Here we are on a design hunt which brought me right here to the southern island of Amami Oshima.

You know, I've been traveling here to this island since 2006.

And the more I come, honestly, the more I fall in love with this incredible nature,

but most of all, with the people and their way of life centered and connected deeply with their ancestors.

So join me and let's explore together the unique culture passed down for generations

and how the people design their future.

On Design Hunts, we seek out unique, regional designs from around Japan.

Today, I'm on the island of Amami Oshima in Japan's southwest.

This beautiful island, with its coral reefs and sparkling blue seas,

was recognized as a UNESCO World Natural Heritage site in 2021.

Over 80% of the island is covered in subtropical forests of evergreen broadleaf trees,

which are home to a wide variety of endangered and endemic species.

Some call Amami the Galapagos of the East.

Local designs here are infused with an appreciation of the natural world and the deities who inhabit it,

as well as the island's own history.

Join me on a Design Hunt on the deeply spiritual island of Amami Oshima.

Islanders call these roads "kamimichi," or "road of deities."

It's said that their ancestors who became deities would come in from the waves along these roads to visit "Kamiyama,"

the deities' playground.

These "kamimichi" can be found around the island.

This is Tebiro, a small community in the north of Amami Oshima.

There's someone here who can give me insight into one unique aspect of Amami culture.

- Andy, hello!
- Hello, nice to see you!

Welcome!

- What a beautiful view of the sea!
- Isn't it?

- Hello there.
- Hi.

- A pleasure, I'm Andy.
- Nice to meet you.

Is this it?

Yes, I'm giving my friend
a traditional Amami hajichi design.

I'm just in time.

Senda Ayano is a nurse from Amami Oshima.

She also researches the "hajichi" patterns developed by the island's women.

Hajichi are tattoos inked with bundles of needles on the wrists, fingers, and backs of women's hands.

Some islanders call it "hadzuki."

It's an ancient and unique cultural tradition on the Amami islands.

People here say it was a rite to mark a girl's coming of age, and provide protection against evil.

There's a wide variety of hajichi designs, particular to each region.

I'm curious about the meaning that each of these designs conveys.

Senda uses a unique method to create her hajichi patterns.

You don't pierce the skin?

No, this method doesn't.

I'm using "jagua," which comes
from an Amazonian fruit.

- Jagua?
- That's right.

It colors the skin for 10-14 days,
after which the pigment fades.

It's raised quite high.

Yes, it peels off once dry.

The paste seeps into the skin.

After a day it leaves a clear,
indigo pattern.

At first I used henna paste from
India and Africa for the designs.

Then I discovered jagua, which
is a similar hue to hajichi.

Some cultures believe the designs
disappear once your wish comes true.

Interesting.

Hajichi was also believed to
enhance your prayers.

To connect you to the heavens.

I had no idea.

I wanted to reflect
those ideas in my work.

Senda was fascinated by foreign tattoo culture and hajichi.

She practices it alongside her work as a nurse.

She's become quietly famous for her work with locals, friends, and foreign visitors who find her through social media.

- Do you do this often?
- Yes, because I'm a dancer.

Traditional dances really emphasize
the movement of the hands.

- The designs enhance my performance.
- Really?

- They spur me on!
- That's great.

There are so many motifs.

This pattern is a five-star design
called "ichichi-bushi."

I think it looks like a butterfly.

A butterfly?

Yes, something from island lore.

A spouse or parent who passes
returns to you as a butterfly.

Dead souls travel to paradise
beyond the sea.

They take the form of butterflies.

And these finger markings.

They're all different.

Each island has its own version.

But they all signify a forthright heart.

I'm sure there were trends
over the eras too.

I pour joy into my work.

And my desire for people's
dreams to come true.

The fish shape on the thumb is a dugong, which once lived in Amami's waters.

The design expressed concern for men who lived off the sea.

The crosses signify that the wearer is married.

Senda says that northern Amami has many complex and organic designs.

Today, though, hajichi culture has largely vanished from the island.

Pre-war laws against tattoos sparked the custom's slow decline.

But many local women continued to revere hajichi as part of their identity.

They practiced it in secret, and the culture survived.

How did you first come across hajichi?

It was when I worked as a student nurse.

I got to know an elderly female patient.

She had these deep blue lines.

That was the first time I saw it.

It was there, between her deep wrinkles.

It's hard to describe,
but that pattern spoke to me.

- That inspired you.
- It did.

How did it make you feel?

Some women chose to have them done
after it was made illegal.

Apparently women were arrested for it.

They'd have them forcibly burned off
with chemicals.

I admire that determination to practice
hajichi even after it was illegal.

It was an expression of
self-determination and defiance.

I think that aspect of it
appeals to me as well.

Hajichi held a deeply personal meaning for the women of Amami.

Today, Senda creates original designs based on the island's natural landscape.

Flower patterns express a desire for a healthy pregnancy and a happy baby.

It's a tradition that still speaks to Amami Oshima's women.

It's a beautiful May evening.

I'm visiting an old friend and their family on the island for the first time in eight years.

The Kusuda family runs a farm.

Their friends and neighbors come out too.

They all welcome me back with open arms.

After a toast, they begin playing traditional folk music, known as "shimauta," or island songs.

They're sung in the local dialect with a "sanshin" accompaniment.

"It is good to see Andy tonight after so long..."

"The original lyrics celebrate the arrival of ships carrying food

when islanders were suffering from famine caused
by high taxation in the 18th century."

"Today's delightful occasion
fills us with particular joy..."

Everyone joins in, picking up the tempo and singing back and forth.

They call this "uta-asobi" - playing with songs.

Adults and children all join in as a matter of course.

It's a magical experience that has me falling in love with the island all over again.

I adore how island songs continue to be a part of life, handed down through generations.

This stunning kimono is "Oshima tsumugi," a specialty of Amami.

Made entirely from silk, it has an elegant sheen.

A beautifully elaborate pattern of flowers and birds has been painstakingly woven into the fabric.

But Oshima tsumugi is most famous for its chic, but also somehow warm, black color.

It's said that the fabric comes from the town of Tatsugo.

A local dye shop there produces this unique color.

The shop is known for its technical prowess, and dyes a significant portion of the island's Oshima tsumugi.

It's run by second-generation owner and artisan Yukihito Kanai.

He dyes silk threads in liquid made by boiling "yeddo hawthorn," a tree that can be found in abundance around Amami Oshima.

The dye is mixed once a week, and it requires two days of careful preparation.

Kanai carefully soaks the silk threads in the red liquid.

But how does he turn this color into such a rich black?

The answer lies outside, behind the workshop.

He climbs into a pond, and uses his feet to stir up the dirt and mud.

This process is called mud-dyeing, a technique that's unique to Amami.

Kanai carefully and evenly covers every thread.

He checks the coverage, and returns the thread to the mud over and over.

The tannins in the yeddo hawthorn dye react with the rich iron of the Amami mud,

creating this beautiful black hue.

This region has always been marshland.

Amami's thick mud contains large amounts of iron.

Because it rarely touches the air, the iron doesn't rust.

Ponds like this keep the mud covered in a layer of water, maintaining this rust-free resource.

The mountain birdsong makes you aware
of the changing seasons.

We get a few sword-tail newts, too.

They're quite rare.
A sign of very clean water.

If they disappear, it's a sign
people are using too much water.

Nature doesn't belong to us dyers.
Amami just gives us the tools to dye.

The colors of Kanai's designs reflect the richness of the yeddo hawthorn, and of the earth.

He uses the same techniques on T-shirts as well.

One dyed only with bark, one only with mud, and one with both.

It's everyday wear that highlights the beauty of Amami's natural landscape.

The rich black of Oshima tsumugi appears on this cloth bag.

While this handkerchief combines the color with indigo to create a sea and earth pattern.

For the final step of the dyeing process, Kanai washes off the mud in a river.

He says it's the simplest way to wash out the tiny particles of mud.

Everything about the color comes from the natural world.

We're on an island,
vulnerable to typhoons and floods.

I love that it doesn't bend
to its human inhabitants.

I've lived in Tokyo too.
Here, it's different.

Humans must adapt to the island.

The culture that this creates
is truly unique.

That alone makes it precious.

I want to pass this culture on in a simple way
that embraces different perspectives.

Water, wood, and earth.

Life in Amami is deeply rooted in all three of these elements.

Our last stop on the island is in the northern community of Ogasari.

I'm here to meet someone who's legendary for his expertise in shimauta.

That was beautiful!

- Hello!
- I'm Andy, hi.

May I come in?

This is shimauta master Taichi Hiroo - known and loved by the locals as 'Uncle Hiro.'

With him are Nakamura Mizuki and Higo Tomoko - both shimauta teachers here to study under Uncle Hiro.

Is it a big deal that Uncle Hiro
is playing with you today?

I'd say so, yes.

- It's been a while.
- It has.

I see. What do you think
of their performance?

It takes me back. They've improved!

That's worth all the hard work
we've put into practicing!

I saw you both staring at his
finger movements. Very focused.

To check which string, and the timing.

Some wry grimaces too.
Are those mistakes?

Unexpected passages.

There's no sheet music. We learn
by listening, which can be hard.

- I see, you don't use sheet music?
- No.

The introduction changes with the performer.

Uncle teaches us songs only he knows.
I hope to expand my repertoire.

Performance, technique, and lyrics, all passed down by word of mouth - a natural evolution with no right or wrong.

"Our bull is the island's best..."

"Move hands, move feet,
whistle and scatter salt..."

"Our bull is the island's best..."

Amami songs are pitched quite high.

Yes, I don't know why that is.

You use what's called 'uragoe' to sing?

Uragui.

It's a forced sound.

- It's used to heighten emotion?
- Pretty much, yeah.

Shimauta often move swiftly between low and high notes.

Women have long held a respected position in Amami culture -

from hajichi to women-only spirit mediums known as "noro" or "yuta."

One theory suggests that the higher pitch of Amami songs might have served to make male singers sound more like women.

The lyrics and vocal techniques of shimauta are part of Amami's identity.

Even today, they express love for the island, and their fellow islanders.

"The parent crow is about to fly..."

"The child crow cries for food..."

Uncle Hiro has taught for years at the Ogasari Warabe Shimauta Club.

The club opened in 1983.

For much of the early 20th century, the use of Amami's unique dialect was forbidden in school classrooms.

Deeply concerned that the island's culture and language would be lost,

Amami residents banded together to keep them alive.

Just like their predecessors, Uncle Hiro's contemporary students learn by watching.

Students aren't divided based on skill.

Folks of all levels learn side by side.

Shimauta connects everyone on the island, and teaches children about their rich heritage.

This is how locals are protecting Amami's future.

They're raised as island children.
That's the key.

It's not about being good at singing.

Uncle and the teachers
don't say that explicitly.

But I see a lot more as an adult.

The kids just need to have fun
with their friends, eating snacks.

They'll have that memory of dancing
and singing together.

How fun and pleasant it was
to be in that space.

Maybe in 10, 20 years' time
they'll remember all that.

And wonder if they can still sing or dance.

I think that's what all of us
are hoping for.

I hope I can be part of it
for a long time to come.

I feel much closer to the people of Amami after this visit.

An appreciation for their island home and physical connections have shaped Amami's unique culture, and ensured its survival.

I can't wait for my next visit.