When I told her the news, San Kyi could not stop her flow of tears, which she quickly wiped away as they streamed down her face. I was glad that they were tears of joy, but as I rejoiced with her, I could not help but think of the untold tears of grief she had wept in the months prior to our meeting.

Six months ago, Cyclone Giri swept across the western coast of Myanmar with 155-mph winds, claiming several thousand lives. Now, as our weathered 40-foot cargo boat chugged slowly up the Laymyo River, I was witnessing the cyclone's devastation with my own eyes. Hills, once blanketed with lush tropical vegetation, were scoured clean except for a few battered, solitary trees. The skeletal frames of former homes stood as silent reminders of the storm's raging fury.