30, decided to come right away to the Sulthan Hotel. "Stay here, I'm really afraid," said Boby's mother Zuraida, "Don't be too long." Those were her last words to Boby.

After a quick stop at the hotel, Boby headed home, into the wave. "I drove my motorcycle until I couldn't any more, and then I swam," the remaining 3 km home. Boby looked like he was smiling. "Many Acehnese people smile when they are sad," said the hotel guest.

The tsunami took Boby's home, carried off his brother Nofi, a 25-year old university student and their mother, Zuraida, a widow. "How old was your mother?" I asked Boby. "55." "Same as me," I said.

The next morning I was rid of my fixer, rid of my agenda, and riding on theback of Boby's motorcycle, in Boby's world. Joking around on a Saturday drive to Boby's tent in the refugee camp.

We rode to Boby's village of Blang Oi. Debris, boats in the wrong place. Smoke from fires. "Are you okay, Boby?" Boby was smiling.

Nothing, where seven rooms had been. "My bedroom," he said, stepping on bits of ceramic tile, cement and a shred of dark blue cloth. "My mother's room." "Bodies everywhere," said Boby, but not the ones he needs to bury; mother or brother. Boby's friend Hendra looked through 10 morgues and all the hospitals in the district.

Boby's World.

Photo by Amy Marash

Boby said he lost 22 pounds since the tsunami. "I take responsibility for leaving my family." He has not visited the trauma center set up for tsunami