Feed My Village, Year 3 Update and What Really Happened

It’s been almost a month since returning from Surin and I still don’t think my heart has processed all that happened. This trip unfolded into something I never imagined and stretched me more than I knew it would.

For background stories, read about past Feed My Village Project below:

Feed My Village Year 1, Feed My Village Year 2, Feed My Village Year 2, the Why. My Surin Village and What it's like Growing Up in a Leprosy Village, and What is leprosy and my personal connection to it.

This is a long read, so hang in there with me. I have a lot to share about this year’s trip!

Jump to:

• The Plan, Before Everything Shifted
• Surin, Thailand with My Thai Family
• Year Three Update, What Really Happened
• Moments of Doubt
• Thursday Night: Planning Into the Night
• Friday: Feeding 500–600 Refugees
• Saturday Morning: The Elders
• Saturday Afternoon: School Uniforms
• Saturday Night: A Jungle Temple Request
• A Side Story I Didn’t See Coming
• Sunday: Christmas for Everyone
• Sunday Afternoon: The Call Comes
• Monday: Difficult Goodbyes
• What I’m Carrying Home
• A Special Shout Out to Alice and Shane
• Courage in the Middle of Fear
• Thank YOU!!
• More Thailand Stories
• Hi there, I’m Suwanee!

The Plan, Before Everything Shifted

When I left Spokane, the plan was simple and familiar:

• Feed the elderly with leprosy
• Feed families in the village who needed extra help
• If funds allowed, feed the entire village
• If we really had extra, help kids with school uniforms
• And maybe, if we had time, partner with my old elementary school and end with a lazy day seeing some Surin sights

That was it. That was the plan, very similar to the other two years of work with a small add of collaborating with my former elementary to feed the kids an easy lunch. And then life threw a whole different set of instructions at us.

Surin, Thailand with My Thai Family

I arrived in Surin the weekend before the official feeding dates to settle in and reconnect with my family. It’s been incredible to see how much they have grown into this project. Three years ago, this was just my idea, a way to give back to the elderly living with leprosy who cared for me when I was young.

Now, my Thai family has become the heartbeat of this mission. They took ownership in a way I never saw coming. They opened their homes, kitchens, and yards. They invited neighbors, cousins, teens, aunties, and even strangers to join in. They planned, cooked, organized, encouraged, and made everything possible with joy.

What started as a small seed of an idea has grown into something bigger and more beautiful than I dreamed. And every time I return, my Bangkok family joins too, turning each trip into a reunion and a reminder of how deeply rooted this mission has become, across families, across generations, across two cities that hold pieces of my childhood.

Year Three Update, What Really Happened

Emergency Evacuation and Refugees Arrived.

We left the village briefly to rest in Bangkok and pick up friends flying in to help before the big weekend. Two hours into the drive, my phone exploded with messages, calls, photos and warnings. Word spread fast, and within hours, thirty thousand people had been displaced along the Thailand–Cambodia border.

On the road to Bangkok, we passed trucks, cars, motorbikes and tractors stacked with people, kids, belongings, blankets and plastic bags tied in every direction. The fighting was close, only about fifty kilometers, roughly thirty-five miles from my village, and the reality was impossible to ignore. Families fled with whatever they could carry. Schools shut down. Churches, temples and classrooms turned into shelters. People slept on floors, under tarps and in tents.

I kept monitoring the situation and hoping the conflict would settle quickly, but the updates only got worse. The villagers told me they had a feeling this one wouldn’t pass in a few days. They were right. Just six months earlier, there was another evacuation that resolved quickly. This time, the fighting dragged on for more than three weeks.

Moments of Doubt

Alice and Shane were already somewhere over the Pacific Ocean heading toward Thailand, and another family was preparing to fly from Malaysia. I had to make a call. Cancel everything? Go alone? Ask my friends not to come? Walk away from the people who raised me?

My mind spun through every possibility. I called every aunt, cousin, neighbor and leader in the village. And their answer was simple: We are staying. So if they stayed, I stayed.
Alice and Shane chose to stay with me too.

I rented a van as a backup plan, just in case we needed to leave in a hurry. That way we’d have a vehicle ready and could pack in as many people from the village as possible if evacuation became necessary.

Thursday Night: Planning Into the Night

We left Bangkok to go back to Surin a few days later and when we arrived in the evening, my family welcomed us with fresh young coconut from our yard and a homemade Thai meal, a delicious feast just for us after 8 hours of traveling.

After the meet and greet and some catching up I got my notebook out and we planned until late into the night, in Thai, with Alice and Shane smiling politely, patiently and maybe pretending to understand some of what we said. (:

We had no idea how big the weekend was about to get.

Friday: Feeding 500–600 Refugees

Instead of school kids, we fed displaced families sleeping on school floors and the soccer field. The village women were up at 4 a.m. buying ingredients in the dark. They chopped vegetables under buzzing lights and cooked pot after pot of rice and pad kra pao.

By 7 a.m., the little kitchen was busy. Neighbors, teens, aunties, uncles, everyone jumped in and out and knew exactly what to do without anyone directing traffic. Even Alice, who cooks professionally in commercial kitchens back and runs a busy catering business, Seraimas, in the States, kept saying she wanted to hire all of them.

We packed food into containers, loaded up trucks, and drove to my old elementary school. The place where I spent my childhood from kindergarten through sixth grade.

Refugees lined up quietly with bowls and empty containers. Some asked for extras for elderly family members stuck at shelters. We didn’t turn anyone away.

We somehow fed 500–600 people, and when the food was gone, they still thanked us over and over. Many had been living on canned fish, tuna, ramen and eggs for days, so a fresh meal went straight to the heart.

And somewhere in that whirlwind, a childhood classmate recognized me while I was serving food. Life has a wild way of bringing things full circle in Surin.

Saturday Morning: The Elders

Saturday was for the grandparents of my childhood. Many of them live with leprosy and some are now blind or missing fingers and toes.

The women chefs made two kinds of noodle soup, chicken and Thai boat noodles, all cooked with love, laughter and loud debates in the kitchen. My first sip of the soup, hit like childhood. Every memory, every smell, every feeling of home in one spoonful.

We packed meals, added dried goods and a small envelope of cash, and went house to house all over the village. Hands lifted in prayer, blessings whispered and tears held back. These elders helped raise me long before I ever understood what that meant.

These elders helped raise me long before I ever understood what that meant.

Saturday Afternoon: School Uniforms

After lunch, we lined up the uniforms and called the village kids into my family’s yard. The parents were the most excited. Since Thai schools require uniforms, having an extra set helped them in a big way. It meant less washing during the week, less wear and tear, and one less expense for families already stretched thin.

This part is always fun. Kids from all over the village showed up, and the teens pitched in too, many of whom had already spent the weekend helping cook, deliver food and tackle kitchen chores without a single complaint.

Saturday Night: A Jungle Temple Request

Just when we thought we were done for the day, Pastor Preap came running to my family’s house with news. A remote village deeper in the jungle was hosting 145 refugees and barely had any help. One of the volunteers turned out to be an old classmate of mine, which sealed everything for us. Around 5:30 pm, as the sun dipped behind the rice fields, we loaded into trucks and headed out along narrow dirt roads through the woods.

When we arrived at the Buddhist temple, a handful of volunteers and the village chief greeted us and quickly filled us in on what they were facing. We assessed what we could do and promised to return with dried goods and supplies. By the time we finished shopping, it was pitch dark, remote, roads were full of potholes and not safe to return. So we kept everything in the van overnight, called the team to let them know, and told them we’d be back first thing in the morning to drop off what we gathered.

A Side Story I Didn’t See Coming

While we were shopping for supplies for the jungle temple that night, I wandered into a stall selling woven purses. The owner assumed I was a tourist, as usual, until I opened my mouth and spoke Thai like a local. That changed everything, and she shared a story I never saw coming. Her village quietly cooks pork jerky every single day to feed Thai soldiers fighting along the border. Monks, nuns, women and kids work together nonstop to support these young men. No photos, no recognition, just food, compassion and dignity.

I asked if we might be able to visit and meet some of the soldiers if the timing worked. She said yes, but warned it would have to be fast and last minute for safety reasons, since their food pickups are unpredictable and discreet. We exchanged numbers, said goodbye, and went back to our own mission while we waited to see if the phone call would come the next day.

Sunday: Christmas for Everyone

Sunday was church day and the whole village showed up. It was loud, joyful, packed and beautiful. Refugees, villagers, school families, teachers and neighbors all gathered together under one roof. The women made three giant pots of curry with noodles, fresh herbs and vegetables for everyone to share. There were games and singing, and kids crowded under the big rain tree painting hats and making art.

One of my favorite memories was Alice getting tricked into doing a Thai chicken dance in front of a full church service with more than a hundred people because I volunteered her without warning. She committed fully and the whole room burst into laughter. For a couple of hours, we forgot about the shells and explosions rumbling in the distance and no one spoke of war or fear. It was pure joy and togetherness.

Sunday Afternoon: The Call Comes

Just as we finished cleaning up, the phone rang. Soldiers were coming for food. We grabbed what we needed, piled into a van and followed a dirt road with rice fields on either side. I can’t share photos or details for safety reasons, but the scene will stay with me forever. Monks, nuns, women, teenagers, little kids and tired soldiers all worked together side by side to get meals ready.

We were asked if we'd like to meet the Abbot of the temple, we happily agreed and The abbot spoke quietly but with so much peace and calmness. He said they do not celebrate war nor gloat when the other side suffers, because every life matters. War is not peace, and hate does not lead to peace. Those words hit hard. I think we all needed to hear them more than we realized.

Monday: Difficult Goodbyes

We left early that morning with heavy hearts. There were more hugs, tears, and more emotional weight than I was prepared for. The refugees, who owned almost nothing, packed food and snacks for us to take on the road. That gesture was extremely touching. We came to feed them, yet they fed us in return. We promised to come back again and share a meal next time, not as evacuees and helpers, but simply as neighbors.

Then came the goodbye with my family, which somehow gets harder every year. We loaded into the van and drove back toward Bangkok in quiet, trying to process all that we had seen and done.

What I’m Carrying Home

This year turned everything upside down. The plan I packed in my suitcase was not the plan I lived out. But here is what I know deep in my bones:

• The elderly with leprosy will always be my why
• Feeding the village will always feel like coming home
• Helping refugees is now woven into the story too
• The right people always seem to show up when needed most
• Goodness rises in the middle of chaos
• Love stretches farther than I ever imagined

And just like that, year three is now part of us forever.

A Special Shout Out to Alice and Shane

also need to give a huge shoutout to Alice and Shane. They didn’t just come to Thailand to visit. They worked, loved and served right alongside us from the moment they arrived. They cooked, carried boxes, washed dishes, bought coffee, played with kids, hugged aunties and uncles, and poured their hearts into everyone they met.

They also used their own money whenever a need popped up—extra meals, art supplies for kids, food funds, new kitchen knives to replace the old dull ones the village cooks have been using for years, and even a much-needed projector for the church that will now serve school events and village gatherings for years to come.

They brought humor too. Alice’s “chicken dance” in front of a packed church will live rent-free in my head forever. She brought laughter when people needed it most.

They listened, cried, encouraged, and sat with people in their pain. They showed up fully, every single day. Having friends who support my mission at that level meant the world. They’re already talking about coming back for Year Four, and I truly hope they do. I couldn’t have done this the way we did without them.

(My other friends from Malaysia, who had planned on joining us had work called in last minute and had to cancel the trip, but they are planning on joining us again next year).

Courage in the Middle of Fear

I received a lot of messages from people worried about our safety. And once the weekend wrapped up without incident, the question I heard the most was whether I ever felt afraid, especially with international news reporting heavy fighting and the loud blasts we could hear nearby.

The honest answer is yes and no.

I didn’t feel fear take over most of the time because I was in charge that weekend, and as the leader I barely had a second to think. From the moment we woke up until late each night, I was fielding questions, sorting details, handling logistics, and making decisions on the fly. We were constantly moving, cooking, packing, driving, planning, and helping. The needs in front of us demanded my full attention more than the fear did.

Fear only slipped in during the rare quiet moments, usually late at night when the explosions shook the roof and rattled the windows, or early mornings when the village was still. But I trusted my family, my team, and the villagers who live this reality every day. If they stayed, I stayed. And somehow, goodness still found a way to bloom in the middle of fear.

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