Four years after stepping off the plane at Pochentong Airport, after struggling to get his clinic set up, Cousins gives no thought to going back to his old life. That prospect seems to mystify him. "We came here for a year," he said, "and then we just never thought about leaving. It never came up."
Cousins is completely settled in his new home, just down the street from the clinic, which sits across the street from the heavily guarded U.S. Embassy. His clinic provides medical care to hundreds of workers from non-governmental organizations operating in Cambodia, to embassy staff and tourists who fall ill or are injured while in the country. The clinic is essential to a variety of organizations and both local and international companies operating in a country where the health care system was devastated by decades of warfare.
On weekdays, Cousins gets to work just before the clinic opens at 8 a.m. He sees patients in the morning, taking as long as he wants with each one--a luxury he could ill afford in the U.S. He regularly sees patients with malaria, dengue fever, typhoid, amoebas, parasites and other afflictions he would only read about in the U.S. In Philadelphia the emergency room had little experience with monkey bites. In Cambodia, such injuries don't even raise a medical eyebrow.
Usually, Cousins makes it home for lunch, then blocks off the afternoon for administrative work at the clinic. He returns home around 6 p.m. Some nights he goes to International Business Club meetings. Others, he goes bowling with his family at Phnom Penh Bowling.
If it sounds somewhat idyllic, Cousins would be the first to agree. He is on 24-hour call, but that seems a small price to pay for such a life. He gets to use his French as much as his English, and his training in pediatrics and emergency medicine has proven essential for his new job. It's almost eerie how right he is for his new life.
Late afternoon at the entrance of "Psah Thmei," Phnom Penh's central market."It was like everything I'd worked for came together," Cousins said. "I had this background that made this place ideal. And that's how I still feel. I don't know where else I could go that I could be happier and be doing more for so many people."
Not only was Cousins perfect for Cambodia; Cambodia was perfect for Cousins. It made him feel alive in a way he'd never felt before. In 1998, when he arrived, the Khmer Rouge was still outside the city. The pending elections were in doubt. No one knew what the future held. It was an energy he'd never known before, emanating from a nation with a blank slate. "I felt more attached to the real world than I ever have," he said. "It was like being part of history."
Cambodia's history is still very much in the making, and Cousins has watched the country start from almost nothing and rebuild itself. He and his organization have played a small part in that rebuilding. Since he came to Phnom Penh, Cousins has seen many changes. He watched the first stop signs go in. (No one stopped.) He saw the first escalator installed. (People lined up to try it.) He saw the waterfront turn from a giant mud strip to a carefully manicured park. He saw scores of new restaurants and businesses open. He watched Phnom Penh go from a city where you couldn't go out safely after dark to a city with parks filled every night with people sitting, talking and strolling along the river.
There are more elections just around the corner and, in light of the changes he's seen and in spite of the many problems still looming for Cambodia, Cousins is optimistic. "People aren't going to want to go back to what was here before," he said. "I don't think they'll let it happen. There's so much potential to go in the right direction.
"The important thing is peace, and that's here."
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