Ban Muang (see map), often spelled Bang Muang, is a small community just kilometers from the nearby Andaman Sea on the west coast of southern Thailand. On December 26, 2004, the coastal town of Ban Nam Khem, mostly inhabited by Thai and Burmese fishermen and their families, was tragically swept away by the tsunami. Nearly one-fourth of the town's population was either killed or is still missing. After the tsunami, the townspeople relocated to Ban Muang refugee camp and today it houses nearly 3,000 people.

Among the refugee camp's inhabitants are hundreds of children whose families have endured a tremendous amount of hardship. Many family members are still missing and feared dead. And many children have lost their entire families, leaving them orphaned and facing a life of uncertainty. Where will they go? Who will take them?

Volunteers and relief organizations are doing what can be done to find relatives to take in the remaining children. Relief officials believe this could take months, perhaps even years.


While I was in Ban Muang refugee camp in mid January, I was able to interact with these children one-on-one. Each and every one of them had the ability to muster a smile, but there is no doubt that their scars run deep. The constant intervention of the relief workers has kept their minds occupied and offered comfort. At the same time workers have the ability to monitor each child and access their individual needs. Psychologist and medical personnel were on-hand to ascertain their condition and efforts are continuing to heal these innocent souls.

On the southern edge of the camp a childrens' play area has been erected. Under the tarpaulins and temporary tents, dozens of relief workers and refugee children are keeping busy. Some volunteers and children gather around a guitarists who plays sing-a-long songs, while others paint pictures and crudely construct crafts. Someone walking into this festive venue would think it was a local kids' faire instead of necessary therapy for the survivors of a tragic natural disaster. As a professional photographer, I sought the children that showed their real inner soul and began to interact.


One boy in particular was mesmerized by my camera and reluctantly let me know he wanted to look through the lens. His head was bandaged, as was his chest and leg. He bore the scars and scrapes that could only could be the result of a violent tsunami. But even with his wounds, he enjoyed holding my camera and taking photos of his newly found friends. I smiled with him and spoke in broken English, using hand gestures to overcome the language barrier. But one language was quite similar between us: that of friendship. I looked into his eyes and tried hard to visualize the images he had seen just weeks before. Images of confusion, turmoil, immense fear, death, and now uncertainty. It was time, I felt, to walk away for a moment into a nearby grove of trees and have a good cry. My life seemed so insignificant at this point, and the impending feelings of guilt began to overtake my heart. This experience became the beginning of a new direction for me. Nothing else in my material world mattered anymore.

Today marks the second month that I have visualized building a new playground for the children affected by the tsunami. This is no doubt a challenge for me, but like many before this, I have always delved deeply into something I truly believe worthy. I hope you will join me in this personal quest to help these children. Your kind donation, no matter how small, is a step closer to realizing this dream.

It is their dream as well as mine.