My COVID experience in North Korea (Part 4)
Image/Korean Central TV
I will now share what it was like when I first learned about COVID, how we tried to get treatment, whether vaccines or medicine were available, and how we managed to obtain them.
Most people naturally assume that when you get sick, you can go to the hospital, get a prescription, receive treatment, maybe even get vaccinated. But in North Korea, none of that was taken for granted.
In the area where I lived, COVID began spreading around June 2022. There had been a military parade in Pyongyang in April, and after that the virus spread nationwide.
At first, people thought it was just a cold. “It must be some kind of fever,” they would say, brushing it off. But as more people fell ill, with body temperatures climbing as high as 40 degrees, people began suspecting, “Could this actually be COVID?”
Saying that out loud was dangerous. The government was broadcasting, “There is no coronavirus in our country.” So simply uttering the word “COVID” could be a problem. If people spoke they could be punished. We all stayed silent.
In my region, the first treatment that came down from above was to use the coniferous thuja (arborvitae) and willow trees. We were told that if you boiled them together and drank the water, the fever would go down. This was a kind of folk remedy, supposedly working as a fever reducer.
So people rushed to chop down trees. Crowds swarmed anywhere those trees grew, cutting them down indiscriminately. Even the trees around schools were chopped, and teachers came out to try to stop it.
But drinking that water was risky. No one knew the correct ratio, how much to boil, or how much to drink. The only “evidence” was word of mouth, if you drank it, you’d get better. Some people drank too much and even died. Eventually, the government issued an order telling people not to drink it.
At first, I also went out to gather some, because everyone else was. But my husband stopped me. He said, “If that really worked, why would people all over the world be suffering so much?”
So I only sipped a little as a precaution, while he refused to touch it. In the end, the so-called remedy was useless, and after that, people desperately scrambled to find real medicine.
Many started hoarding drugs. Wealthier people bought up anything they could find. We weren’t prepared at all, so it was very difficult. My husband fell ill first, but we had no medicine to treat him.
Thankfully, a close acquaintance who had stockpiled medicine shared some with us after I begged in tears. Once he took it, his fever started to go down and he began to recover.
Then I collapsed while caring for him. Fortunately, we still had medicine, so I didn’t suffer as badly. But for those without medicine, the situation was miserable. Their lips cracked, they grew dehydrated, too weak to drink water, wasting away before our eyes.
At the time, there was a fever reducer called ‘P500’. Before COVID, a day’s dose cost 500 won. During the pandemic, the price soared to 5,000 won. That was enough to buy a kilogram of rice. And even if you had the money, you often couldn’t find any.
During those days, the price of medicine was higher than a day’s wages. Medicine was life itself and life meant money.
Medicine wasn’t sold in proper markets or pharmacies. Instead, individuals smuggled it in and sold it privately. Many were graduates of medical or nursing schools who sold drugs from home. But once COVID began spreading, the authorities created a crackdown unit called the “Anti-Socialist Groupbar,” which banned all private medicine sales.
If caught selling, your stock was confiscated. In severe cases, you could be dragged off to a “disciplinary labor center.” In my own neighborhood, several people selling medicine were taken away.
During the pandemic, people desperately needed medicine, and in such a time selling to those in need was an act of kindness, but it was treated as a crime. With pharmacies closed, people had no choice but to buy in secret. Deals were made quietly, over the phone, or through trusted acquaintances.
At that time, medicine was life itself. And to protect that life, you absolutely needed money.
Kim Yumi, a North Korean defector, was born and raised in Haeju, South Hwanghae Province, a coastal military area. Growing up near a naval base, she was able to secretly watch South Korean news programs and TV shows, thereby uncovering the vibrant, democratic society of South Korea. Yumi and her husband made the brave decision to escape North Korea and seek a better future. Now in Seoul, she is actively involved in raising awareness about the realities of life in North Korea, especially on her YouTube channel, “@KimYumiTV.”
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