Thousands of children have lost both their families and homes
Saturday, 26 February, 2005, 12:35 GMT
Struggle continues for Aceh's orphans
It is exactly two months since tidal waves smashed into the shores of Indonesia's Aceh province killing some 230,000 people. Tens of thousands are still living in temporary shelters although the authorities are gradually moving people into sturdier accommodation.
It is still dark inside the tent when Marwadah wakes up.
Two elderly women are snoring and an army truck roars past on the road just outside. It is half past six in the morning.
Marwadah is 11 years old. She is bleary eyed but already smiling as she slips out of the tent in her new school uniform and a white headscarf, which frames her scarred face like a picture.
Breakfast does not really happen in the camp, so she sets off on foot, past the French aid workers' tent, and along the road to school.
I first met Marwadah just a few days after the tsunami. I was with a group of Indonesian officials trying to work out roughly how many children had been orphaned by the waves.
Marwadah had hung back, reluctant to join a queue of giggling kids lining up to answer the men's questions.
Finding a sister
She was, as far as she knew, the only survivor in her family.
The wave had dumped her about a mile from her home. In the camp she had found a neighbour, a large lady with a familiar face. Marwadah stuck to her like glue.
Today, the neighbour has moved somewhere else.
But Marwadah skips out of her classroom at noon with a huge grin. She pinches my arm.
"White," she says, staring in fascination at the contrast with her dark skin.
We walk back along the road in the heat to the tent. And there, sitting outside under a clove tree is the source of her happiness. Her 16-year-old sister, Mutiyah.
They look alike, but Mutiyah is the quiet one, sitting back with a smile to let her younger sibling finish her sentences and boss her around.
Mutiyah's face has the same small scars on it from the wave.
They had been together in the house on 26 December, but it was nearly a month before they found each other again.
This afternoon, the girls are planning to visit their new camp. It is about 10 minutes walk along the main road.
New home
The Indonesian government has built half a dozen large wooden huts on stilts. Everyone calls them barracks.
Marwadah pushes her sister aside impatiently and opens the padlock. Inside the room, it is baking hot and immaculate, the girls' new possessions lined up carefully in a corner.
About 80 people lived in Lampaya before the tsunami, 12 survived.
They have been given a stove, some plates, a bucket and bedding.
The authorities have asked the girls to move into the barracks, but they are not keen.
There is no running water yet and they are concerned about sleeping here alone with an army camp just up the road.
Marwadah has another worry.
Twenty yards from their room is a mass grave, maybe 400 bodies beneath a patch of muddy ground.
"I am scared of ghosts," she says.
It is estimated Aceh will need $4bn (£2.1bn) over the next five years
Her sister tells her not to worry, that the ghosts are all friends and neighbours.
The ruins of their village are just across the road. About 80 people lived in Lampaya before the tsunami, 12 survived.
Marwadah skips through the rubble, happily pointing out where their home was, and dragging a pair of jeans out of the mud.
Mutiyah, older and aware of her responsibilities, starts sobbing.
She says there was a family feud in the past. The house belonged to their grandmother, but now a distant uncle has convinced local officials that the land it stood on is his, leaving the girls with nothing.
And there are other worries too.
Marwadah was given a $100 note by a foreigner soon after the tsunami. Someone in the camp offered to exchange it for local currency. He kept the note, but then told the girls that, since it was printed in 1996, it was now out of date and worthless.
We went to see him together. I offered to exchange the bill for a more recent one and he quickly changed his story.
But now Mutiyah is worried about where to keep the cash.
Future
Like everyone else she lost all her documents in the wave, so she cannot open a bank account yet.
Marwadah folds her arms and announces that she will never trust anyone ever again
There is a group of men who sit quietly by the camp entrance listening closely as I walk in and out with the girls. One hundred dollars is a lot of money here.
Marwadah folds her arms and announces that she will never trust anyone ever again.
By six o'clock, the sun is already hidden behind the palm trees.
Mutiyah tells her sister to help sweep the tent and roll out their single mattress. Marwadah giggles and runs off.
In a minute it will be time for evening prayers, and then bed.
Neither sister has any idea what they will do in the future.
Marwadah's teacher says she is the brightest in her class. Mutiyah has no money for college, but she is not keen on studying anyway.
For now, they will keep going as they are, in a way they are still treading water.
From Our Own Correspondent was broadcast on Saturday, 26 February, 2005, at 1130 GMT on BBC Radio 4. Please check the programme schedules for World Service transmission times.
By Andrew Harding
BBC News, Banda Aceh, Indonesia
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/4297629.stm
