Living with the Legacy of Landmines

In rural Cambodia, the legacy of war still shapes the daily lives of many. During the Khmer Rouge regime and the decades of civil conflict that followed, millions of landmines were laid across the country. These hidden explosives continue to endanger lives, even in areas far removed from known battle zones.

Chin Houn, a 73-year-old grandmother from near Siem Reap, knows this all too well. In 1987, while walking home from a neighbor’s house, she stepped on a landmine just 100 meters from her front door. What followed was a long, painful recovery — and a lifetime of adjusting to life with a prosthetic leg. Despite the trauma, Houn has become a pillar of strength in her family and community. With the support of organizations like APOPO, she continues to rebuild, advocate, and live with purpose.

In her own words, Houn shares her powerful story:

“My name is Houn, and I am 73 years old. I was born near Siem Reap and have lived here my whole life. I’ve been married to my husband since 1971 — more than 53 years together. We have nine children — three boys and six girls — and I am proud to say all of them are married now. I also have over 30 grandchildren.

For Khmer New Year, we sometimes gather for dinner. Everyone cooks something, and we spend time together. My house is at the center of the family, surrounded by my children’s homes, so I’ve watched my grandchildren grow up right before my eyes. Together, we work on our rice fields nearby. We have five hectares, divided into half a hectare for each of my children. This year, we harvested 36 bags of rice and sold 20 of them to buy fertilizer and other necessities. Life is simple, but we make it work with occasional support from our children.

In 1987, my life changed.

It happened just 100 meters from my house, on the road I walked every day. I had gone to borrow a pestle from a neighbor, and on my way back, I stepped on a landmine. I heard the explosion, and in a moment of shock, I remained standing before slowly lying down. My mother-in-law, hearing the blast, ran to help me and tried to stop the bleeding.

Before my accident, I had heard about landmines but had never seen one. My husband had mentioned seeing Khmer Rouge soldiers the night before, but we never imagined they would lay landmines on the road overnight. I wasn’t careless — I was just unlucky. There were seven of us walking that road that day, and I was the second in line when I stepped on it.

We didn’t have a car, so my neighbors carried me in a hammock for five hours to the nearest commune, and from there, we found a car to take me to a small hospital. I thought I was going to die. I was losing so much blood, and it was taking so long to get help. The hospital couldn’t perform the operation because it wasn’t equipped for such cases, so we had to travel again, this time to Siem Reap’s larger hospital. Thankfully, my husband was with me, and there was no fighting along the road that day.

I spent two months in the hospital. My children were still very young, so it was mostly my husband, brother, and sister who came to visit me. On the day of my accident, many others were also brought to the hospital for the same reason. In my room alone, there were 10 other landmine victims. Many of them were young boys and girls. The screams during wound cleanings were heart-wrenching — it was so painful for everyone.

I needed two surgeries. The first one, performed by someone who wasn’t a doctor, didn’t work. My bone was exposed, and I developed an infection. The second surgery removed more of my leg. Losing my leg was devastating, but I was alive — and that was something to hold onto.

When I returned home, I made it my mission to teach my children about the dangers of landmines. They were so close to our home, and I didn’t want anyone else to suffer like I had. My sister, who had also lost her leg to a landmine before my accident, supported me. She understood my pain and fear. Emotionally, we leaned on each other, and she always tried to remind me to look at the bright side — telling me that I still had time to spend with my family and children.

Over the years, my family has worked hard to raise awareness about landmines in our village. In our small community alone, five people have lost their legs because of them — including my husband’s nephew. It’s a painful reality for many families here.

Twenty years ago, I received my first prosthetic leg. Now I have my second one, which is much better. Soon, thanks to APOPO’s support, I’ll get a replacement foot, as this one is wearing out. Using a prosthetic is so much better than a stick — it gives me the freedom to hold things in my hands and live more independently.

To those who create landmines, I beg you to stop. No one should have to endure this pain. And to those who work to remove them, like the team at APOPO, I offer my deepest thanks. You are saving lives and making Cambodia safer for everyone. From the bottom of my heart — thank you.”