It’s the middle of the Hungry Ghost Festival, and I’m standing in front of a vacant hospital in Novena that once treated some of Singapore’s deadliest infectious diseases – Smallpox, Cholera, the Bubonic Plague, Malaria, HIV, even SARS. I’m also keenly aware that in about 30 minutes, I’ll be setting foot into a morgue. I’m not superstitious, but still, sorry Mum. It’s just that I couldn’t pass up this rare opportunity to visit one of the most stigmatised yet fascinating places in Singapore’s history.
The yellowing buildings of the CDC – no, not the vouchers, but Singapore’s former Communicable Disease Centre – stand solemn beside Tan Tock Seng Hospital, long shuttered to the public and whispered about in hushed conversations with old taxi drivers, who refer to it as “Or Sai”, or the “Black Lion”. Ominous? Maybe a little. But as Stanley and Amanda, our tour organisers, tell us, the moniker has a practical origin: “communicable” was a mouthful for many in our parents’ generation, and the hospital’s emblem happened to be a black lion.
Hidden Heritage, a local company known for its tours of undiscovered spots like the Marsiling tunnels, Sembawang war bunkers and Singapore’s first airbase in Seletar, is now offering an exclusive tour of the CDC. And for the first time in years, members of the public are allowed to step into a place that was once heavily restricted and reserved for frontline healthcare workers and their patients – some of whom never walked back out.
The tour will only run for eight sessions until October 26, after which this sprawling one-million-square-foot compound will be closed off for redevelopment and likely transformed into a lifestyle enclave. So if you’ve ever wanted to explore what used to be Singapore’s most shunned and storied healthcare institution, here’s your chance.
Welcome to the Or Sai files
The CDC has been closed to the public since operations moved to the new National Centre for Infectious Diseases (NCID) in 2018. Most Singaporeans only know the place for its reputation, if at all. Back in the day, it was an urban legend of sorts, with people daring one another to hold their breath whenever the bus drove past the hospital, for fear of ‘catching something’.
But step inside, and it’s a different world entirely. The hospital blocks, sprawled over land the size of 12 football fields, tell a story far more human and nuanced than its reputation suggests. The wards – some over a hundred years old since the days of Middleton Hospital in the 1920s – are well-preserved, each with its own legacy of suffering, resilience, and sometimes, medical breakthroughs.
Block 803, for instance, once separated patients, not by what their insurance policy says, but by class and race. Europeans were housed in one ward, upper-class Asians in another and lower-class Asians in the least equipped rooms. Even being a crazy rich Asian wouldn’t have warranted you a stay in a cushy European ward. Those were just the times.
Then there’s Block 875, the last remaining Nightingale ward in Singapore, named after Florence Nightingale, a pioneer of modern nursing. Designed in a classic open-plan style to maximise natural light and airflow for patient recovery, the space is truly a relic of modern history. We’re also brought to Block 813, the residence of Middleton Hospital’s former superintendent, whose two brothers were taken by the Japanese during the occupation. His son, inspired by the family’s history, went on to become the director of the CDC, and is still alive today.
The human side of healthcare
What sets this tour apart isn’t just getting to know about the place’s history, which, by the way, is supplemented by Stanley and Amanda’s excellent visual aids and engaging storytelling, but the many stories associated with the hospital.
We’re not just talking textbook history, but the lived experiences of doctors, nurses and patients. The rooms marked with yellow doors were once part of a care centre for HIV patients in the 1990s. Back then, the stigma surrounding the disease was so intense that bodies were cremated within 24 hours, and patients were not allowed a proper wake. Yet, amidst this fear, there were heroes like Iris Verghese, who did tireless outreach in the red-light districts of Singapore, encouraging sex workers to get frequent health check-ups.
In another building, Amanda recounts the story of a young boy who was encased in an iron lung – a desperate measure for treating severe cases of polio that impacted breathing. He was the hospital’s darling, managing to learn four languages under the unlikeliest of circumstances.
Even the morgue, which is skipped in the hospital’s directory, has its tales, though none of an eerie nature like you would think. Discerning nurses would quip that someone had passed whenever the lights in the building were on. Thankfully, they’ve stayed mostly off at the turn of the century when diseases like HIV became treatable and no longer deadly.
In the case of a patient who passed from the sickness, the CDC conducted its first partial post-mortem, finding that the disease had hollowed out the patient’s spine – a groundbreaking discovery for medical science at the time. I shan’t spoil the tales any further and leave Stanley and Amanda to do their work.
What hits the hardest for me, though, are the moments when tour participants chime in with their personal memories of the CDC. One recalls visiting their relative who was warded for dengue here. Another recounts taking their O-Level examinations in the chicken pox ward and acing it. It’s clear that the hospital housed more than sick patients, but shared memories – even relatively fond ones for some.
Same bones, new skin?
Unfortunately, this brush with Singapore’s medical past is temporary. The site is owned by the Singapore Land Authority (SLA), and the tender for redevelopment has already been awarded. By November 2025, it’s expected to be handed over to developers for a nine-year lease, with suggested uses including offices, F&B, retail and maybe even urban farming or pet-friendly facilities.
It’s cool, sure. And you’ll definitely see us breaking the news here on Time Out. But it’s also bittersweet. One of the conditions of the lease is that the developers must preserve the buildings’ original structures, so they won’t be bulldozed, that’s for sure. But they’ll be repainted. Polished. Maybe Instagrammed. So if you want to see the CDC in its raw, ghost-of-the-past state, now’s the time.
Final thoughts
Visiting the former CDC feels like stepping into a chapter of Singapore’s history book where the pages are glued. These are things we’d rather not talk about in our culture – disease, death, inequality, stigma. But it’s also a story of courage, progress and healing. And yes, maybe it’s slightly spooky during the seventh month, if you’re into that. But perhaps what’s more haunting is how easily this place could be lost forever.
So while you still can, take a walk through these dark corridors and geek out along with Stanley and Amanda. Trust us, the buildings all start to look the same after a while, so you’ll definitely need their help.
Book a tour to the former Communicable Disease Centre here ($48 per person) and find out more about Hidden Heritage here.
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