Reynolds School of Journalism student Kat Fulwider gives a first-person account of her work reporting on medical programs in a developing country during the Orvis School of Nursing’s recent visit to Sonja Kill Memorial Hospital, a nonprofit medical center in Kampot, Cambodia. Fulwider's trip was funded in part by the Hitchcock Project for Visualizing Science.
The sounds of motorbikes and tuk-tuks whizzing by filters through my window as I scribble down notes and go over my shot list in the back of a taxi. I’m still in a state of awe that I am even here, traversing the globe and following my wildest dreams of international reporting in Kampot, Southern Cambodia.
I am here to document the experiences of three nurse practitioner students from the Orvis School of Nursing at Sonja Kill Memorial Hospital, a nonprofit medical center nestled on the outskirts of the small river town of Kampot. This is part of the Orvis School of Nursing Office of Global Engagement’s inaugural international trip.
Outside my window the sights of golden yellow temples and street vendors race by and I’m surprised by the amount of people, animals and other large unidentifiable items that can fit on a single motorbike. Entire families ride together atop two wheels racing down unsteady roads. I see all sorts of wares for sale on the side of the road too – the most remarkable of which is a tank of live turtles attempting to escape their enclosure on the side of the highway.
My heavy eyelids are in a constant battle with my insatiable curiosity to drink in my surroundings. But, my jetlag has been surprisingly alleviated after yesterday’s unexpected, but delightful, 24-hour layover in Shanghai. I missed my connection through Shanghai to Phnom Phen – along with the entire incoming flight – and got a surprise trip to China.
I quickly traded sipping soup dumplings and wandering the narrow streets of old town Kampot for the idyllic salt fields, open air hospital of Sonja Kill, and the smiles of the Cambodian (Khmer) people.
Although markedly different from the warm smells of incense that led me to the hidden City God Taoist Temple tucked away in the old quarter, the smells from Kampot that waft through my window are somehow just as welcoming and foreign all at the same time.
From waking up at dawn to document the local fish market to trailing behind healthcare staff all day and interviewing people in taxis and tuk-tuks, my days are packed! It is an absolute dream come true for an aspiring international journalist and documentarian.
Of the many “we’re not in Kansas anymore” moments I experienced, one that stands out is how different the hospital is upon my arrival. Instead of the flicker of fluorescent lights reflecting off of white tiled floors and an incessant drone of AC pumping air through hospital halls, I am greeted with a tropical breeze and ambient light from the open-air terracotta walkways that make up the “hallways” between wards of the hospital. Palms swayed in the wind beside a lotus pond flanked by a small temple where families and patients can find a moment of solace.
As I was about to discover in my reporting, the grounds of the hospital are just the tip of the iceberg of the differences between the U.S. and Cambodian healthcare systems. Camera and audio equipment in hand, I follow Orvis School nurse practitioner students Daivee Serafini and Rebecca Gansberg around the grounds as they go about their daily duties, filming, photographing and stealing interviews along the way.
I get to be a fly on the wall as they learn alongside other students from both Khmer and international volunteer doctors during rounds and lectures. Most of these conversations are done in an open-air covered veranda that becomes a meeting place for the medical staff to discuss pathologies that are uncommon in the United States, such as a possible case of Typhoid Fever.
Later I watch and record as nurse practitioner student Rebecca Gansberg gives a lecture to Khmer students and medical staff on Myocardial Infarctions, or heart attacks.
Over a freshly cooked lunch of vegetables, fish, and rice, I interview a Dutch undergrad nursing student who is here for a few months to learn about the different healthcare system. It’s clear that there is an international exchange of knowledge happening between not only Khmer locals, but also the myriad of other countries and cultures represented by the volunteer staff and students here.
No matter where in the world my work as a journalist takes me, I am incredibly conscious of the effect my presence as an outsider has. I am carrying around large video and audio camera equipment and am very aware of the impact this may have on people and their families who are at the hospital getting the care they need. HIPAA, or its international equivalent, as well as just being a respectful visitor and ethical journalist is front of mind.
Striking a balance between getting the story and respecting privacy is the biggest challenge, as I don’t wake to make myself “too small” and sacrifice the story and content I need while also being respectful of people’s boundaries and autonomy.
Luckily, I’m given some great guidance from the Sonja Kill Memorial Hospital staff, for which they have strict guidelines to abide by. I am able to make my presence as low-key as possible, timing my shots of the grounds when the fewest people are around and focusing my work on the medical staff, both Khmer and American. I am here to tell their story, after all.
After a long day of interviews, gathering b-roll for a mini-documentary and photos for a photo essay and article, I climb into a Tuk-Tuk with Daivee and Rebecca for our daily commute. Orange afternoon light spills over us as our driver weaves through traffic along the downtown riverside thoroughfare to our bungalows.
Before we know it though, we are swept off to watch sunset at the salt fields with the kindest and most welcoming group of doctors I have ever met. They look no older than me and are full-fledged medical doctors, some of which are doing their internships at Sonja Kill Medical Hospital.
A head to dinner at a waterside restaurant along the salt fields. Our new group of friends ordered what seemed like half the menu for us to try! Suddenly a giant terra cotta pot filled with coals was placed before us with a tea pot and a large metal dome to go over it. This was my first hot pot experience and our new friends expertly showed us how to cook the various fish, meat and vegetables over the hot metal grate. This name of this dish roughly translates to “cow climbs up the mountain,” although my attempts at cooking kept falling down the mountain. They were still delicious.
Next, we tried the main staple black pepper ice cream! It was mildly spicy, herby and surprisingly delicious. At this junction over ice cream, talks of strange cuisine arose and the topic of durian fruit was inevitably brought up. I was aware of the fruit’s polarizing reputation and that there are ordinances in place preventing it from being carried on public transport and taxis. One of our new friends surreptitiously disappeared and returned with a takeout container of a slimy looking yellow fruit. The phones of our compatriots were whipped out as we took out first bites and, well, durian is not for me.
This experience reporting internationally was something between a tornado whirlwind and a “National Geographic” dream that, in the span of a week, found me on two different continents and four different countries, with a surprise Chinese Visa in my passport, and a whole ton of learning on how to report on the fly. I am full of gratitude, wonder and joy for this incredible experience.
As I head to my next adventure after graduation with my one-way ticket to South America booked, I look back fondly on this trip and it fills me with a sense of inspiration and awe to go and see what else is out there. Most of all, I will seek the truth in all corners of the world and report it!
