Every Thursday at 4 p.m., a big storm comes and whips around my house with enough force to rattle the walls, loosen fixtures and send things crashing onto the floor. The name of the storm is Nami-chan and she's 4 years old.
Big Storm, as I call Nami-chan, is the island's exhibitionist. "I just can't keep clothes on her!" wails her mother, chasing Nami-chan around my living room in circles while waving a pair of bloomers in the air.
My task, every Thursday, is to teach English to Big Storm. Since naked English is not my forte, I sit down and wait until Nami-chan loses some wind, collapses in a heap of giggles, and her mother wrestles the bloomers back on.