^Doing our best, saving as many lives as possible

Sprinkled in the steep mountains that tower over the mighty Indus River, communities hit by the devastating earthquake in northern Pakistan over one year ago each have their own haunting tales of tragedy. A family crushed under the rubble, a schoolhouse demolished, a young boy unable to locate his parents.

When I traveled to this remote area as part of a UNICEF emergency team, it didn't take long for the enormity of the relief operation to dawn upon us. We realized that there were several hundred communities just like the ones we visited, isolated among the jagged rocky peaks that were unreached - even several months after the earthquake hit.

There are an estimated one million people living in the quake-ravaged sections of the Himalayan Mountains. Even today thousands of people live in squalor in displaced people camps in the lowlands, unable to go home due to landslides or lack of shelter.

The tales of tragedy are as diverse as the people of this rugged land. Aid workers said the scope of the damage and the degree of loss of human life dwarfed anything they have seen in the past. With some three million rendered homeless and a death toll well over 50,000, painful benchmarks set against previous natural disasters were quickly surpassed.

By any measure the October 8, 2005 earthquake was a catastrophe for children. They make up about half of the affected population, and about one-fifth is five and under. Many families lost absolutely everything. The quake struck on a Saturday morning when classrooms were full. It is absolutely shameful that most were not built to withstand medium to strong earthquakes.
For those of us in the business of protecting children - including colleagues battle-hardened from previous disasters - the massive blow to children struck us particularly hard. I remember sitting in the departure lounge of Dubai Airport after several weeks in the quake zone, ashen-faced and with my head in my hands, sill trying to comprehend what I had seen.

It's impossible to comprehend such huge numbers when an entire generation has been so badly affected. Even today, over a year later, my thoughts often turn to the million or so people still living in the mountains ravaged by the quake. A photograph I took of a displaced mother cradling her newly-born child - if ever, an icon of fear and displacement - is seared forever into my memory.

One of the saddest memories from the many chopper flights I took into remote mountain villages is the sight of two boys in Jarad searching for their classmates amid the rocks and timber of what was once their school. There's was no heavy equipment in remote villages to recover bodies.

But children have incredible healing capacity.

As I type this in bucolic, peaceful Geneva, above me is a colourful montage of photographs recently taken by children living in the earthquake zone. They are from a collection of 800 that 180 boy and girls took with donated digital cameras. The kid's work always brings a smile to my face. Many portray joyful scenes such as play, landscapes and animals. I often wonder if this signals a transition in the children's disposition? The first time we gave them cameras most of the photos were of ruble and rough conditions in the camps.
In early September a new school year began in Pakistan. UNICEF is among several aid agencies working with the Government of Pakistan to rebuild the hundreds of schools flattened by the quake. We have found time and time again that nothing brings about a sense of normality in kids lives than school. It is something they clamour for when disaster hits.

When historians chronicle the response to this horrible calamity, we in the aid community can at least say we gave it our best shot. Even with a huge gap in funding, unimaginable logistical difficulties and foul weather, we acted with dispatch, wisdom and compassion to save as many children's lives as possible.