Chapter 9
Joseph and I quickly fell into an easy rhythm working together. He was universally beloved at the camp—not just for his exceptional medical skills and reliability in crises, but for his infectious humor that could coax a laugh from anyone. Even my most reticent interview subjects would open up when he was around, sharing stories they’d normally keep close to their chests. I found myself gravitating toward his presence more and more.
One day, while following him as he sprayed cholera preventive solutions around the camp, we heard a piercing cry for help from an empty tent. We rushed over and pulled back the flap to find a man pinning a young girl to the ground, tearing at her clothes. My blood ran cold. I lunged forward, shoving the man away. He stumbled but quickly regained his footing, cursing as he raised his fist to strike. Before the blow could land, Joseph pulled me behind him and thrust forward his work ID. “If you want to keep receiving medical care, I suggest you leave. Now.”
The man’s eyes fixed on the red cross emblazoned on Joseph’s badge. With a stream of muttered obscenities, he hastily pulled up his pants and fled. We escorted the girl to the UNHCR office and arranged for her relocation to a different tent. Once everything was settled, Joseph gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t let it get to you. You did good.”
I stiffened. “I’m fine.”
Violence and crime were inevitable realities in refugee camps—I’d known that from the start. But Joseph cocked his head, studying me. “You don’t look fine.”
His observation caught me off guard. I touched my face reflexively, as if to verify his words. Then, without warning, his serious expression melted into a playful grin as he pinched my cheeks. “Your emotions aren’t just written on your face, you know!”
It became his new favorite game. Every time we met, he’d observe me for a moment before declaring, “You’re in high spirits today,” or “Alright, who got under your skin this time?” I couldn’t help but laugh, equal parts irritated and amused. “How do you do that?”
He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head with a knowing smirk. “I have a younger brother. You remind me of him sometimes—both of you try to bottle everything up inside.”
The mention of family made my smile fade, and I fell quiet. “What about you?” I ventured carefully. “Doesn’t your family worry about you being here?”
His expression turned neutral, almost detached, as he shook his head. “We’re not in contact anymore.”
“What? Why?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
“I wouldn’t play by their rules.” There was resignation in his voice. “They were suffocating. Growing up, everything was dictated—this program, that activity, any punishment. I did what they wanted—studied medicine, landed a hospital position. But it was never enough. They kept pushing—chase that promotion, build that reputation, bring honor to the family name. I couldn’t live like that anymore.”
“With Doctors Without Borders, I can focus on what medicine should be about—saving lives. That’s what I love.” He exhaled heavily. “I worry about my brother, though.”
I looked at him questioningly. A bitter smile crossed his face as he continued, “They had him as a backup plan, in case I proved disappointing. After I left, they pushed him down the same path I’d escaped. He puts on a show of compliance, but I know he’s drowning inside. I heard he fell for this free-spirited girl, but my parents…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “They made sure that ended quickly.”
It was the first time he’d opened up about his family. I hadn’t expected such pain beneath his cheerful exterior. We sat in companionable silence until he turned to me. “What about you? What brought you here to practice medicine? Doesn’t your family worry?”