Isabella Onou laughs when asked how her family back in Romania reacted after she first confessed her unusual profession.
“They were half amused, half ‘wow’,” she says, her eyes making a bashful upward roll. “Which is natural. I’m still a bit ‘half wow’ myself.”
Onou is a member of what is known as Japan’s “flower and willow world”, a sisterhood of highly trained entertainers who are variously referred to as geisha, geigi and geiko. She became fascinated by this quintessentially Japanese occupation when she first came here 12 years ago. Qualified in dressmaking, Onou was initially intrigued with the geisha’s elaborate attire and the elegant dances they perform. She also was happy to discover that some of the stereotypes she had read about in books – especially that of geisha having an established role in Japan’s sex industry – were part of a wider set of cliches about Japan.
A few years later while working in a friend’s sushi restaurant in Numazu, Shizuoka prefecture, Onou caught the eye of a customer. That customer’s name was Kumi, a third-generation geisha whose mother and sister run an okiya (geisha house) in nearby Izu-Nagaoka.
“She showed a sense of refinement that many Japanese seem to have forgotten, and I thought she would be a valuable addition to our team,” Kumi recalls of that first meeting with Onou. “Many people have commented that she is more Japanese than most Japanese.”
Initially Onou shied away from Kumi’s offer to enter the okiya. She was unsure whether she would be welcomed into a world that has had little foreign representation over its 400-year history and one that is notoriously demanding and protocol-driven.
“At first I had a complex,” says Onou, who, in time-honoured fashion declines to reveal her age. “I was worried that they wouldn’t warm to me, that people would say geisha should be Japanese, not foreigners.”
To help assuage those fears, Kumi agreed to become the Romanian’s onee-san (literally “older sister”, but in geisha parlance used to mean “mentor”). With some further persuasion, Onou embarked on a journey that few Japanese nationals dare try. She began by learning the basics for acceptance into the sisterhood. She was required to learn traditional dances and musical instruments, such as the three-stringed shamisen, and minyo folk songs, which she practices.
She had to change the way she walked, to accommodate the restrictive kimono. She replaced her normally coloquial Japanese with keigo (polite language). She was also forced to alter her way of thinking, she says.
“Europeans are passionate and express their emotions. Now I had to control those emotions and maintain the same level of calmness whatever I felt inside. There are many rules and mores you must follow – it’s like a microcosm of the Japan I first fell in love with.”
Onou’s love of Japan began in her teens when she happened upon numerous books about the country, including James Clavell’s classic Shogun.
It was a time, she recalls, when her homeland was experiencing huge changes during the last years of Romania’s own ruling shogun, Nicolae Ceausescu, and his communist government. Her father worked in a hotel. Her mother worked in a textile factory whose products were exported worldwide, including to Japan. She obtained qualifications in dressmaking and developed a fascination for traditional clothing such as kimono, which she has also had some success in making.
Last spring, Onou passed a test that confirmed her as a full-fledged geisha, making her just one of two officially recognised foreign geisha in Japan.
According to experts, geisha must be registered with a recognised kenban (geisha office) in order to be officially considered a part of the sisterhood. Onou’s fellow foreign geisha is a Ukranian national based in Nagoya, says Kyoto-based geisha expert Peter MacIntosh. “There are others claiming to be geisha, but without the backing of a kenban they are basically impostors.”
Onou’s official recognition was sealed when upon entering the Izu-Nagaoka kenban she was given her own professional name – Fukutaro, which, she says, comes from the name of a confectionary sold at a shrine in nearby Mishima.
“It’s also a man’s name, but in the geisha world this is thought to be lucky,” she says. Since her induction, Onou has been in high demand. People have travelled from far and wide to see her, one group of 30 venturing from Hamamatsu, more than a three-hour drive away.
“I was shocked when I was told that it was me they wanted. But at the same time I thought: ‘This is what makes the struggle and pain worthwhile’.”
That pain is something experienced by many geisha, she says, and is the result of many hours spent serving and entertaining guests sitting in the time-honoured seiza position, with legs tucked under her backside. Onou subsequently has endured serious problems with her legs – serious enough for her doctor and family to urge her to quit. Yet, she says her love of the job and respect for her “sisters” gives her strength to fight on.
“Despite the glamorous image, it’s hard, but I feel extremely lucky to have been given this chance. It’s like a dream come true.”