A Thousand Miles to Freedom (15 page)

*   *   *

One day, when we no longer expected even the smallest of miracles to occur, the guards came to get us from our confinement area cave, and when we were released, we were shepherded into a military vehicle that transported us across the steppes of Mongolia toward the capital city, Ulan Bator. On the way there, we passed caravans of camels. It was the first time I'd seen these strange animals in real life. We were in the middle of nowhere, and no one knew if we would actually survive this long journey. Luckily, in this empty landscape, we started coming across more and more vehicles. I began to feel hopeful again, and it seemed to me that we were heading toward civilization—much better than being in the steppes. For just a few years in China, I had gotten a taste of city life, after our miserable life on the farm. I had truly become a city girl.

When we arrived in Ulan Bator, I couldn't believe my eyes: the sidewalks were cracked, the houses were dilapidated, and there was not a single skyscraper in sight. Everything was gray, dirty, and seemed to be in ruin. This run-down place could not be a capital city. After living in China, I was astonished at the sight of such a decrepit city. However, it was in this broken, Soviet-style city that we were supposed to find our salvation.

But they did not let us go yet. We were sent into an enormous military base where seventy other North Koreans had been detained and were still waiting. How much longer was this going to take?

But at last, a pleasant surprise: we had rice and
kimchi
! The canteen was stocked by the South Korean embassy. We no longer felt abandoned; our brethren from the south seemed to be taking care of our departure. Furthermore, it was safer for us behind these high walls, since North Korea also has an embassy in Ulan Bator and could also “take care” of our departure. Outside the walls of the South Korean embassy, we risked falling into the hands of their agents. I didn't know if this fear had any basis in reality, but after all the trials and tribulations I had just gone through, I was prepared to expect anything.

*   *   *

After three days of waiting, I was called in for an interrogation with a South Korean official. I was nervous, but Mom was right there next to me. I responded carefully to all the questions. They wanted to know everything: where I was from, how I'd gotten here, whether the woman next to me was really my mother. These questions were justified; South Korea was always on the lookout for possible spies from the north who would try to infiltrate the south. The two countries are still technically at war. The diplomats are also equally wary of Chinese citizens of Korean heritage who pretend to be defectors so that they can obtain visas for the economically well-off South Korea.

For a month, we were interrogated over and over again, each interviewer asking for more details than the last.

During this time, I got to know the other escapees quite well and realized that they had gone through many of the same things we had, but that my family and I had nonetheless been fairly lucky. We befriended a man who had become so dehydrated in the desert that he had had to drink his own urine. During his struggles with thirst and hunger, the two women who had been accompanying him disappeared in the vast sands of the desert.

I will never forget this man, whose health was rapidly deteriorating. He was in his fifties and had already tried several times to escape, but was sent back to North Korea, where he was savagely tortured. Weak-bodied and diabetic, he finally reached Mongolia, where he thought he would finally make it to freedom. But we had to watch him wither slowly, eaten away by his pain and suffering.

During one particularly sunny day, just a few steps away from me, he looked like he was having a seizure. He was shaking violently and frothing at the mouth. I was so scared. We immediately laid him down and called for help. But there was no medicine available here. Half an hour later, he was dead; he succumbed to the tribulations that he had had to endure up until now, which provoked this epileptic shock. Our group's morale just vanished. We begged the diplomats, in vain, to bury his body in Korea, our homeland. To this day, his body rests, alone, in Mongolia—so close to reaching the promised land of South Korea.

*   *   *

After a month had passed, the interrogations finally stopped and we were all transferred to a camp on the outskirts of the city. At least it was summer, so we didn't have to suffer through the terrible Mongolian winter. We were much more comfortable in our new camp; there were only four of us in each room. Outside was the steppe, and we could go out and play soccer to kill the time.

There, we understood that we were on the last leg of our long journey, before boarding the airplane toward our new lives. The countdown had begun. Every week a vehicle came to take a group of defectors in the order that they had arrived.

However, our turn was behind schedule, because the departures were suspended for several weeks. And just like that we feared that there would be a problem at the last minute. But it was explained to us that the delay was simply because the South Korean president, Roh Moo-hyun, had just come to Mongolia on official business. I never quite understood exactly why that stopped us from leaving, but politics often don't make much sense to the politically disengaged. Perhaps the South Korean diplomats were simply too busy to worry about us?

After waiting two more months, it was finally our turn to leave via the Chinggis Khaan International Airport, about twelve miles from the city. I was already sick of Mongolia and its ever-changing weather, which was already cold even though it was only the end of summer. The smugglers who'd taken us to the Mongolian border had promised us that we'd be in Seoul within forty days, but it had already been four months.

*   *   *

And our journey wasn't over yet. At the airport, with no explanation, we were put in a large gymnasium and had to wait yet another two weeks. Finally, one morning, the officials gave me a little green booklet with my photo, my name, and a stamp on one of its pages. At the time, I had no idea this was a passport. It was only later that I learned the significance of what I was given that day.

Then they brought us to the airport and loaded us onto a big airplane. They recommended that we not talk to anyone during the flight.

When the engines started whirring, I sat back in my seat. I had never flown on an airplane before, but after all I'd gone through, I thought that it couldn't be so bad. And when the plane took off, I watched through the window as the airport become smaller and smaller until it disappeared.

It was only at that moment that I finally felt that we were saved. I was overcome with a vast sense of relief. While we were in Mongolia, I constantly feared that something bad was going to happen to us. But now, on this plane, we were en route toward South Korea, under the care of the South Korean authorities. No one could stop us now. It seemed unbelievable, but we had finally made it.

The plane was not completely full, and everything went smoothly during our three-hour flight. We were even served lunch. We were just a small group of North Korean defectors among the rest of the passengers, who probably had no idea who we were, nor what we had experienced before arriving at this point.

The plane started making its descent and my ears started hurting. The captain announced that we would soon arrive in Incheon, South Korea's international airport. I looked out the window and saw the sea, and the magnificent beaches that cut through the blue water. It was September, and the sun was shining brightly.
I've made it to heaven
, I thought.

 

15

The plane vibrated as it touched ground. The engine roared as the plane braked to a stop. A million thoughts were dashing around in my head. In a scratchy voice over the loudspeakers, the captain welcomed us to South Korea.

Since then, dozens of defectors have told me about the immense joy they felt at this exact moment, when the plane reached South Korean ground. But for me, as the plane rolled along the runway, I held confused and conflicting emotions inside. On the one hand, I felt relieved. After years of suffering and hardships, I knew that at last, the Chinese police would never again be able to send us back to a North Korean jail. But on the other hand, I was also very worried. We had no idea what was in store for us in this strange and foreign land. How were we going to survive in this new country, where we had not a single friend or family member?

When the airplane came to a halt, the passengers stood up to file out the front door. Our small group, however, stayed seated, as we had been instructed to do. Once the airplane was empty, we were let out the back. A bus was waiting for us on the runway. As we got onto the bus and the doors closed behind us, the bus started up and crossed the seemingly never-ending runway, before passing through a gate and reaching another highway. Here I was in South Korea, and I hadn't even seen the inside of the airport.

*   *   *

Through the window, with my eyes wide open, I gazed upon my new country. I was amazed by how clean it looked. As we drove along, we saw more and more high-rise apartments, and there were more and more streets. It didn't immediately register that we were in Seoul. In China, I had gotten used to large cities like Shanghai. My first culture shock upon seeing an urban area was when we arrived in Dalian, directly from the countryside. I had been startled to see such wide streets and the intrepid pedestrians next to us, who contrasted sharply with the malnourished people from the countryside. I remember especially clearly our first time in a shopping mall. In just one hour, I saw more commercial goods than I had ever seen before in my life. We had spent the afternoon marveling at every store. A few hours later, we had walked out of the enormous market with nothing but a simple bottle of water in our hands. It was all we could afford. In Dalian, our shopping cart was almost always empty, and my mom told me that it was her dream to one day be able to afford to fill it up.

*   *   *

Here in South Korea, our bus stopped in front of a building surrounded by a concrete wall with barbed wire at the top. We all filed off. A man in uniform frisked us, checked our documents, and conducted a quick interrogation. Then each of us received a package of clothing, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. I wound up in a room with five other women. Compared to the room where I'd lived in Mongolia, everything was so comfortable, clean, and warm. I felt reassured. I stayed here six days while waiting for my oral interrogation. It was the last test, the test that was to decide my future. If I passed, then I would be eligible for South Korean citizenship. I felt confident, but I knew that I still needed to remain calm and focused.

*   *   *

Then the day arrived. When it was my turn, the guards separated me from my mother and threw me into a cell. I was to be cut off from all communication with the rest of the world during the investigation. The tiny window in the room allowed for only a small ray of sunshine and a glimpse of the streets outside. To alleviate my boredom, I pressed my face against the glass and stared at the passersby, dreaming of becoming free like they were, on the outside. I felt like a prisoner in here. To pass time, I slept a lot.

And then the daily interrogations commenced, and continued seemingly without end. They were led by the Korean National Intelligence Service (NIS). Their aim? To identify any North Korean spies who were trying to infiltrate South Korea, as the two sides of the peninsula were still officially at war.

Each day, I had to retell my story, recounting every detail of my life in Eundeok and our escape. I had to give dates, addresses, and names that I no longer remembered. I had to do this every single day. Sometimes, I mixed some of the details up. The interrogator was polite, but pushed me.

“You say this, but your mother gave us a different version.”

Mom was being interrogated at the same time, but I wasn't allowed to see her.

“Is she really your biological mother?”

I held my breath.

“Did you offer sexual services while you were in China, like your peer X did?”

At this point, I had a lump in my throat and couldn't bring myself to speak.

Before we were separated, my mom and I had agreed to leave out the detail about my little brother. It was something she felt very embarrassed about. But after two days, my interrogator took me by surprise, telling me that he knew all about my little brother. Mom must have cracked under the pressure. Trapped, I admitted everything as well.

In hindsight, I realize that this little detail had no ill effect on our file. Our situation would have been a bit more risky if we had been members of the Workers' Party back in North Korea. In that case, the interrogators would have suspected that we were spies sent by the north to collect intelligence about South Korea.

*   *   *

There was something else on my mind that kept me awake at night: Keumsun, who was still in Shanghai. Since we left China, we had not been able to communicate with her at all. We'd told her that we'd be in Seoul in forty days, like the smugglers had promised us, and that we would call her cell phone as soon as we arrived. However it had already been more than four months, and we had not been able to call her. We tried once in Mongolia, but to no avail. She must have been worried to death. And so, starting at my first interrogation, I begged the men on the other side of the table to let me make a call to China, just once. But these NIS workers were uncompromising and told me I was not permitted to contact anyone during my interrogation. I was desperate, so I insisted over and over that they let me call my sister just once, to let her know that we were still alive. Alas, for a long time, all my efforts were in vain.

Finally, seeing how desperate I was, they decided to do me a favor. I was allowed to make a call lasting three minutes, and not one second longer.

Grabbing the receiver, I dialed Keumsun's number. I shook with neves as the phone rang. I held my breath. The phone's sound was of poor quality, but even then, I recognized Keumsun's voice immediately.