Mr Usman Hasan lived most of his life just 20 metres from the ocean in a quiet Samatiga village, and was caught in the first wall of water that came down upon his community. Swept about by the gushing waters, it was a miracle that he and his immedia

Mr Usman Hasan lived most of his life just 20 metres from the ocean in a quiet Samatiga village, and was caught in the first wall of water that came down upon his community. Swept about by the gushing waters, it was a miracle that he and his immediate family survived. The 64-year-old adopted two children aged 9 and 12 who were orphaned in the disaster -- one of them was about to be reunited with his father after the water receded when a tree fell on the older man, killing him. Mr Usman now lives in a house built with aid from Singapore. Here, he shows his adopted children where his old home once stood. The stretch of sand, once populated with residences, remains barren -- gone are all the houses, and the sand is strewn with debris, animal skeletons, and lingering fear.

Mr Usman Hasan with his wife in his Habitat for Humanity home, where he tends to sickly villagers as the community's doctor. Habitat was one of many partners the Singapore Red Cross had worked with, to implement rebuilding projects with lasting impa

Mr Usman Hasan with his wife in his Habitat for Humanity home, where he tends to sickly villagers as the community's doctor. Habitat was one of many partners the Singapore Red Cross had worked with, to implement rebuilding projects with lasting impact.

Mr Usman has built wooden extensions to his Habitat for Humanity home, which allow him to better tend to his patients and run a small convenience store for added income.

Mr Usman has built wooden extensions to his Habitat for Humanity home, which allow him to better tend to his patients and run a small convenience store for added income.

Ten years ago, the word "tsunami" did not exist in the Acehnese daily vocabulary. Many perished because they simply did not know what was happening. Today, the new generations are taught, right from their kindergarten days, the danger signs to look

Ten years ago, the word "tsunami" did not exist in the Acehnese daily vocabulary. Many perished because they simply did not know what was happening. Today, the new generations are taught, right from their kindergarten days, the danger signs to look out for. Here, five-year-olds taught at the Singapore Red Cross kindergarten built in the aftermath of the tsunami go through an earthquake evacuation drill, hiding under desks at instructions of their teachers.

Madam Dian Afasanti Rafik Uddin lost her son, who would have been 13 today. She still holds on to memories of her son. "If it's meant to be that he's alive, I'll find him."

Madam Dian Afasanti Rafik Uddin lost her son, who would have been 13 today. She still holds on to memories of her son. "If it's meant to be that he's alive, I'll find him."

Amelia, who turns six later this year and goes to the Singapore Red Cross kindergarten, is the second breath of life to her mother,  Madam Dian Afasanti Rafik Uddin

Amelia, who turns six later this year and goes to the Singapore Red Cross kindergarten, is the second breath of life to her mother, Madam Dian Afasanti Rafik Uddin

Madam Suarni Muhamad lost her home to the tsunami, but thankfully not her family. Here she is revisiting the shores near her old home that were ravaged by the ocean. Her two daughters, born after the disaster, go to the Singapore Red Cross kindergar

Madam Suarni Muhamad lost her home to the tsunami, but thankfully not her family. Here she is revisiting the shores near her old home that were ravaged by the ocean. Her two daughters, born after the disaster, go to the Singapore Red Cross kindergarten. The school's quality of teaching, emphasis on disaster safety, and facilities such as an indoor playground have impressed Madam Suarni.

Madam Suarni's youngest, a playful five-year-old student at the Singapore Red Cross kindergarten, funded by the People of Singapore through the Tidal Waves Asia Fund.

Madam Suarni's youngest, a playful five-year-old student at the Singapore Red Cross kindergarten, funded by the People of Singapore through the Tidal Waves Asia Fund.

Mr Hasanuddin Abdul Raniadami was out at sea with his brother when the tsunami hit, and was swept back to an almost unrecognisable village, torn apart by the ocean. Two years later, he was elected the head of Kampong Tengoh, where Mr Usman is from,

Mr Hasanuddin Abdul Raniadami was out at sea with his brother when the tsunami hit, and was swept back to an almost unrecognisable village, torn apart by the ocean. Two years later, he was elected the head of Kampong Tengoh, where Mr Usman is from, and oversaw much of the rebuilding. He says his people are grateful for the international aid that poured in. His first order of business was to lay out a five-year recovery plan for the village's economy and infrastructure. Looking forward, he is hoping to construct coconut processing factories to better capitalise on the regional crop.

The people of Meulaboh are welcoming, most of them cheery. Their uplifting spirits and their strong faiths keep them together. Here in a girls' dormitory under the Babussalam Boarding School that received aid from Singapore, 12-year-old Nur Asiyah l

The people of Meulaboh are welcoming, most of them cheery. Their uplifting spirits and their strong faiths keep them together. Here in a girls' dormitory under the Babussalam Boarding School that received aid from Singapore, 12-year-old Nur Asiyah looks up from her bunk bed, dressed in her prayer robes. Some of the girls later eagerly try to practice their English with me, patiently teaching me some Bahasa Aceh in return.

Religious faith is one of the roots of resilience and strength in Meulaboh, a city governed under Shariah Law. Many who opened their homes to us said they left their fates to higher powers when the tsunami hit. Here, a man enters a mosque in the out

Religious faith is one of the roots of resilience and strength in Meulaboh, a city governed under Shariah Law. Many who opened their homes to us said they left their fates to higher powers when the tsunami hit. Here, a man enters a mosque in the outskirts of the city center for en evening prayer session as dusk falls.

A battered breakwater and stumps of trees felled by the tsunami are reminders of the devastation wreaked ten years ago along the Ujong Karang beach. Mr Adon Sofi did not dare go near the ocean for the first few years after his house was swept away,

A battered breakwater and stumps of trees felled by the tsunami are reminders of the devastation wreaked ten years ago along the Ujong Karang beach. Mr Adon Sofi did not dare go near the ocean for the first few years after his house was swept away, but has since ventured back out to fish, the past-time and livelihood of many in coastal Meulaboh.

A decade ago, huge walls of water came crashing over these shores, devastating Meulaboh. Houses used to line the Ujong Karang beach, but they have since been replaced with a sprouting of cafes, and residents have returned to the sands to play and fi

A decade ago, huge walls of water came crashing over these shores, devastating Meulaboh. Houses used to line the Ujong Karang beach, but they have since been replaced with a sprouting of cafes, and residents have returned to the sands to play and fish.

Mr Yuliandi Arani was the head of the Meulaboh General Hospital  accident and emergency unit when the earthquake and tsunami struck. He lived just minutes from ocean, but rushed to the hospital to tend to others. When he finally managed t

Mr Yuliandi Arani was the head of the Meulaboh General Hospital accident and emergency unit when the earthquake and tsunami struck. He lived just minutes from ocean, but rushed to the hospital to tend to others. When he finally managed to leave the hospital, he found the bodies of his parents and five other family members who had failed to get away.

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