A New Life in the Midst of Unrest: Seyha’s First Days in Banteay Ampil Camp

Banteay Ampil Camp, Oddar Meanchey Province—Just two days old, baby Seyha rests nestled between his mother and grandmother. His tiny form is both fragile and glowing with life, against the backdrops of displacement and uncertainty.

His mother, 20-year-old Khun Khal, cradles him gently inside a makeshift shelter stitched together with a thin tarp. The memory of gunfire on the night of 24 July still echoes in her mind. Alongside her husband, 20-year-old Pek Chhin, and her mother, 42-year-old Ken Leav, she fled their home after the abrupt clash of artillery fire shattered the quiet of their village. The journey was chaotic: rain mingled with smoke; thunder mimicked gunfire; and fears clung to every step. Families fled with only what they could carry in their arms.

“It felt like ages. We left in the morning and arrived at the camp at night. I was terrified – my daughter was due to give birth any day,” says Leav.

A week later, Seyha was born when they were in the camp.

Life here is harsh. Monsoon rains soak shelter at night, turning the floor wet and muddy and the air chilling. Nights are long and sleepless.

Bathing is a daily challenge. Chhin navigates slippery trails to fetch water from communal water points, balancing what he could carry with anxious care. In the dim shelter, under Leav’s watchful gaze, Khal washes Seyha with just a few sips. Chhin’s voice cracks as whispers, “I’m scared my wife and baby will fall ill without enough clean water.”

Food is basic and monotonous—rice, oil, noodles, dried fish. Fresh vegetables, fruits, or milk rarely make their way into the camp. Khal worries if her own limited nutrition is enough to nourish Seyha through breastfeeding.

Health risks loom large: diarrhea, fever, cough sweep through the crowded, damp camps. No malnutrition screening is in place, even as Cambodia’s wasting rate hovers near 10 percent—a silent threat to newborns like Seyha.

Yet, in the quiet rhythm of Seyha’s breath, Khal looks softly at the baby and murmurs: “I only want him to feel love, not fear.” Her gaze shifts to Leav, sitting silently nearby, offering strength in absence of infrastructure, and Chhin, whose every careful move spells love in action, not words.

In that whispered phrase lies something profound: a newborn’s soft breath could outlive conflict—if we help make sure of it.

Read WFP Cambodia Country Brief June-August 2025