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Dinner in Pyongyang

My little brother Min-jun has been given the job of lookout. He stares intently out of the window of our 12th floor flat, ready to give a silent signal if any police or officials appear in the street below. Silent because the walls are thin and although we must love our neighbours we cannot trust them.
My mother seems distracted as she prepares the food. She works hard all day cutting cloth in a factory making uniforms for the Party and works even harder when she returns home to take care of me, my brother and my grandfather. I watch her ladle the noodles into the worn bowls and carefully share the thin broth before neatly placing half a boiled egg in the centre of each worn dish. I watch her expression change as if she is recalling something, a conversation with my father perhaps. The electricity cuts out just as she turns off the stove. She laughs and pinches my nose. We are used to the power cuts.
“Just in time Su-bin!”
We both carry the bowls to the table next to the window where Min-jun is sat and my Grandfather grunts as he pushes himself up from the arm chair where he has been dozing. My mother opens one of the kitchen cupboards and removes some pots and gently tugs the wooden back of the cupboard where we have hidden the Bible.

Continues...

© Antonia Saunders
NB – Pyongyang is the capital of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, commonly known as North Korea, and the largest city in the country.


 

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