He hung on to a tree with the child until suddenly the baby was pulled from his arms and sucked under.

"After a minute I saw something in the water," said Oki. It was his nephew. He grabbed the boy, who threw up a gut-full of tsunami and lived.

Oki had been a news photographer until the tsunami. Now, with his camera gear gone, he was reporting for the LA Times, and fixing for whomever.

When I picked up my key at the Sulthan, the night manager tried to tell me something I couldn't understand. I wanted to eat and sleep, so I could find my story in the morning.

Gurawan, Nurjahi, and Deni, lost their mother, father, sister, and brother to the tsunami. When Nurjani, suddenly the head of household atage 15, is asked whether she is sad or angry, she says only that she still has two brothers.

Photo by Amy Marash

A slow rolling earthquake woke Aceh at 7AM, but difficulties with the car made Oki late, and we missed the morning departures to the camps from World Vision and UNICEF. I interviewed relief workers and program managers, but I wanted to be with refugees. After a full day in Banda Aceh, in a state filled with displaced persons, I was still looking for one.

At the hotel the night clerk again tugged at my sleeve. My mother, he said. Another clerk and another guest began to translate.

On December 26, after the earthquake shook the seaside home he shared with his mother Zuraida and his brother Nofi, Boby Octavia,