Every year in August, a Japanese university rents out our site and our services. Twenty Japanese undergraduates descend upon the center with their faculty supervisor for a crash course in rainforest ecology. They come armed with boundless enthusiasm, trigger happy fingers on digital cameras (to the disappointment of stereotype bashers everywhere), a smattering of English, and an excellent sense of humor.
At first, I didn’t know what to expect from the Japanese students. We received their student photos in advance to assist with learning their names, and every single one of them looked like a prison mug shot.
But the reality could not have been more different. The students were enthusiastic and incredibly fun to hang out with. They tried to teach us Japanese as we tried to teach them science. Hilarity usually ensued.
At first, I didn’t know what to expect from the Japanese students. We received their student photos in advance to assist with learning their names, and every single one of them looked like a prison mug shot.
But the reality could not have been more different. The students were enthusiastic and incredibly fun to hang out with. They tried to teach us Japanese as we tried to teach them science. Hilarity usually ensued.
One afternoon, Tim, our plant ecology faculty, and I were taking the students on a botanical walk through Wongabel forest, an intact Mabi rainforest fragment not far from the center. We walked through the rainforest while Tim highlighted certain tree species, giving interesting tidbits about their ecology, function, and uses. Several times, he picked up a fallen rainforest fruit from the ground, such as a candlenut or Davidson plum, and then gave it to me to hold while what seemed like the entire group took several pictures each.
modelling black bean seeds
Halfway through the walk, Tim stooped to pick up a walnut-sized fruit and, holding it up to the students, said, “This is a quandong seed, from the quandong tree.”
The students exchanged startled looks of pure glee. Surpressed giggles snuck out from behind hands and pursed lips.
“Condom tree?” one brave student asked in accented English. Tim’s eyebrows shot up.
“No no! Quan-dong,” Tim tried to clarify. He then pointed to a conveniently placed plaque next to the trail which gave the species name for the quandong. As the students saw the name in writing, there were several “ohh,” noises and, one sensed, a bit of disappointment.
As we proceeded to move through the dense green forest, Tim pointed to the ridges on the quandong seed and said to me, “Look, this one’s ribbed.”
The students exchanged startled looks of pure glee. Surpressed giggles snuck out from behind hands and pursed lips.
“Condom tree?” one brave student asked in accented English. Tim’s eyebrows shot up.
“No no! Quan-dong,” Tim tried to clarify. He then pointed to a conveniently placed plaque next to the trail which gave the species name for the quandong. As the students saw the name in writing, there were several “ohh,” noises and, one sensed, a bit of disappointment.
As we proceeded to move through the dense green forest, Tim pointed to the ridges on the quandong seed and said to me, “Look, this one’s ribbed.”
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