Category: Misun’s Life

8. Lunar New Year Performance

October 10th, the anniversary of the Party’s founding, is a national holiday. The school announced a two-day break to commemorate the occasion, with classes resuming the following day.

After the holiday, I began preparing for school at home. I organized my textbooks and study materials into my school bag, and sorted out the candles and rags needed for cleaning. That’s when Kyung-sook, who lives nearby, came by to deliver some news. She informed me that the school would be distributing bog bilberry concentrate to students who were affected by the fire during the bog bilberry picking mobilization.

The contact I was in charge of was Oksun, who lives just down the street from mine. I reached out to her, and together with some friends from the neighborhood, we headed to school with buckets in hand.

During that time, North Korean families commonly used large tin buckets capable of holding about 15 liters of water. Even when the children went bog bilberry picking in the mountains, they carried these buckets to collect the bilberries. So, when they heard about the distribution of bog bilberry concentrate, all the children arrived at school carrying these large buckets.

As we entered the school playground, we chatted excitedly, saying, “After working hard in the mountains for a month, we deserve to receive plenty of what they give us.” In front of the school building, there were wooden barrels filled with bog bilberry concentrate from the Bog Bilberry Processing Factory.

Bog bilberry concentrate is made by adding sugar to bog bilberries, which are also used to make bog wine and jelly. It’s quite tasty. Just adding a spoonful of concentrate to cold water turns it into a refreshing and delicious drink.

Having returned home, I carefully filled each glass bottle with the precious bog bilberry concentrate I had brought with me. When my father embarked on a business trip to Pyongyang, I took great care in packaging the concentrate to ensure it reached my uncle and aunt’s house safely. Bog bilberry concentrate, a specialty of Baekdu Mountain, was a rare treat for the people of Pyongyang. So, whenever my father traveled there, he made sure to acquire it and bring it to my relatives’ home.

The following day, we resumed our classes. The routine of quiet, everyday life—studying, cleaning the classroom, and returning home—passed by swiftly. Now, it was time for the end-of-semester exams for fourth grade, with winter vacation just around the corner.

Despite the impending exams, my mind couldn’t shake off the memories of the Baekdusan Mountain mobilization. I had never been fond of studying, but now, I found it even more challenging to concentrate. As each subject teacher entered the classroom, diligently writing on the blackboard and explaining the lessons, my thoughts wandered back to the forest barracks of Baekdusan Mountain and the flames that lit up the night sky, refusing to fade from my mind’s eye.

The memories of jumping barefoot out of the burning window haunted me even as I sat at my desk studying. At times, the recollection was so vivid that I would instinctively curl my toes in fear. The image of the blazing barracks often invaded my dreams at night, causing me to scream in terror, startling my sister who slept beside me.

My parents grew increasingly concerned each time I experienced these nightmares. When I confided in my friends about my distressing dreams, they revealed that they too had been plagued by similar nightmares. They recounted how the flames seemed to dance before their eyes, a constant reminder of the harrowing experience we endured during our month-long excursion in the mountains picking bog bilberries. The memory of the barracks catching fire on our final night haunted us relentlessly, refusing to fade with time.

When we eventually learned the cause of the fire, we were left speechless and incredulous. It was revealed that on the last day of our withdrawal from Baekdusan Mountain, the teachers and security guard had organized a farewell party at the restaurant barracks, grilling pork to celebrate. Tragically, the festivities took a disastrous turn when the fire broke out.

It was said that the restaurant barracks had spread soil on the floor and laid boards on top to provide warmth when cooking in the kitchen. That evening, after tucking the students into bed, the teachers and security guard ignited a fire with an excessive amount of firewood, resulting in the boards on the floor catching ablaze. However, what should have been a simple meal turned into a calamity as they indulged in food, drink, and slumber, oblivious to the impending danger.

The cause of the fire incident at Mt. Baekdu, initially told by those students who were on duty at the restaurant barracks, spread throughout the school, passed from one child to another. However, only the security guard responsible for our school’s barracks was discharged with no teacher facing repercussions. 

Despite time passing after the accident, many children remained deeply shaken. There were reports among the school staff that the fourth-grade students were struggling to focus on their studies and appeared distracted in class.

Upon being briefed on the status of the students, the principal suggested organizing a New Year’s performance for the students after the end-of-semester exams. Collaborating with the teachers in charge of Children’s Union (소년단) and the Sarochong, the principal aimed to uplift the school atmosphere and provide students with an opportunity to shake off their anxiety and welcome the New Year with joy.

After finishing our day’s studies and cleaning the classroom, our homeroom teacher gathered us for reflection time and delivered the school’s instructions. Throughout my People’s School and Middle School, we never performed for Lunar New Year, but now all of a sudden we were told to hold such performances. The homeroom teacher assigned Sunsuk, a member in charge of literary arts, the task of brainstorming ideas for our class’s performance.

When we transitioned to the 3rd year of middle school, we already removed our red ties and joined Sarochong. Previously, in the third grade of People’s School, students joined the Children’s Union. It was mandatory that we join the two organizations in accordance with our school grade. 

Upon becoming a member of Sarochong, we felt like we entered adulthood. Shedding our ties signified that we were no longer treated as children, and upon completing one more grade, we would graduate. Consequently, teachers found it challenging to handle students in the fourth and fifth grades, as they were no longer very compliant. In such an environment, not many students were enthusiastic about participating in performances. Personally, I was passionate about sports but had no interest in performances.

However, Sunsuk, the literary commissioner, was very excited about the upcoming performance. Despite her role as literary commissioner, she had never organized an event centered around herself. Regardless of her efforts, I opted to head to the sports department after class.

During the exam period, we, as usual, lit the oil lamp and studied until midnight. I struggled with the words that just wouldn’t stick in my head, merely going through the motions. When it came time to take the exam, I would discreetly glance under my desk to copy down answers.

During exams, some kids would sneak glances at the teacher’s face and signal answers to each other by poking their classmates’ sides. After the test, they’d complain, “You gave me the wrong answer, so I wrote the wrong answer.” Looking back, those were quite amusing school days.

All the subject tests were over, and it was just 15 days before the Lunar New Year. The homeroom teacher and Sunsook were eager to start practicing for the Lunar New Year performance. Sunsook optimistically declared, “If we practice for 12 days, we’ll do great!” suggesting that our class should prepare a dance. The reaction from the class was incredulous, with everyone questioning her decision and staring at her in disbelief.

Despite the skepticism, Sunsook began calling out the names of students who would participate in the performance, including mine. I looked at her frowning and murmurs of discontent spread among those whose names were called. After studying late into the night for exams, no one was thrilled about being held back for some peculiar performance practice.

As we sat exchanging glances of frustration, the homeroom teacher’s stern words filled us with dread. None of us wanted to face the wrath of our formidable teacher. We knew that if we didn’t participate in the performance practice, our homeroom teacher wouldn’t hesitate to wield her baton and administer punishment. She was notorious for her erratic behavior, not hesitating to brandish her baton even at taller students when she felt provoked.

On the first day of practice, our homeroom teacher sternly warned, “Don’t even think about running away,” before dismissing us, having only decided on the names of the participating students. 

Grumbling, I walked home with Sunsook, questioning her decision. “Hey, Sunsook, I’m in the sports department. Why did you put my name down for this?” I asked, grumbling.

“Hey, even though you’re in the sports department, there’s no competition now. Our teacher told me to include your name no matter what because you’re great at dancing,” She explained, urging me to participate. It seemed that our homeroom teacher had noticed my talent during the school’s group rhythmic gymnastics.

Sunsook was my closest friend, and her words made me think that our homeroom teacher had deliberately included my name to keep me away from the physical education department and force me to stay late at school.

Our homeroom teacher always seemed to harbor resentment towards me, perhaps because she thought I was spoiled because of my family background. I felt that her disdainful gaze never left me. She announced that we would begin preparing for the performance the next day, right after our regular classes ended.

I attempted to escape from practice, but grabbing my bag would surely alert our vigilant homeroom teacher. So, I enlisted Kisook’s help, who sat beside me, to pass my bag down through the window.

I dashed outside and positioned myself under our classroom window, calling out, “Kisook, I’m here! Drop my bag down!”

When she heard me, Kisook leaned out of the window to throw the bag, but hesitated and pulled back into the classroom. “What’s taking so long? Hurry up!” I yelled up towards the second-floor classroom.

It seemed like an eternity before my bag finally descended. It swung down like a fish on a line, tied to several school uniform waistbands strung together. The children at the window erupted into laughter, waving goodbye as I made my escape.

I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw my makeshift bag descent. My friends had sacrificed their uniform waistbands to help me flee. I grabbed my bag and bolted straight home.

Once there, I lay on my stomach engrossed in a book my father had lent me when I heard my name being called from outside. “Who’s there?” I called out, finding my friends at the door.

“The teacher told us to fetch you. She won’t let us go home unless you come,” they explained, pleading with me to return.

I was in a dilemma. My friends were trapped at school because of me, and I felt responsible. Reluctantly, I agreed to return, despite my aversion to school and the impending performance.

After 40 minutes of evading capture, I was escorted back to school. Thus, I found myself reluctantly participating in the Lunar New Year performance alongside my classmates, hoping to lift the spirits of our school community.

Our class put on a performance titled “Snow Falling,” depicting female soldiers of Kim Il Sung’s anti-Japanese fighters battling with red flags in the windy plains of Manchuria. To accurately portray the characters, we had to don red ties and leather boots worn by the fighters. Luckily, I had easy access to these items thanks to my sister’s military discharge.

Whether it was to prevent me from fleeing again or not, the homeroom teacher positioned Sun-sook and me at the front of the performance. As the saying goes, those skilled in sports often excel in dance, and I proved this true.

Before my mother met my father, she was a vocalist in a band in Pyongyang. Among my siblings, only the oldest resembled my mother and had a talent for singing. While I inherited my mother’s love for dance, singing was not my forte.

However, during the Lunar New Year performance, Sun-sook and I received praise for our dancing and were selected as a duo in the school’s music department until we graduated middle school. As such, I found myself busy with sports events, which I enjoyed, and events of the music department, which I attended grudgingly. Nevertheless, I cherished the time spent with my friends, making the most of my final years in middle school.

7. Bog Bilberry (들쭉) Field Mobilization 

Now that I’m in the fourth grade at middle school, September marks the start of the autumn harvest. Just like every year, we spend the first semester studying for a few days before being mobilized for autumn work. This year, there’s talk that either the fourth or fifth graders will be heading to Samjiyon to pick bog bilberries.

This is the first time they’ve organized a bog bilberry-picking trip for students, so naturally, we’re all curious about which grade will get to go. Personally, I’m open to any task—whether it’s in a potato field or a bog bilberry field—as long as it doesn’t involve hop flower picking.

Back when I was in the third grade, I went hop flower picking and ended up getting sick (I got scabies). My whole body swelled up and itched terribly, making it impossible for me to work. I had to trek home alone along a long mountain path.

My face and entire body swelled up so much that I could barely see, but the homeroom teacher, known for her meanness, insisted I go home alone. She claimed the class couldn’t afford to lose another person, even though they knew I was in no condition to continue. Without a word, I embarked on the long journey home, feeling the sting of her unkindness.

In the fall of 1979, we spent 15 days picking hop flowers and then moved on to potato picking. Unfortunately, I couldn’t participate due to the unbearable itchiness. While I was willing to join in other tasks, hop picking didn’t interest me in the slightest.

North Korea instills a strong work ethic in its students from an early age. Spring involves moving vegetable seedlings and planting rice, while summer sees us tirelessly weeding vegetable and corn fields. Come autumn, we harvest potatoes, pick hop flowers, and gather bog bilberries. Even in the depths of winter, students are mobilized to transport manure to the farm fields.

Growing up in North Korea means learning the farm work from your school days.

On September 10, 1980, third-grade students headed to the hop field, while fourth-graders ventured to the bog bilberry fields, and fifth-graders were assigned to the potato fields, embarking on a month-long endeavor. Hopflower picking had become a customary part of students’ autumn harvest routine since 1979, alongside potato and bog bilberry picking.

For those who defected from North Korea after residing in Ryanggang Province, this school process would have been a familiar memory. 

Excitement and apprehension filled the air among my classmates as we prepared for our first-ever bog bilberry field mobilization.

While potato picking involved toiling in dewy fields until sunset, the atmosphere in the bog bilberry fields was distinctly different. With Paekdu Mountain casting early shadows due to its dense foliage, it was imperative to exit the forest before nightfall to avoid the risk of getting lost or encountering mountain animals.

While it was important to stick together in the woods, students loved exploring the mountains with their friends, picking bog bilberries, and enjoying the freedom it brought.

The much-awaited day came for our trip to the bog bilberry fields. Equipped with a backpack lovingly prepared by my mom and a trusty bucket for gathering bog bilberries, I joined my friends on the school playground, excited for our new adventure to begin.

Since 2014, a broad railroad has connected Pyongyang and Hyesan in North Korea, allowing large trains to travel. However, back in the 1980s, narrow-gauge trains operated between Hyesan and Samjiyeon.

We gathered and set off for the train station, a 20-minute walk from our school. Other students from different schools were also waiting on the platform. It was said that five schools from the city were heading to the bog bilberry fields.

Tickets for the 2 p.m. Samjiyon train were not available for regular passengers. That day, students from three schools, including ours, boarded the train. The remaining schools were scheduled to travel the following day.

The narrow-gauge train’s seats were small, so we squeezed in for the journey to Samjiyon. After two hours, we reached Samjiyon Station, where several buses awaited us.

We embarked on a bus ride lasting over an hour, finally disembarking in the mountains near Mubong Village. The distant lights of Mubong Village, located on the border between Samjiyon and Daehongdan, guided our way. Eventually, we arrived at a secluded lodging nestled amidst the dark mountains.

Before entering the lodging, the head of the Korean language division, who had gathered the students and taken charge, introduced the security guard. The guard reassured us about the mountains, urging us to follow our homeroom teacher’s instructions and make the most of our month-long mobilization without fear.

Inside the lodging, there was a two-story wooden bed arranged by class, with boards providing a makeshift division. The building was so rough that we could even view outside through the gaps in the boards.

Students hurriedly unpacked their belongings, staking out spots to settle down. I chose to stay on the second floor with my close friends Gisuk and Sunsuk, preferring to avoid the possibility of disturbing dust by moving from the upper level.

As dusk fell, students gathered together, enjoying the food they had brought from home before turning in for the night.

Having slept soundly with my family the previous night, the transition to sleeping in a mountain barracks, listening to the sounds of wildlife, felt unfamiliar and somewhat unsettling.

Suddenly, thoughts of my brother, who joined the army, flooded my mind. After completing middle school, he passed the entrance exam for a science college in Pyongyang and received an acceptance letter. However, he chose to enlist in the army instead.

In North Korea, joining the Workers’ Party of Korea is crucial for success or securing good employment opportunities. Those outside the party face challenges, from difficulties in marriage prospects to fitting into society.

Regardless of one’s intelligence, party membership is often seen as the key to advancement. Even individuals lacking formal education can attain high-ranking positions if they are party members, often surpassing college graduates.

Many students opt for military service first, as it opens doors to higher education. My brother followed suit after heeding the advice of our youngest uncle, who visited our home.

My father’s youngest brother served as an officer in the political department of the 6th Corps (6군단)in Cheongjin(청진).

Additionally, my eldest sister worked as a nurse in a unit under the same corps as our uncle. She was due to be discharged in October. Upon my return from the bog bilberry picking mobilization, she had completed her service and returned home.

My parents supported my brother’s decision wholeheartedly. He and his friends chose military service over college.

Every North Korean dreams of joining the Workers’ Party of Korea, so parents often send their children to the military for national defense rather than to schools or universities.

As I lay in my barracks bed in the mountainous terrain, my mind wandered to my siblings who had ventured far from home before I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke to the sound of morning calls, observing my peers getting dressed and heading out to wash up.

After washing my face, I joined my classmates in the cafeteria, where our class president instructed us to label our rice boxes with our names and bring them along.

The school had advised us the day before to prepare our rice boxes for the day’s work.

We queued up by class and made our way to the dining area for breakfast.

The meal consisted of rice mixed with potatoes and wheat, served with a simple soup bowl and lacking in side dishes. The unfamiliar texture of the wheat rice made it difficult to swallow.

On my very first day, memories flooded back of the fragrant white rice and salted pollack side dishes my mother used to prepare.

My mother, who used to work at my father’s factory, transferred to a forestry labor supply station(림업노동물자공급소). Her new job meant abundant provisions. Food and fish were plentiful at the supply station, catering well to the employees’ needs.

Our household originally received supplies the 64th store downtown exclusively serving provincial and municipal executives.

With my mother now receiving extra provisions at work, our storage space overflowed with pollack—dried pollack hung from the ceiling, pickled pollack filled the kimchi jars, and dried pollack was piled high. She prepared these supplies for my sister, who had returned from military service and was about to marry.

Eating plain potato rice mixed with wheat left a sour taste in my mouth. I wasn’t the only one dissatisfied; other kids shared my sentiment about the lackluster meals.

After breakfast, we retrieved our rice boxes with our names on them from the wooden table outside the dining area. We wrapped them in cloth and tied them around our waists.

In the yard outside the barracks, we gathered with lunch boxes tied to our waists and buckets in hand. The head of the Korean language division addressed the students, emphasizing safety precautions.

“Students should stay in groups, be wary of wild animals, and refrain from straying too far. Make sure to complete your assigned tasks—15 kilos per person per day. Understood?”

The students responded in unison, affirming their understanding.

Additionally, the homeroom teacher gathered students for each class and reminded us about the importance of being careful.

Finally, the students dispersed into the mountains. With Sunsuk by my side, I ventured to work through the woods with several classmates.

Bog bilberry trees were scattered sporadically, hidden amidst birch bushes and tall shrubs. When we stumbled upon a cluster of bog bilberry bushes, we gathered in small groups to pick the fruit, which vanished swiftly. Then, it was off to find another bog bilberry bush.

Given their short stature, bog bilberry bushes often remained concealed by surrounding vegetation, requiring us to stoop down and search diligently for the elusive fruit.

Our school’s fourth grade consisted of five classes, each with over 40 students. Like us, many schools were housed in barracks scattered throughout the mountains. Throughout the day, hordes of students roamed the mountains, gathering the fruit.

The various barracks at the foot of Paekdu Mountain echoed with lively chatter at night, while the mountains resounded with the children’s calls during the day, driving away any wild animals that may be lurking around.

On the first day, we emerged from the forest with our buckets not even half-filled. As we exited the woods, we exchanged giggles over our modest haul.

We ate bog bilberries all day, leaving our buckets looking empty. For children accustomed to city life, it was their first encounter with bog bilberry bushes. Instead of gathering the fruit, they simply brought it to their mouths, savoring the unfamiliar taste.

Groups of friends from the same neighborhood roamed together, and shouts would erupt whenever a bog bilberry bush was spotted.

“Hey, everyone, there are lots of bog bilberries here! Hurry!”

Excitedly, the children gathered around the bush, but instead of filling their buckets, they delighted in eating the berries straight from the bush.

The tart yet sweet flavor of the bog bilberries was a novelty for city-dwellers like us. My friend, Sunsuk, munched on bog bilberries while pondering aloud, “When will we start filling the bucket instead of just eating?”

Despite her words, she continued to snack.

We finished our lunches shortly after leaving the barracks and attributed it to the annoyance of carrying the meal box on our waist.  Sitting together, we complained about the bland meals, emptied our lunch boxes, teased each other, and laughed.

With lunch eaten early, hunger crept in as the day progressed. Our hands kept finding their way to our mouths instead of filling the empty buckets.

As the sun began to dip in the sky, the bottom of our buckets revealed a small but countable number of bog bilberries.

“Hey, if we keep eating like this, the teacher will scold us for not picking enough on the first day. Let’s stop eating and focus on filling the bucket,” Kisook suggested.

With laughter, we heeded Kisook’s advice and set out to find another bog bilberry bush.

Thus, on the first day, we returned to the barracks with less than half-filled buckets.

Once the people from Samjiyeon-eup weighed the fruit, recorded the kilograms, and carefully packed them in wooden containers, sprinkling sugar over them.

Other students like my friends and I didn’t manage to collect many bog bilberries. Our daily task was to gather 15 kilograms, and the top achiever was Sunok. Renowned for her efficiency, Sunok later graduated from school and was selected to join the Speed Battle Youth Shock Brigade (속도전청년돌격대), where she served for nearly eight years.

The routine of bog bilberry picking persisted. After a few days, we became familiar with the forest paths and easily located the bushes, allowing us to gather more fruit. However, we still stopped to eat lunch not long after leaving the barracks.

I found myself hungrier during meals at the dining hall than I did at home. The wheat-mixed potato rice, initially unappealing on the first day, had become a favorite, and I was always eager to eat. Initially, I indulged in bog bilberries for their freshness and flavor, but later, I relied on them to quell my hunger.

Despite our resolve not to eat,  couldn’t resist sneaking bog bilberries from the bucket. Some even sat on the bucket to resist temptation during breaks, only to find themselves reaching for more berries soon after.

When the girls joined us in the mountains, they let loose, laughing and playing with abandon. They teased and joked, but then, they diligently picked bog bilberries.

Like many others, I struggled to meet the daily quota. In response to the low yields, the bog bilberry processing plant (혜산들쭉가공공장) implemented special measures.

The bog bilberry processing plant, located near our girls’ middle school downtown, was the sole facility of its kind in Hyesan, North Korea.

The bog bilberry liquor and bog bilberry jelly (단묵) produced there were considered top-tier products, often referred to as ‘No. 1 products(1호제품)’ sent to Pyongyang. Subpar products were supplied to stores within the province. It was known that the ‘No. 1 products’ sent to Pyongyang were also exported to foreign countries.

If you want to produce a large quantity of bog bilberry products, you need a lot of bog bilberries. That’s why students were used to pick bog bilberries. Despite the mobilization of students, the harvested amount fell short, prompting the factory to make a proposal to the provincial government.

“The bog bilberry quota per student is 15 kilograms, but everyone is falling short,” the factory announced. “Therefore, we’ve decided to distribute candies and snacks to each barracks and reward students who achieve the 15-kilogram target with an additional 500 grams of candy.”

The proposal was approved by the provincial government, and soon, candies and snacks were supplied to various barracks located at the foot of Mt. Paekdu, where the students were stationed.

Upon returning to our rooms after a day of work, our homeroom teacher called for our class to gather. Frowning, we assembled, having spent the entire day wandering the mountains and picking bog bilberries.

When everyone had gathered, the homeroom teacher announced that starting the next day, students who fulfilled their daily quota would receive candies and snacks as a reward. The news was met with cheers from the students.

During our work mobilization, we heard for the first time about the daily incentives of candies and snacks, even up to one kilogram per day. The homeroom teacher encouraged us to pick plenty of bog bilberries to receive a generous supply of snacks.

From the following day onwards, there was a surge in efforts to earn candies and snacks. I diligently searched the forest with my group, filling my bucket with bog bilberries. However, I couldn’t resist snacking on them as I picked. With so many kids scouring the mountains for bog bilberries, achieving the 15-kilogram target on my own seemed daunting.

After the promise of rewards, I stepped up my efforts with enthusiasm. That day, I managed to gather seven kilograms of bog bilberries and happily received my 500-gram candy reward.

Other girls received similar amounts as me. However, on the same day, Sunok from our class alone managed to pick 15 kilograms of bog bilberries and received one kilogram of confectionery. Curious about her success, the girls asked her to join them, but Sunok responded half-heartedly. The next day, she ventured into the forest only with her partner.

In this manner, the cadre’s plan to incentivize bog bilberry picking with confectionery yielded remarkable results.

As the days left for bog bilberry picking dwindled, I began preparing to return home. By then, the confectionery I received for my efforts amounted to 5 kilograms.

At home, we rarely indulged in candy from the local grain factory. When my father traveled to Pyongyang on business, my uncle and aunt would send me high-quality sweets. Consequently, I found the candy from the provincial grain factory less appealing.

Initially, I had shared the candy I received with my friends. However, as the time to return home approached, I felt a desire to show my parents the fruits of my labor. Thus, I collected the candy as soon as I received it. Gradually, the candy stash grew to ten bags.

Sunok and other children amassed even more candy, a testament to their hard work and dedication to bog bilberry picking. My classmates eagerly awaited the day of departure, anticipating the joy of bringing home the rewards of their labor.

The day before our departure, the school granted us a day off to prepare. We spent the time washing our clothes, packing our bags, and tidying up our surroundings.

I put on my new clothes, washed and dried my worn garments, undergarments, and socks, and packed them into my backpack. I wrapped the sweets in a cloth and secured them to the front of my backpack with a string.

After dinner, I climbed into bed, but the anticipation of heading home kept me wide awake. The kids around me were buzzing with excitement, chatting incessantly.

Sunsook and Kisook, lying beside me, were too restless to sleep, giggling and playing around. As the noise from our floor filled the room, other children joined in, chatting loudly despite the late hour.

With thoughts of our impending journey home, none of us seemed able to settle down for sleep. Soon the homeroom teacher entered the barracks upon hearing all the noise.

“You all need to catch the bus early tomorrow morning, so it’s time to sleep. If I hear another peep out of you, you’ll be in trouble,” the teacher warned before leaving.

Once the teacher departed, the whispers and giggles resumed until gradually, one by one, the kids drifted off to sleep.

I eventually succumbed to exhaustion and dozed off, only to be jolted awake by a sharp smell and someone shouting. Opening my eyes, I was stunned by the sight before me.

Kisook, lying nearby, rushed out of bed and yelled, “Hey, what are you doing? Misun, get up quickly. There’s a fire! We need to get out!”

I saw a red fire billowing smoke next to the children who were all running outside, shouting for help. Realizing the barracks were on fire, I jumped out of the open window, followed by several other children. Outside, teachers and the security guard ushered us away from the burning barracks.

The three barracks belonging to our school were ablaze, with red flames shooting into the sky. Two of the barracks housed students, while the third was where cafeteria workers, teachers, and the security guard stayed.

The fire had originated in the cafeteria, but nobody knew how or where it had started as the flames raged on. We wept loudly, watching the barracks burn in the distance. I felt cold, my feet ached, and my entire body trembled.

Glancing at the other children, I noticed that we were all barefoot and inadequately dressed for the cold. Having quickly evacuated from our bunk beds, I too was without shoes.

A fire truck had arrived when the flames almost died down after knocking down the barracks in an agonizing scene. 

Soldiers based nearby arrived and distributed blankets as we had to endure the cold night, shivering uncontrollably.

October in Mt. Paekdu brings early winter weather. October 10th marks the founding day of the Workers’ Party in North Korea. Our plan was to complete the bog bilberry picking and return home on October 8th, spending the holiday with our families.

The morning after the fire, the provincial government dispatched clothes and shoes as an emergency response. After a meal prepared at another school’s barracks, each of us received clothing and footwear.

Upon seeing the shoes, I couldn’t help but laugh. “These are my dad’s factory shoes. But how am I supposed to wear these big shoes?” I exclaimed. Other girls also burst into a laugh.

The shoes, known as “Jihajok (지하족),” are working shoes typically worn by laborers. They are made of cloth and, when tightly secured with a strap around the ankle, prevent dirt from entering. North Korean soldiers also wear these shoes, but their shoes are khaki-colored whereas those of the civilians are made of black cloth. 

Our school students looked back with bitterness at the charred remains of the barracks before boarding the bus to Samjiyon Station. We spent another night there before taking a two-hour train ride to downtown Hyesan the following morning.

As we walked from the station to school, people stopped and stared at us closely as we passed by.

“What’s with the kids’ attire?” people were puzzled by our appearance. Our school group resembled a line of beggars, and we couldn’t help but chuckle at each other’s appearance.

Not only had the candies, snacks, and bog bilberry-picking gear been lost in the fire, but also the personal belongings and winter coats we had relied on for the past month were all gone. It must have been quite a sight to see us marching in ill-fitting shoes and without proper clothes

Additionally, the girls, all wearing identical tops hastily obtained from the textile factory, were unable to wash their faces and walked with disheveled hair, resembling prisoners of war seen in foreign movies.

In the school playground, parents who had come to pick up their children lamented at our disheveled appearance.

“Oh, children, what’s happened? But I’m relieved to see you safe and sound,” one parent exclaimed, embracing their child warmly. However, none of my family members were there to greet me. My parents were busy, and my younger siblings were too young to understand.

As soon as the teacher dismissed us, I set out in search of my father. When he saw me, he was astonished.

“What’s happened to your appearance? Why didn’t you go home?” he inquired.

My father also seemed aware that our school’s barracks had caught fire in Mt. Paekdu.

“Father, look at these shoes. Please, quickly give me shoes that fit my feet,” I pleaded desperately upon meeting him.

Observing my disheveled state, my father sighed and led me to the shoe lab.

On one wall of my father’s factory lab, stood a large closet brimming with various shoes – samples for reference. My father instructed the lab manager to select a pair that fit me and told me to head home afterwards. 

After my father departed, I browsed the shoe display, selecting a pair that caught my eye, and requested the manager to provide me with those shoes.

Exhausted from our month-long absence due to bog bilberry picking and the recent fire incident, my friends and I finally reunited with our families.