THAILAND: Achera Thappet, who used to live in the southern Thai village of Namkem until the tsunamis ripped her home apart, is sitting in a relief station eating dried fish and vegetables out of a plastic container.
"My father died and my younger sister. There's only me and my mother now. We've been living in the tents since the wave came. We come here to the relief centre to eat and try and get some help," says the 17-year-old, whose family made their living from fishing.
The refugee camp is in Bang Mun, not far from Namkem, where hundreds, possibly thousands, of Thais lost their lives when the huge waves caused by the seaquake brought the Andaman Sea down on them.
Nearly 5,000 houses - 90 per cent of dwellings in Namkem village - were destroyed.
"The loss that I have had, everyone has felt from the village," Ms Thappet says, as her mother joins her, carrying more food. They rejoin the group of people from the village, which lived predominantly from fishing, all trying to work out the grisly details of who and what they've lost.
Onsee Matnorat, a fisherman also from Namkem, is sitting on a plastic chair nearby looking bewildered.
"I lost my daughter and I lost my house and I lost my livelihood," says Mr Matnorat, who is trying to express his loss on a bureaucratic form bearing the impressive royal seal of Thailand.
"I am filling out this piece of paper so I can get some kind of compensation from the government."
He smiles occasionally as he talks - Thais smile a lot, it's meant to be polite and it's a characteristic of the people that is so appealing. Thais like to keep their troubles to themselves and keep an outwardly sunny disposition, even after the horrors of past days here.
But the eyes tell the real story. Despite his smiles, Mr Matnorat's eyes are troubled, his gaze distracted.
Pit Thongdaeng is holding her youngest son, Pracert, in the city of tents that has sprung up in a field beside the main relief centre, while people wait for the hard-working soldiers in camouflage uniforms and bright orange sun-hats to finish constructing temporary housing. "My brother-in-law is gone, my house is gone, but I am lucky compared to some people around here. Everyone around here has been touched by the wave," she said.
The camp is in the grounds behind the town hall and the relief effort looks extremely well organised. The area directly behind the school has piles of clothes for the refugees from Namkem.
The tents are divided into streets and many bear pictures of King Bhumibol Adulyadej of Thailand, an iconic, hugely popular figure among rich and poor in this country. He lost his 21-year-old grandson, Bhumi Jensen, in the wave.
Despite the fact that everyone has suffered loss here, the atmosphere is remarkably upbeat, as people under duress try to keep their spirits up under the terrible circumstances. Building houses and making things seem to be good for people's morale. A passing soldier takes my hand and shakes it warmly, flashing me one of those fantastic Thai smiles. Every time I take a photograph in the camp I am thanked profusely.
"There are an awful lot of people here, very, very many people here without homes. You cannot put a proper number on it. Many have lost everything in the wave. The number of people here doubled in two days," says Philippe Ricros, a burly, bluff aid worker with the French government's World Assistance Corps.
"We are building this housing for those who have lost their homes." The centre is near one of three makeshift morgues set up in the temple grounds to accommodate unidentified bodies from the tsunamis. There are 22 people from the Corps Mondial d'Assistance. Mr Ricros has been here since Sunday and will do a 12-day stint. He is sweating from the midday heat but very happy to talk. He made a point of wishing Irish people affected by the disaster good luck.
Many volunteers and diplomats have pointed out how the Thai authorities have shown impressive organisational abilities throughout this disaster.
Although it is still a developing country, Thailand is a comparatively wealthy place. Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra has said his country is seeking technical assistance, not cash.
Later I drive to Namkem to see where the refugees come from. It is nearly totally destroyed, in many ways even worse than Khao Lak, 30 kilometres up the road. Namkem was always a tough place, not really a tourist destination. Many came here from other parts of Thailand to work the local tin mines - when they shut in the 1980s, many stayed on to work as fishermen. It was always a bit wild, and fights were common there, locals say.
In Namkem I drive along what was once a road lined with houses and there is nothing left but palm trees, which have proven remarkably resilient to the ravages of the waves.