A North Korean Defector’s Nine Year Journey to Freedom | Eunju’s Story
I didn’t know I was hungry until I was eight years old. Growing up, I had no concept of whether my hometown was wealthy or poor. Then when the great famine struck in the mid-90s, more people died in our city than anywhere else in the country.
That’s when I realized “Oh, this is the most difficult place to live in North Korea.”
I was born in the city of Eundok, North Hamgyong Province. Before that it was called Aoji, a destitute place infamous for its coal mines, where South Korean prisoners of war were sent to work.
In the middle of a long famine, people lose all sense of humanity. You couldn’t survive without dirtying your hands. My father was a kindhearted person, the type that was unable to hurt anyone. But towards the end, hunger drove him to steal from our own house.
On my first day of middle school, I couldn’t find my new backpack anywhere. It turns out that my dad had taken it to the Jangmadang, traded it for food, and eaten it by himself. In the end, he still died from starvation, and my mom, my sister, and I were left to fend for ourselves.
We heard that if we went to China, we could eat all the candy we wanted. With that one piece of information, my mom said she’d rather get shot crossing the Tumen river than starve in North Korea.
It was mid-February in 1999, during the bitter cold winter. The water was frozen solid and stretched over 100 meters across. My mom went first, followed by my sister, and I was in the very back. Maybe it was because I was anxious, but my shoes felt so slippery and I kept falling over as they went farther and farther ahead. We heard that soldiers would shoot anyone who tried to cross the river. But this was our only chance at survival.
My mind was racing, “What if I’m left behind and get caught?” My mom and sister probably feared the same thing.
We encountered a tributary that wasn’t frozen all the way, so my mom waited and had me go first because I was the lightest. A few steps in, the ice broke and I fell into the piercing cold water. None of us knew how to swim. At that moment, I really thought it was the end. But then my feet hit the ground. We had made it to the other side.
Not long after we had crossed into China, a Korean-speaking woman came up to us. She invited us to her house and gave us over a dozen boiled eggs, more food than we had seen in years. In North Korea, when my sister and I had a field trip for school, my mom would cut one boiled egg and give each of us half in our lunch box. To have this much at once was a true luxury. For the first time in a long while, we dared to have some hope.
But then my mom was sold off to a Chinese man. The fortunate thing was that even though my sister and I were 16 and 14 years old, we were so short that people asked if we were 7 or 8. They couldn’t sell us separately, so we were sent together with our mom.
We had been sold for 2000 yuan. When we wanted to leave, the man told us to pay him back. We worked in his house and on his farm but of course we never saw a penny. For three years, we lived in confinement, and my little brother was born.
On a quiet night before my brother was even a year old, Chinese police came to the house in the dark, knocked on the door, and arrested us.
When North Koreans get caught, sometimes they’ll roll up their money and eat it or hide it, but we didn’t have anything. We were taken back across the border with just our clothes. It’s well known that there’s a physical exam to look for hidden money. In a way, you shouldn’t even feel a basic sense of shame as a woman and as a human being. If you cry or plead for mercy, you’ll get beaten up. You cannot question them at all.
With so many people in North Korea dying of starvation, names were removed from the family register after three years without any news. We had already been declared dead. There were two minors and an adult, but our identities couldn’t be confirmed. At the time they couldn’t keep minors in prison without a ruling from the court, so we were entrusted to another person from our hometown. No one wanted extra mouths to feed, so he just let us go.
We went straight to the Tumen river and in 2002, we escaped again.
I had enough food when I was in China. Even dogs and pigs ate rice and corn. But we lived looking over our shoulders, in constant fear of the police.
When we heard about life in South Korea, where our safety and identities would be guaranteed, we decided to defect once more. We were introduced to a broker, gave them some cash upfront, and traveled through Mongolia and the Gobi Desert.
On September 1st, 2006, I arrived at Incheon airport with my mom. My sister joined us in South Korea in 2008. Nine years after first crossing the Tumen River, we were finally together in freedom.
When I was in China, my only wish was that my mom, sister, and I could sleep together, eat together, and come home from work together. I dreamed that someday we could go to the supermarket and get a whole cart full of things to share. After coming to South Korea, we achieved not only that, but everything we’ve ever wanted.
I co-authored a book about my journey, A Thousand Miles to Freedom, with a foreign journalist named Sebastien Falletti. He interviewed several North Koreans, and I agreed to share my story with him out of a sense of duty. I never thought he’d choose me.
Compared to North Korean defectors who live special lives, I don’t actually dream of being a human rights activist. There are times when I don’t want to share anymore and I feel like I have to repeat myself.
But then I think about my best friend in North Korea. Her name is Sunhwa and I don’t think she’s here yet. I imagine that she would want to live like me — to attend college, pave her own way, and explore the vast world we live in. But she is still stuck in the darkness. Until Sunhwa can live a life of freedom, I feel a sense of responsibility to continue to share.
When I think of North Korea, the dark image of my hometown floods my memories. But I would still like to go back just once and visit my dad’s grave. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that he was also a victim of the North Korean regime. I have hope that in this lifetime, North Korea will open up. I’ll return with my mom and my sister, and together we’ll visit my dad’s resting place and prepare a huge meal for him.
For North Koreans to share their stories with audiences around the world, retelling and reliving some of the most harrowing experiences, is an act of exceptional courage. They’re working towards the day when others no longer have to go through the same painful experiences.
You can help rescue more North Korean refugees and support them as they begin their new lives in freedom.
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Lunar New Year in North Korea | What is Seollal (설날)?
North Korea has several major holidays, the most prominent being centered around the birthdays of Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-il. But there are some holidays that predate the regime, and continue to be celebrated in both North Korea and South Korea.
Seollal (설날) is one of these traditionally significant days. Known more broadly as Lunar New Year, it marks the first day of the lunar calendar and is observed in many Asian cultures. While January 1st marks New Year’s Day on the Gregorian calendar used by many western countries, the exact date of Lunar New Year differs every year. It typically falls at the end of January or beginning of February, and is celebrated over a period of three days.
Seollal in South Korea
In South Korea, Seollal is a time for families to gather and honor their ancestors. With people across the nation traveling back home, roads are packed and train, bus, and plane tickets are all booked months in advance.
Long hours are spent preparing traditional foods like tteokguk (떡국), or rice cake soup, and jeon (전), a savory pancake-like dish usually made with green onions. The act of eating tteokguk symbolizes turning one year older in Korean, and is believed to bring good luck and health for the year ahead.
Food is also an important component of Charye (차례), a memorial service to honor one’s ancestors. Led by the family’s eldest son, an assortment of dishes are set out on a table as an expression of gratitude, and rites are performed for the last four generations of one’s ancestors.
Another well known Seollal tradition is Sebae (세배). Younger members of the family, often while wearing traditional hanboks (한복), do a deep bow to their elders with the greeting “새해 복 많이 받으세요,” which translates to “May you receive good fortune and blessings in the new year.” In return, elders share words of wisdom and sebaetdon (세뱃돈), new year’s money in a colorful envelope.
The rest of the holiday is usually spent exchanging stories, reflecting on the past year, and playing Korean traditional games like Yutnori (윷놀이), which involves four wooden sticks that are tossed like dice to move tokens around a board.
Seollal in North Korea
In North Korea, the celebration of Seollal is encouraged by the state to emphasize Korean folk traditions. Historical programs are broadcast on TV, and local authorities organize mandatory activities such as kite flying and spinning tops. North Koreans gather with loved ones over the highly anticipated three day rest from work.
But unlike in South Korea, January 1st is actually considered the more important holiday to celebrate the New Year. This is when North Koreans do Sebae. Instead of the South Korean greeting, it’s customary to say “새해를 축하합니다,” or “Congratulations on the new year.”
On New Year’s morning, it is compulsory for all North Koreans to visit statues or portraits of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il. After that, respects must be paid to town leaders, particularly the person in charge of one’s unit, such as the company president or homeroom teacher. Finally, greetings are exchanged between in-laws and neighbors, and families gather for ancestral rites, sharing food, and other traditional festivities.
Another key difference between New Year’s celebrations in North and South Korea is that there is no widespread travel. The lack of freedom of movement inside the country means it is extremely difficult for North Koreans to go from one city to another for any reason. Any requested travel requires a specific stated purpose, proper identification, and documentation that must go through several levels of approval, including from the head of the neighborhood watch (inminban), local People’s Committee, local district office, and a relevant police officer. Permits for restricted areas, such as Pyongyang and the border regions, require more complex issuing processes.
Yet both New Year’s Day and Seollal in North Korea are still celebrations of life and community. Many North Korean refugees fondly remember the holiday, recalling not the state enforced displays of propaganda, but precious time spent with loved ones.
“I grew up with a lot of aunts and uncles and they all lived in the same area, so on Seollal…everyone would get together to make rice cakes, noodles, and dumplings. After making a lot of food, we’d play Yutnori and everyone would start squabbling. Then we’d find out everyone’s fortune. I miss it now.”
- Hannah, escaped from North Korea in 2015
On Seollal, North Koreans don’t do a separate bow because they have already greeted the New Year. Depending on the region, North Koreans enjoy a variety of dishes like tteokguk (떡국), manduguk (만두국), dwejigukbap (돼지국밥), songpyeon (송편), nokdujijim (녹두지짐), and noodles.
“North Korea is a very communal society, so everyone gets together on Lunar New Year. The adults would play card games and Yutnori, we’d eat delicious food, and spend time together until the sun went down. I would wake up especially early to visit the homes of the neighborhood elders and they’d share the food they made with me… Later in the afternoon, I’d go to my homeroom teacher’s house with all my friends, and we’d play there until late in the evening.”
- Yulseong, escaped from North Korea in 2017
All around the world, the New Year is a highly anticipated time of reflection, gratitude, and turning the page. It’s a universal experience, one that is shared with the North Korean people as well!
