The carp seemed to dance in the wind, their fabric bodies rippling against the grey sky. It was a surreal spectacle, a silent parade of mythical fish swimming against an invisible current.
In the middle of this vibrant scene, I encountered a group of elementary school students on a field trip, eager to practice their English through cultural exchange. They had set up a station offering traditional workshops: kendama, puzzles, and origami. Seeing the paper, I felt an immediate connection. I had learned to fold basic origami years earlier in Belgium. Yet, in this moment, I was not the teacher. I was the student, ready to learn something new.
The children gathered around, their eyes bright with curiosity. Instead of watching me, they took my hands. With great enthusiasm, they tried to explain the folds to me in English, mixing Japanese words with gestures. "Like this” one would say, pointing to a crease. "Turn, turn" another would encourage, smiling when I struggled with a tricky angle. We sat on a bench under the fluttering carp, the world fading away. There was only the rustle of paper, the soft murmur of their instructions, and the shared focus of our hands. They were teaching me the art of the crane and the frog, their fingers moving with a confidence that belied their young age. In return, I listened, learning not just the folds, but the joy of their effort to connect.
Then came the challenge: the Ninja Star (“Shuriken”). I had never folded this shape before. Step by step, the children guided me through the complex interlocking folds. It wasn't about perfection; it was about the shared journey of discovery. As the paper finally took shape, their faces lit up with the simple pleasure of having taught me something new. When we tossed the star into the air, the group erupted in shared laughter. It was a fleeting moment, but it felt profound. In that exchange, we were just people sharing creativity. The art of folding is a thread that connects my childhood in Belgium to the streets of Japan, bridged by the innocent, determined voices of children.
The Magic of Discovery: Celebrating in Belgium
My own connection to this festival, however, was forged not in isolation, but within the vibrant heart of the Japanese community in Belgium.
I did not grow up in Japan, but I grew up immersed in its spirit. As the son of a Japanese father and a Belgian mother, my childhood was a blend of two worlds. While Koinobori might not have flown above our private house, the magic of Kodomo no Hi came alive during the gatherings organized by Japanese associations and the Japanese School in Brussels.
I remember the excitement of these community events. The halls would be decorated with miniature samurai helmets (”Kabuto”) and armor, explained with a reverence that felt ancient and sacred. We set them up not as toys, but as talismans of protection, surrounded by families who shared our dual heritage. And then, the games. We recreated the atmosphere of a “Japanese matsuri” in these communal spaces. I recall the intense concentration for ”Kingyo Sukui”, the goldfish scooping game. The challenge was the same: catch the fish without tearing the paper. The tension was palpable, followed by the laughter of families.
But it was the origami that truly anchored me. Within these associations, community members and elders taught us to fold cranes, boats, and simple shapes. These were lessons in patience and precision, shared among a community striving to keep a distant culture alive. We learned that a simple square of paper could become anything, just as a child could grow into anything, anywhere in the world.
From Samurai Armor to Modern Hopes
The origins of “Kodomo no Hi” are steeped in the history of the samurai, yet its spirit has evolved to embrace all children, wherever they may be.
Centuries ago, this day was known as ”Tango no Sekku”, a time for warriors to pray for the strength of their sons. Families displayed ”Kabuto” and ”Yoroi”, symbols of protection and courage. The name Tango hints at this martial past, playing on the homophony with ”Shobu” (irises) and ”Shobu” (combat).
In 1948, the holiday was officially renamed ”Kodomo no Hi”, shifting the focus from the warrior to the child, celebrating the happiness of all children and honoring mothers.
Living this tradition in Belgium, within our community, and experiencing it again in Kawagoe, I realized the symbols were not bound by geography. The armor, the carp, the paper stars—they were vessels for a universal desire: the wish for our children to be safe, strong, and happy. Whether in Tokyo, Kawagoe, or Brussels, the message remained the same.
The Symbolism of the Carp: Swimming Upstream. Why the carp? Why this specific fish?
The answer lies in a Chinese legend: a carp that swims upstream against the raging currents of the Dragon Gate waterfall transforms into a dragon.
In Japan, this is a powerful metaphor for perseverance. Life is full of obstacles. Currents pull you back, storms threaten to capsize you. But the carp does not stop. It pushes forward, driven by an inner fire. By hanging ”Koinobori”, parents whisper a wish to the universe: "May you have the courage to face the currents. May you transform into something greater."
For me, growing up in Belgium with Japanese roots, and meeting children in Kawagoe who were eager to teach me a new shape, this message took on a special meaning. It was a reminder that I, too, was a carp swimming in a different river, carrying the hopes of two cultures. It was a call to embrace both my heritage and my environment, to find strength in the fusion of the two.
As I walk through the streets of Kawagoe today, remembering the fluttering carp and the laughter of the children, I am reminded of my childhood in Belgium.
I remember the feeling of the paper scoop, the thrill of the catch, and the quiet pride of my parents and the community. And I remember the ninja star spinning in the air for the very first time—a shape I had never known before, now relearned under the Japanese sky, guided by the gentle, determined voices of children who became my teachers.
“Kodomo no Hi” is more than a holiday. It is a bridge between the past and the future. It connects the samurai of old with the children of today. And for me, it connects the historic streets of Kawagoe with the community halls of Belgium.
In a world that often moves too fast, this festival asks us to pause. To look up at the sky and see the carp swimming. To listen to a child's voice, to fold a piece of paper, and to share a smile. And to wish, with all our hearts, for the courage and perseverance of the next generation. The journey of life is a river. May we all have the strength to swim upstream, no matter where we are.
