On Dec. 28, 2015, I boarded a flight in Toronto bound for Havana, Cuba. It was one of those trips you grant to yourself as a reward for having worked hard that year. I had no particular agenda other than observing how people live in Cuba, and, of course, going to the beach.
After landing and clearing customs, I walked out of the gate, looking for the driver from my hostel. To my surprise, it was a middle-aged Asian woman. When we jumped into her decades-old, beat-up car, I asked her, “Would you happen to be Chinese?” To which, she replied, “Ha ha, no, I am fourth-generation Korean.” Right there and then, I knew this trip was meant for something much greater than mere tourism. She continued, “My grandfather came to Mexico technically as a Korean slave, and my father fought for the Cuban Revolution.”
After consulting multiple academic, governmental, and literary sources, I would learn the history behind her story. In 1905, 1,033 Koreans boarded a ship in the port city of Incheon, believing, mistakenly, that they were headed to a land of opportunity. In truth, they were being sold to work in Mexico as indentured servants. Describing Mexico as “Heaven on Earth,” the Continental Settlement Company, which was established to recruit Korean laborers, published entirely false advertisements across the Korean Peninsula, promising financial fortunes, an “elevated” social status in Mexico, and the option to return to Korea four years later. The 1,033 Koreans that signed up came from a variety of different social classes—poor peasants, homeless people, orphans, fishermen, retired soldiers, members of failed royal families, and priests.
After a 50-day voyage across the Pacific, during which two people died, the thousand-odd Koreans found themselves standing in the middle of a depressing plantation. They were sold to owners of 30 different plantation farms that cultivated henequen, a plant grown for rope fiber. Contrary to their wishes, none of them ever returned to Korea. Instead, in 1921, 300 of them emigrated to Cuba in search of a better life.
Yes, Patricia, the first Cuban I met in Havana that day, was descended from some of the 1,033 Koreans who left for Mexico 110 years earlier. Talk about serendipity. She asked me to meet her family the next day. Not only did I meet them, but I also spent a whole day with them in their abode in Havana. Later, we drove to a coastal town called Varadero to meet other extended family members.