Asantha coughs as he stirs his bowl of milk at the St Aloysius college hall in the southern Sri Lankan town of Galle.
The Rotaract club helpers from Colombo try to keep order
He is among 200 people who are sheltering in the college gymnasium.
Their village, Kaluwalla, with homes built just six metres from the sea, was swept away in Sunday's tsunami.
"There's nothing left standing," says survivor, PL Gunawardene.
"I can't even make out where my neighbour's house ends and mine begins."
They are among the fortunate who have had access to some rations and medicine since the disaster.
Most of the people living along Sri Lanka's southern coast, one of the worst-hit areas of the country, are still waiting for food, drinking water and medicine.
A lot of people who come to the relief centres have not been injured but they have no food to eat since the shops are closed and there are no supplies.
At Galle's plush municipal council headquarters, a meeting is in progress.
Ministers, army officers and senior police chiefs fan themselves with handkerchiefs as they try and work out the logistics of aid distribution.
"We are trying to figure out how to clear the debris and the bodies and then open up the roads for aid convoys," says Major Kaus Ratnayake.
But village headmen and local community representatives are upset at the slow pace of aid.
"We need food, clothes, medicine and water urgently," says GG Premadasa, head of a nearby village.
"We need phones and open roads to get our supplies to you," counters Galle's senior police superintendent, A De Silva.
But where the government and aid agencies are slow to get off the mark, others are stepping in.
Baseer, Jehan and Priyam are among a group of young Colombo residents who have driven to Galle with truckloads of supplies.
Many residents in south Sri Lanka have had no food for days
"We are members of the Rotaract club, a junior wing of the Rotary Club," says Jehan, a brand manager with Nestle.
"We've seen the images on television and heard that people here needed help. So we came down."
Their convoy of three trucks and two four-wheel jeeps is stocked with food, water and clothes.
But after a five-hour trip from Colombo, they spend the next few hours driving around looking for people to help.
The lack of coordination on the ground or any system of disaster relief quickly becomes apparent.
Driving through abandoned, destroyed villages they look for signs of people in distress.
"Is anyone still there?" Baseer asks someone, pointing to a narrow road winding up a hill.
We find an entire village that no one has visited for the past few days.
The makeshift convoy struggles up the hill, passing scenes of devastation.
Pulling into a small school ground, a basic distribution centre is set up.
Villagers soon line up for rations
"Tell everyone in the village to gather here," Jehan tells a young villager.
Within 20 minutes, the place is filled with villagers - orphaned children, the elderly, men with broken legs, women with babies held to their breasts.
The rations, packed tightly into cardboard boxes, are brought down.
"We've packed a sack of provisions for each family," says Shanik, one of the coordinators.
"We've got noodles, sugar, tea, linen, clothes and candles packed in each sack."
They also have a small supply of medicine and plenty of drinking water.
"Stand in a line please. No pushing," Shanik calls out, trying to bring a sense of order.
Nikshanka, a local villager, walks away clutching his rations tightly to his chest.
"We haven't had any proper food since Sunday," he says.
"I've got to get this to my children."
Despite the success of these independent ventures, it is quite apparent the people urgently need help from aid agencies and the government.
"We're only trying to help," says Baseer. "But we are not professionals."