Midwifery

In the quiet fields of rural Siem Reap province, Cambodia—just an hour and twenty minutes from the bustling heart of the city—Chamnan grew up where and with the rice paddies and the lake. The oldest of three children, she carried a heavy responsibility from a young age. Her younger sister and brother looked up to her, though they all shared the burden of a troubled home. Chamnan's father, once a bright man, had fallen deep into alcoholism. Traditional wine was his escape. He disappeared for days, sometimes even a month, when he drank too much to cause a mental problem when Chamnan was in her primary and secondary school years. In grade 2, she was soon sponsored by CEDO, a local organization that believed in the power of education. That moment changed everything. From her small village, she was brought to the city for high school—a leap not just in geography, but in possibility. Life in the city was different. Chamnan was determined to compete with city students; she studied hard, excelling despite the quiet ache for her family, especially her younger siblings, who remained behind. She dreamed big—her heart set on becoming a doctor, imagining herself in a white coat, stethoscope around her neck, saving lives with skilled hands. But fate, as it often does, had other plans. Chamnan didn’t pass the national exam required for medical school. She was devastated, but not broken. She chose midwifery instead—a path she hadn’t imagined, but one that slowly unfolded into something she loved. Now at university, she’s embraced the course with both curiosity and compassion. "It’s not medicine," she says, "but I still get to bring life into the world. That’s something." Her future remains unwritten. She doesn’t yet know if she’ll work in a government hospital or a private clinic, but she believes the answer will come in time. Back in the village, her family is healing. Her father has given up drinking and now repairs bicycles for the neighbors. Her sister, now in grade 12, carries the same quite brilliance that once earned Chamnan her scholarship. Her younger brother, in grade 7. They are all walking forward together—slowly, surely. Chamnan still visits home when she can. Her story, shaped by hardship and hope, is still unfolding—but it is hers, and she is proud of it.