Kopasetic

Errant Arrogance

“Do they even have Black people in North Korea?”

“I dunno.” I thought about it. “My father and uncle were here during the war, but that was fifty years ago. I can’t imagine it’s high up on the tourist trail considering how difficult it is to get in.”

Then it hit me. “Oh my God! Not only am I going to be one of the few Americans to see North Korea, I’m going to be one of the first black people in the country since the war!”

I reminisced about how many times in life I’d been “the fly in the milk” as I grandmother joked. I was always popping up in places where I didn’t look like anyone else around me. Now I would do so a grander scale - at one of the largest productions on earth - North Korea’s Mass Games - a live production of synchronized dance with over 100,000 participants.

I didn’t expected a grand ceremony upon arrival, but as fellow-traveler Jamie and I pondered the rarity of black faces, I grew more excited. “It’ll be like being a celebrity.”

I let my head swell. I pictured myself being spotted by local media while watching the performance - something akin to when celebrities are spotted at Wimbledon. I’d put on my celebrity “I’m really focused on the show” face and make sure nothing offensive slipped out of my mouth for lip-readers to catch.

I slept the remaining hour on the flight from Shenyang, the gateway city - beauty rest before entering into the hearts and minds of the DPRK people.

We landed in Pyongyang. Jamie and I cleared immigration and headed toward the sliding door to the outside world. “PYONGYANG - I’m ready for my debut!” I joked.

Some debut.

We walked outside the to nothing but silence and a deserted parking lot. Not even a driver to flash a smile, let alone paparazzi.

Suddenly, we saw flurry of activity as a fleet of gleaming Mercedes limos approach. Excitedly I wonder if this is special reception I’ve been waiting for. From behind came more commotion. The sliding doors opened and out poured a stream of African diplomats filed into these waiting vehicles and whizzed off. BLACK PEOPLE!

Jamie and I looked at each other - stunned. Jamie then released a howl of laughter, heard as far away as Seoul.

Gy-ran jim (Korean egg) on my face, I watched my star status disappear with the diplomats who zipped away in VIP glory as quickly as they arrived. Moments later, befitting my now “ordinary” status in Pyongyang, our Proletariat bus arrived.