Being born in a Cambodian refugee camp – MY STORY in pictures and text

Hello Steemit. This is a true story about being born in a Cambodian refugee camp in 1986 where our family lived until 1991.

I understand that my story is just one small, but essential part of my family’s overall journey for safety from the Khmer Rouge (1975-1979) regime. According to some estimates 2 million out of 8 million people died during this and the subsequent Vietnamese occupation period.

In this post, I will tell you some of my childhood memories.   

It is a story of sadness,  
But let it also be one of hope.

Khao I Dang, the refugee camp where I was born 

My parents were sent by the Khmer Rouge to work in labour camps in the countryside in Battambang. They eventually met each other while fleeing from Battambang to the Thai border, which was a months-long journey through the heart of the Cambodian jungle. They first entered the camp Sa Kaeo which was also the first organized refugee camp that opened in 1979. Within just 8 days, the refugee population grew to 30,000. The camp eventually closed half a year later, because of unfavorable conditions. The drainage in the campsite was for example so bad that several refugees, too weak to lift their heads, drowned from a flood as they laid on the floor in tents made of plastic sheets.   

One month after the opening of Sa Kaeo, the Khao I Dang camp was opened and many people were repatriated into Khao I Dang. My parents eventually ended up there as well.

Khao I Dang was a refugee camp on the Thai-Cambodian border where I was born. It was a bamboo village with dirt roads, barbed wire, and armed guards. Within just 5 months, the camp’s population reached 160,000. The camp gave us more safety, but violence and theft ran rampant.

Religion and death

People continued their religious activities and some houses were transformed into places for Buddhist ceremonies. In this picture you see my two brothers, my father, and me wearing our best clothes. We just came back from a visit to a local ‘temple’. The husband of my aunty, who had just been allowed to find refuge in Australia, had recently died in the camp.

Behind me is a grave of him. My father hired a photographer to take this picture so that he could send it to my aunty. I am the one barefooted.   

Hospital 

My father worked at the hospital. The hospital was a large hall with beds placed next to each other. I remember that I visited the hospital where I was given a doctor’s gloves to play with. I would blow it and enjoy a child’s kick out of it.

Night raids 

I remember that during some nights, rebels with guns would raid people’s houses to steal their belongings. Often, the word about night raids went faster than the rebels themselves, and so most of the times we were warned before the rebels reached us. I remember very well one incident when we did not flee early enough.

My brothers and I ran after my father, while my mother took my baby sister in her arms to flee in separate directions. My father brought us into a nearby canal to hide there. When the Thai patrolling soldiers within the camp arrived at the scene, shooting between the two groups erupted. I remember the fear so clearly. I wanted to cry, but my father put his hands tightly on my mouth so that I would not make any sound. We then fled into the hospital where my father was working, and stayed there during the night. We were too afraid to go back home, and waited until the morning.

In another incident, our neighbors were too late to flee and somehow for reasons unknown, a rebel threw a hand grenade inside their little home that killed the whole family.

Kindergarten

Despite the violence and misery, people tried to rebuild their normal lives. I went to kindergarten and remember so well one incident that I played hooky.

I was 4 years old and walking to school by myself. I hated it so much and decided to return home to my mother’s small shop. My mother, a soft young woman, let me stay with her. But then my father came by the shop, got angry with me, and spanked me for not going to school. Until this day I still don’t think I did anything wrong.

Our little shop

Trade went on. Although it was illegal, industrious people were trying to make money by starting small trade businesses. This shows to me that entrepreneurship is natural to us human beings.

Thai merchants would come to the fences, away from the Thai soldiers who were patrolling, in order to sell food to the refugees inside. Such activities occurred during night-time. When Thai soldiers would find out that we were trading with outsiders, they would beat us and take away our belongings. We, refugees, were also not allowed to get outside of the camp and risked of being shot dead by Thai soldiers. 

During day-time, people inside the camp would expose their new belongings and small shops would erupt. My mother sold small products of convenience. I think it was smuggled by Thai people into the camps that we, Cambodians, were selling further to other Cambodians. I am the one in the blue jersey.

Continuing story

These are some of my childhood memories from our lives in Khao I Dang. Maybe next time I can tell of our continuing journey towards the Netherlands and the psychological impact my experiences in Khao I Dang had on me. I can tell about the nightmares that hunted me for years, and my difficulties of trusting new people.

To prove that this is my real history, I will post here a picture of my passport which says that I was indeed born in Khao I Dang:

EDIT: As @firepower asked me for a Steemit verification picture, here it is: