Akiko Sugaya wheels a cart through the alley-like streets of eastern Tokyo selling tofu, the protein-rich staple favored in much of Asia.
But delivering soybean curd in all shapes and textures is only a small slice of her mission.
And it’s just that. A mission.
More than simply a vendor of healthy food, she’s also a social conduit who checks on elderly customers as she guides her pink cart, wearing a straw hat and tooting a small brass bugle to signal her arrival.
She knows the habits of many of her customers like family, and they know hers. She’s lost some elderly customers over the years who’ve died alone, which is becoming more common in Japan, which has one of the world’s oldest populations.
“More than once I was the first one to find their bodies,” Sugaya explained, seated in a small store she also runs on a busy shopping street in Tokyo’s Ojima neighborhood.
It’s a largely residential area of small dwellings, layered with occasional strips of sprawling apartment blocks.
“In an area like this, some people just leave their doors unlocked,” Sugaya said. “Or I can get access by asking the landlords.”
Uncollected newspapers and unattended laundry are telltale signs of trouble, easily seen in small houses on the street. But large apartment buildings hide these signs of possible distress.
Sugaya is a savior for many, and the job — she’s been at it for 23 years — has also strengthened her own self-worth. She feels that the job saved her.
She says she was bullied in school and fired from several jobs until she found that delivering high-quality, healthy food also nourished her own mental health and offered value to others.
“Selling tofu on a cart made me think I am OK to be myself,” Sugaya explained. “I used to be repeatedly put down, but through cart-selling I built up my self-esteem.”
“I was still nervous with women around my ages,” she added. “But I felt safe when surrounded by the elderly whose smiles are warm and kind.”
Shinji Saito comes by Sugaya’s shop daily. Saito, who has epilepsy, calls her accepting personality “magical.”
She’s also a link to a time when vendors walked through neighborhoods selling ramen, sweet potatoes, vegetables and other items.
“Delivery of newspapers or tofu, what used to be part of our daily lives, have been replaced by delivery apps or smart phones,” Sugaya said. “One can easily spend a day without having any verbal conversation with others.”
“When you go to a convenience store, you hit a button on a screen and don’t even say hello to anyone. It leaves you empty.”
Sugaya makes her rounds three days per week, a three-hour walk in the afternoon.
Her route twists through maze-like streets, and there are sporadic sales — and frequent conversations. A woman walks from her house to buy tofu, chats about her unruly cat and shows off a strand of wild vine growing in her garden. Another woman reminds Sugaya that cart-selling is a disappearing craft.
“Even when I’m in need of tofu, I tell myself I’d better wait for Ako-chan,” said customer Toshi Niiyama, using Sugaya’s nickname. “We used to have someone coming to sell vegetables, but he stopped coming.”
Sugaya has no such plans to stop.
“I go this way on Mondays, that way on Saturdays and that way on Thursdays,” she explained. “I go even if it’s raining because my customers expect to see me — or just because they want to have a talk.”
