In January 2004, my dream of going to Cuba came true when a dear friend invited filmmaker Dai Sil Kim-Gibson and me to join a group she was organizing to study cooperative farming in Cuba. For Dai Sil and me, our primary purpose for the trip was to make a documentary film (“Motherland”) about an extraordinary Korean-Cuban woman in Matanzas Province. Our subject was Martha Lim Kim, 65-year-old retired professor of Marxist philosophy and active supporter of the Cuban Revolution. I signed on as associate producer (aka interpreter/ translator) and, as we made arrangements to find a local film crew in Cuba, I called Martha from New York. She was delighted to hear about our desire to film her and was equally eager to meet us.

Martha’s home in Matanzas was a spacious, old, Spanish-style colonial house. In the small interior courtyard, bright-red poinsettias were in full bloom as she welcomed us warmly. But despite the building’s sense of grandeur, holes and cracks were visible in many places, the roof leaked and paint was peeling. As Martha spoke only Spanish (as did the film crew, for the most part), I began to translate for everyone and our conversations took off with great excitement.

With the film crew and Martha set up in the courtyard, we proceeded to tape nearly 20 hours of interviews in five days. As Dai Sil pitched her questions in English, I turned them into Spanish for Martha, and the crew captured the image of a brilliant yet modest woman, looking far younger than her age, spontaneously giving her opinions on a broad range of topics. We talked about her ancestry (she is full Korean, born in Cuba), world politics, Castro, the Revolution, U.S. foreign policy, parenting, love, religion, and more. We alternately laughed and cried together.

In recounting her life, Martha talked about how the Revolution had given her the opportunity to realize her dream of becoming a teacher and how she and her husband were vanguards of Cuba’s movement for universal education. She explained how much the Revolution had done to provide a decent standard of living for all Cubans, not just the elite.

Some of the most poignant moments occurred when Martha talked about her childhood, her parents and the impoverished life of the earliest Koreans in Cuba. She spoke lovingly of her parents, especially her father, Ernesto Lim who insisted everyone learn Korean and keep their heritage alive with special holiday observances and other traditional ceremonies. In lilting Spanish, she recalled eating kimchi, miyeokguk, and jangjorim.

While filming the interviews, we occasionally heard classical music coming from the room where Raul Ruiz, Martha’s husband and renowned historian of Matanzas, lay bedridden. One day he greeted us graciously in his room, but he was clearly very ill. The following year we learned he had passed away. Dai Sil decided to dedicate the film in his honor.

When we first met, Martha admired the Indian tunic I was wearing so I happily gave her a purple one from my suitcase which she wore throughout the interviews. Her daughter Vivian, an engineer, came by and joined in the interviews, exuding a thoughtful and vivacious personality. We heard about her studies abroad in Russia, her work and friends, and her undying love for Cuba.