"Would you like a bracelet?" Nielsen asked as she nestled into the crowd. Dozens of arms were outstretched. Smiles suddenly appeared. "Where are you from?" a few of the girls who knew some English asked. "America," Nielsen replied. "America?" several voices responded. Most residents of this battle-torn province had never seen an American in person.

While Nielsen handed out the bracelets and necklaces, Sharette and Headlee had wandered a little bit deeper into the camp.

"What's your name?" Sharette, the principal of a charter school in Draper, asked the boys hanging on the gates of the makeshift school. Each of the boys lifted his head and proudly declared his name. The quick visit by foreigners energized the elementary school-aged kids. One of the adults who lived in the camp said 17 of the schoolkids are missing. Some of the teachers have not returned to class, either.

"Most of the teachers are lost," one of the doctors said.

"Where are the orphans?" Headlee asked. The local physician turned to some of the adults standing nearby and in another language sought the answer. "They are back in those trees," she said.

The Utah women and their local medical colleagues decided to hike through the thick, soft, fresh mud to a distant part of the camp.

After a walk up a small wooded hill in the humid heat, the group found the building that used to serve as this village's school. The homeless who had found shelter here emerged from the building to see who the strangers were and why they had come.

After pleasantries were exchanged, the questions and the heart-breaking responses began.

Child after child had lost parents who were at work or at the wrong place at the wrong time when the wave hit. The accounts were shared in seemingly emotionless, stoic, business-like tones. To the Banda Aceh residents the stories appeared so common. In the Utah women, they evoked emotion.

"We are so sorry," Nielsen said through watery eyes and a broken voice, hoping her concern would be evident even though her words were likely not understood.

From behind Nielsen, a voice came unexpectedly.

"We did not have time," one of the female doctors offered up softly but somewhat defensively.

"We only had time to get ourselves. We could not save all the children. We could only get ourselves," she said through tears before turning and walking away, apparently hoping the overseas visitors would understand how hard the adults here had tried to save the little ones.

"I feel so sad," said Nielsen as the group began to leave the camp and returned to their SUV. They had distributed some clothing and other supplies while there. "I think the hardest thing is you can't communicate to them the heart-felt hope there is because they have their God and only he can bring peace that the world can't."