The Girl with Seven Names: a north Korean Defector’s Story

I don’t need a fake visa. I don’t need to seek asylum in a faraway country.
And I don’t need to marry a Chinese man … all I need to do is get to
Incheon International Airport in Seoul.
I called Ok-hee. Her voice was heavy with sleep.
‘I think I’ve figured a way,’ I said.
I knew that with a Chinese passport I could obtain a visa for Thailand. If I
could book a flight to Bangkok, via Incheon International Airport in Seoul,
then once I was in transit in Seoul I would declare that I was a North
Korean and ask for asylum. Visas were for normal visitors. I wasn’t a
normal visitor. I was a defector. I would have to book a return ticket in
order to allay any suspicions at the exit immigration in Shanghai.
Next time Kim and I ate out with our South Korean friends I asked one of
them if such a route was feasible (without telling him why). He said: ‘Are
you nuts? Who flies a route like that?’
He had a point.

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My ticket would have to be for Shanghai–Incheon–Bangkok–Incheon–
Shanghai, a route that defied all logic. How would I explain to exit
immigration in Shanghai that I was flying to Bangkok, which is southwest,
on a 2,000-mile detour via Incheon, which is northeast, when I didn’t have a
visa for South Korea but was only transiting through the airport?
I would need a convincing story.
While I thought about this I applied for a Chinese passport. It was
processed much quicker than I expected and arrived by mail.
I then applied for a Thai visa. The travel agent sent my passport to the
Thai consulate in Beijing and it was returned a week later, visa included. I
was almost ready to take the plunge – buying the round-trip plane ticket.
Ok-hee, meanwhile, couldn’t apply for a Chinese passport using her fake
ID. That would never work. So she paid a broker for a fake South Korean
passport. That would at least get her to South Korean immigration control.
She opted for a different route – taking the ferry from Qingdao to Incheon.
One thing remained. The matter I could put off no longer. I had to tell
Kim the truth about myself.

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Chapter 36
Destination Seoul
On a cold sunny weekend in December Kim was making lunch for us in his
apartment. I broached the subject by saying I wanted to live in Seoul.
‘Why?’ He turned the gas up and was jiggling the pan, stirring chopped
celery with a bamboo spatula. He was pulling a face. ‘Korean-Chinese
suffer from low status in South Korea,’ he said over the hiss. ‘You know
that.’
‘I know.’
One of my reasons, though I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to spell it out, was
so that we could marry.
I watched him add squid, and mushrooms, and salt and pepper.
‘You have a good life here – better than you’d have in Seoul. You’re
Chinese. This is your country.’
This was not encouraging.
A dash of sake and soy sauce, and lunch was ready. It was delicious, but I
ate in silence.
‘Is this what’s got into you lately?’ He was speaking with a mouth full of
steaming food. His reasoning was that I’d be half foreign in South Korea
because I was Korean-Chinese. ‘I tell you, people there don’t make it easy
for ethnic Koreans from elsewhere. They treat Korean-Americans as
foreigners, and look down their noses at the Chinese.’
‘I have a particular reason.’
‘What’s that?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m not Chinese.’
‘What do you mean?’ He was lifting his bowl to scoop more food into his
mouth.

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‘I’m not a Chinese citizen. My ID is a fake. I’m not even Korean-
Chinese.’
He put his bowl down. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘I am North Korean.’
He stared at me for a long moment as if I’d made a sick joke. ‘What?’
‘I’m from North Korea. That’s why I want to go. I was born and brought
up in Hyesan in Ryanggang Province, North Korea. I can’t return home, so
I want to go to the other part of Korea.’
He dropped his chopsticks on the table and slumped back in his chair.
After a pause I thought would never end he said: ‘I never expected this. I’ve
heard you a hundred times on the phone with your family. They’re in
Shenyang.’
‘No, they are in Hyesan, on the North Korean border with China.’
He gave a huff of incredulity.
‘How could you keep this from me for two years?’ His mouth was taut
with hurt. ‘How could you lie to my face all that time?’ He was far more
upset at my deceiving him than at learning that I came from the enemy
country.
‘Please try to understand,’ I said, keeping my voice level. ‘When I was in
Shenyang, I had a serious problem and was almost sent back to North
Korea because I had told people the truth about myself. I came to Shanghai
because no one here knew me. Only one North Korean friend here knows
the truth. Now, you do. That makes two people.’
Again he was silent for a long time, looking at me, seeing me anew. The
winter sun slanted into the room, casting his face in sharp relief, and I
thought I’d never seen him so beautiful. Gradually the hurt went out of his
eyes, and was replaced by curiosity.
I told him the story of how I crossed the frozen Yalu River, and of my life
in China. At the end of it he reached over and took my hands. Then he
surprised me by laughing. A relaxed, gentle, would-you-believe-it kind of
laugh. ‘In that case you should definitely go to South Korea. Let’s spend
New Year here, then go.’
I think I loved him more at that moment than I even did before or after.
I booked the ticket for January 2008.

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My mother remained totally opposed, but relented when she understood
there was no changing my mind. Kim was too important in my life now, but
I still hadn’t plucked up the courage to tell her about him. She still hoped I
would one day return to Hyesan.
At this time, I entered my details into a defector site called ‘people
search’ to see if I could find anyone from Hyesan. I put in the name of my
last school and year of graduation and left my email address. Within a day, I
had received a message from someone who said she was from Hyesan,
though not from the same school. We talked by chat. When she said she was
in Harbin, I mentioned that I was in Shanghai. I was reluctant to reveal
more. I didn’t say it, but I half expected her to be a man, and probably a
Bowibu agent operating in China.
‘Do you have a webcam?’ she said. She must have sensed my suspicion.
‘I’ll turn on my video chat so you can decide if I am a woman, and not a
spy. Okay?’
The picture came on. In the grey-pink half-light was a smiling woman of
about my age, but to my surprise, her shoulders and chest were bare. Kim
was sitting next to me and peered closer.
‘Are you naked?’ I said.
‘Yes. Sorry, I’m at work.’
Kim and I looked at each other.
‘If a customer calls, I’ll need to switch the chat, so I don’t have time to
put clothes on.’
‘Uh, what kind of job is that?’
‘Video chatting,’ she said brightly.
She said her name was Shin-suh. She had been trying to get to South
Korea but had been caught in Kunming and deported back to North Korea.
Kunming is the southwestern city that North Koreans head for en route to
Southeast Asian countries that accept their asylum requests. A year later,
she had escaped again and was doing this job to make money to pay a
broker to get to South Korea.
‘You chose that job?’
‘No, of course not.’ She gave a sad laugh. ‘Most of the brokers who help
defectors are human traffickers. They help women escape, not men. They’re
paid to bring us to China either as brides or prostitutes. What I’m doing is a

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kind of prostitution, I guess, but it’s very new. I’d rather do this than be a
real prostitute.’
By this time, all my suspicions had vanished. ‘I’m going to Seoul soon. If
I succeed, I’ll help you get there,’ I told her. I was determined to help this
girl.
As the date of my flight approached I got more and more nervous about the
check-in procedure at Shanghai Pudong International Airport. I was booked
on a flight for Seoul with only a visa for Thailand.
Kim said: ‘If you’re worried, call the airport and ask.’
The official I spoke to at immigration was dubious. It would not be
impossible for me to pass through, he said, but it would be difficult.
‘First, look at the map. It’s hard for anyone to figure why you would
want to fly up to South Korea when you are going south to Thailand.
Second, a lot of Korean-Chinese go to Seoul and don’t come back. That’s a
problem for both countries. You will need to persuade us why you want to
do it this way. If you succeed, we will stamp your passport and you can
pass.’
I visualized the inspection process at the airport, trying to anticipate what
might happen, and rehearse my answers. They might ask me anything, so I
thought I should take all my documentation along with my passport – my
driver’s licence, my ID; all the detritus of a prosperous, settled life in
Shanghai. I was ready.
Kim came to the airport and said goodbye. We had decided that travelling
together risked complicating matters. ‘I’ll call you from Seoul,’ I said. I
didn’t mention the alternative, not wanting to tempt ill fortune. In a few
minutes, I was at the immigration counter.
‘You’re travelling to Thailand?’ the man said, pursing his lips.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a weird way to go.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Why are you travelling via South Korea? Your ticket is for Thailand and
you’re transiting at Incheon. It’s a roundabout way to go.’
‘My boyfriend is in Seoul. He’s booked on the same flight as me from
Incheon to Bangkok,’ I said. ‘We’re doing the same on the way back.’

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He held out his hand. ‘Let me see your ID.’