Children darted between vehicles. Fearless. The kind of confidence that came from growing up in organized chaos.
NGO offices flashed past, air-conditioned lobbies that promised relief from the heat visible through glass doors. Restaurants serving the steady stream of aid workers who madetheir living caring for refugees along Thailand’s most porous border.
And that was the problem. The latest surge of refugees had come in sick and dying, and no one could figure out why.
Maybe today would be the day.
The regional hospital sat on the town’s outskirts, a concrete building radiating heat like a kiln. Palm trees drooped in the still air, fronds coated with red dust that settled on everything. As they pulled up and she got off the bike, the asphalt felt soft underfoot, melting.
“Wait here,” she said to Malai as she headed toward the door. “This won’t take long.”
She pushed inside the hospital to the scent of antiseptic and floor cleaner, but as she headed into the ward, she caught the underlying reek of human suffering—unwashed bodies, sweat, the sense of despair.
Ceiling fans pushed the heat around instead of providing relief. And the ward’s windows hung open, trying to catch any hint of breeze.
She found six-year-old Kamon in the children’s ward, cross-legged on his narrow bed with a coloring book open on his lap. His dark hair fell across his serious brown eyes. Three weeks ago he’d been dying, fever burning through his small body while his hands shook uncontrollably.
Today? Carefully coloring elephants with new crayons.
“Kamon,” she said softly, her footsteps muffled by the worn linoleum. She spotted a bowl of mangoes—so his grandmother had been here.
“Miss Chloe!” He held up the coloring book, pointing to the elephants, and spoke in Burmese. “I’m making a picture for you.”
A nearby nurse translated for her.
“It’s beautiful, Kamon. Thank you.” She perched on the edge of his bed, the thin mattress compressing under her weight as she waited for the nurse to translate her words. Then, “Are you feeling strong today?”
He nodded.
“That’s wonderful.” She grabbed her camera. “May I take a picture? To show people you’re getting better?”
She captured several shots. Afternoon light streaming through the ward’s windows highlighted his progress from the skeletal figure he’d been weeks ago. Through her lens, color had returned to his cheeks. His eyes held focus instead of the distant confusion that had marked his illness.
“Dr. Tobias says I go home soon. Back to my village.”
Oh, um... He must not know that his village had been burned by the Tatmadaw, and she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. “That’s very good news.”
She packed her camera away, thanked the nurse and headed down the hall. She spotted Dr. Tobias Nnamdi in the lunch room, at a plastic table, with a steaming bowl of curry soup that smelled of coconut milk, lemongrass, galangal, chilies—foundational Thai flavors.
Another perk of living in Thailand.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. His scrubs showed damp patches, and when he looked up, his dark eyes held exhaustion. Still, he smiled, teeth white against his dark skin. “Chloe. Perfect timing.” He gestured with his spoon. “Mrs. Pensri made this for the staff. Her daughter’s one of our recovering patients. She wanted to show gratitude.”
“Smells amazing, but I need to get going.” She glanced out the window to the street, where Malai waited. “I just came in to check on Kamon. He looks better.”
“His recovery gives me hope that we’re starting to understand early-stage treatment.” Tobias took anotherspoonful, eyes closing briefly as he savored his dinner. He even groaned with culinary pleasure.
Reminded her of her brother, Jake.
“I’m not sure what her secret ingredient is—she says she ran out of her usual spice mix and used one from the aid packages they got at the village. I think she needs to package and sell it.”
He reached into his lab coat and produced a small foil packet, handed her one. “They come in the food aid shipments. She says she uses one per bowl of curry, but I used the whole thing. Delicious.”
“I’ll have to try it.” She pocketed the packet. “Speaking of villages, you should probably know that I’m crossing into Myanmar tonight. Another outbreak, twenty kilometers from the border. Same symptoms. Same pattern.”
Tobias’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth, curry dripping back into the bowl. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s not your decision.”