"From now on it is each man for himself." Having said that, our colleague from UNICEF Iraq quietly locked our car's doors. We had just passed the final checkpoint between Kuwait and Iraq.

Once we crossed the border, I was surprised to see that there were no guards on the Iraqi side, only children hanging around, waving at cars and sometimes opening doors to grab a few things.

"Just remember there's no government in this country now," our Iraqi colleague told us.

Our car sped along the so-called Highway of Death, where during the Persian Gulf War Iraqi tanks were destroyed by the U.S. military. There we saw children playing around tank wrecks. "The children should not be there because there are UXO," said our Iraqi colleague. UXO -- unexploded ordnance -- left from the Iraq war, the Persian Gulf War and the Iran-Iraq War, littered the area.

"Tanks that look yellowish are dangerous because they signal that depleted uranium munitions were used," we were told. Though the final verdict is still pending, critics believe that DU munitions are radioactive and can cause cancer and defected births.

We also saw children drinking from a broken water pipe. "More than half of the residents of Basra do not have access to safe water. Children are dying from diarrhea because of drinking contaminated water," our Iraqi colleague said.

After driving for about 30 minutes, the southern port city of Basra rose like a mirage at the far end of the highway.

I went on my sixth mission as the ambassador for UNICEF Japan from June 21-28. Our destination was Basra. Basra was the first killing field for Iraq's last three wars. Being overwhelmingly anti-Saddam Hussein, Basra's residents suffered the most from economic sanctions and oppression.

Basra was once known as the Paris of the Middle East, but when we entered the city, we saw only destruction. Buildings had been bombed, looted and burned, black banners with names of ailing people were placed outside houses and newly dug graves lined the road leading to the children's cemetery.

Even before the latest war, Iraqi children lived under terrible conditions. According to UNICEF, one of eight Iraqi children died before the age of 5, one of four was malnourished, one of four did not attend school, and one of five did not have access to safe drinking water. Because the economy was in shambles and two-thirds of the people depended on limited rations from the U.N. Food for Oil program, able adults struggled to find odd jobs so they could buy other daily necessities.

The situation has deteriorated since the war. Iraqi children suffer from diarrhea about 14 to 18 times a year, compared to the average two to three times for children with access to clean water. And in Iraq, diarrhea is life threatening.

I was taken to see Basra's water department, which had been bombed during the fighting and later looted. "Everything was gone. We not only had to put in new pumps and pipes, but even light bulbs, electric wires and windows," a young guard said.

Besides bringing in chlorine gas to purify Basra's drinking water, UNICEF ships in 250 million liters of water a day from Kuwait via water tankers. A mother cloaked in black, getting water from one of the tankers, complained that this water could only be used for drinking, but people could not help smiling when their turn to fill up came and clean water gushed out of the tanker's pipe into their containers. "Thank you UNICEF, Thank you God!" some said.

The driver of the water tanker was the happiest of all to see his job being appreciated. Moousa was fluent in English, and had led a better life than most in Basra, but he was not a happy man when I saw him.

"I went into the front yard to wash my hands in preparation for the morning prayer one day in April. I heard a sound in the air, I looked up and thought I saw a missile, and before I know, my house was gone and so was my son," he said.

Moousa was dragged out of the rubble alive, as was most of his family, but his 16-year-old son Mustafa died. "No, he did not die, he was killed," Moousa said sternly.

I broke down in tears, and Moousa looked genuinely moved. "Thank you. Thank you for crying for Mustafa." He then joined me in tears. I was surprised by his gratitude. Nobody had ever thanked me for just crying. His wife and I held each other and cried our hearts out. She thanked me, too.

It would not be the last time Iraqi people thanked me just for showing that I understood their plight and shared their sorrow.

A 2-year old neighbor, Mostafa, lost three of his fingers when four missiles hit the government building across his home and a piece of flying debris struck him. I held him in my arms as he fidgeted with his hands and his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

"He has not been the same since the incident. We are victims, and we don't know why. Who are we to blame and who will help us out," his young father said.

Civilians always bear the biggest burden in wars, and this war was no exception. The cancer ward of the children's hospital was the most heart-breaking place of my visit. The corridors were filled with the wailing of children in pain.

Three-year-old Haidar had a swollen belly because his kidney cancer had spread to other organs.

"We could not help him; we have no medicine, no facilities. We don't even have enough oxygen for operations. Now he is beyond help," a doctor said with tears brimming in her eyes. As Haidar screamed in pain, his mother begged the doctor, "If there's no hope, let me kill him to rid him of the pain."

Haidar's father arrived and told us that since bombs fell near a local bridge during the last war, incidences of cancer among the children in the area have risen sharply.

"Please bring him to a foreign country where there are medicines to save him. I beg you to help him," Haidar's father pleaded. I covered my face with my hands and broke down crying. The father quickly put his hand on his heart and said, "I am so sorry lady. I am so sorry. It is all right if you cannot help. I am so sorry I put the burden on you."

He apologized to me, yet I was the one who should have apologized. I was sorry I did not know that DU munitions could cause cancer, I was sorry that I did not do anything during the period of economic sanctions, I was sorry that I could not stop the wars and I was sorry I could do nothing to help Haidar now. I felt completely helpless and ashamed.

"Malnourished children, premature babies, children injured by UXO, children with diarrhea. . . . We need to have the tools to heal them, please help us," a young doctor said.

He showed me a baby born two days before we arrived. "He weighs only 800 grams. He will die in less than 24 hours because we do not have the apparatus to help him. If he was in Japan, he would live," he said.

UNICEF is trying hard to provide basic care for children. We have successfully restarted immunization programs by rebuilding looted health centers and stocking them with clean water, medicine, vitamins and painkillers. We are providing high-protein biscuits and milk for malnourished children. But more must be done, and soon. We cannot afford any more Haidars.

Walking her young daughter to school, Leila's mother told me, "I take her to school every day by myself because the roads are still dangerous."

She is a proud mother. "We Iraqi mothers are strong. We make do with what we have and try to bring up our children for a better future. We do not want them to suffer like us."

I walked with them to Leila's school. Like most Iraqi schools, it was segregated by sex. The girls were taking their final exams. UNICEF has helped reopen Iraq's schools, printed millions of national exams for graduating students and provided pens. Nonetheless, Leila took all her exams orally. "We are short of paper and the children may not carry a pencil," a school official told me.

Nothing was available in the boys' school I visited next -- no toilets, no water, no fans, not enough classrooms and too few teachers. The primary school students had to leave the school premises before noon to make room for the middle school students. "We have far more students than space so we share," a teacher told me.

UNICEF is preparing for a back-to-school campaign in September, which involves rebuilding hundreds of schools, and providing textbooks and other supplies, including 5 million school bags. Nonetheless, even this may not be enough to bring all Iraqi children back to school.

I met Jehan on the street near my hotel. I was walking to my hotel when she asked me in a perfect English accent, "What's your name?" I turned and saw a young girl selling beans and looking at me with beautiful Cleopatra eyes and a big smile.

Jehan, age 9, was lucky because she had received an education up until now. Most of her friends did not attend school, instead spending their time selling pears, shining shoes and begging. Jehan would like to go back to school in September but she doesn't know if she can as her older brother was already being forced to drop out of school this year.

Jehan brought me to her home. We climbed up dark stairs full of leaking pipes and piled up rubbish. Children swarmed about.

Her parents had been out of steady work for more than 10 years now. "We never eat meat anymore," Jehan's mother told me. They received rations of rice or flour, butter, sugar and sometimes beans from the Food for Oil program. Vegetable and meat they had to buy.

"We earn about $20 per month combined. We have to pay rent and buy all the other necessities. Very little is left for food. Five tomatoes cost about 25 cents, a chicken cost about $2. We try, but meat is beyond our means. Some children around here have never eaten meat in their lives," she said.

They invited me to stay for lunch. Once food was served, people filled the room. Handicapped relatives, people injured in the war, and even neighbors' children all sat down for the meal. Everyone ate together from big plates. "Are they family?" I asked Jehan's mother. "We treat them like family," she said.

Wealth is not a prerequisite for generosity in Iraq. Jehan's family is desperate, but not so desperate to forget the importance of sharing and giving. Jehan wore the same patched shirt and the same pair of pants the five days I saw her. They were her only clothes.

"My children have never worn new clothes in their lives," Jehan's father said. "These old clothes are from Jordan. We can get them for 25 cents each in the market. New ones cost up to $10."

Jehan's father was beaten down by three wars in 20 years and years of economic sanctions. "Every time there's a war, I was drafted. Every war ended worse than the last. We were reduced to beggars and the country a colony. Why? What will our children's future be like?"

I looked to Jehan's mother for her opinion. She raised her hands and said, "I just make do. I leave it up to God to decide for me."

She was 25 years old with seven children and a 40-year-old husband who only found four days of work last month. That was why Jehan's brother would not go back to school this September. He had to work the streets to help make ends meet. Jehan was next to quit school.

When I was in Japan, I had the impression that Iraq was a scary place where I could be shot at anytime. I was wrong. After this trip, I have fallen in love with the Iraqi people. I admire their strong family ties and their love for each other. I admire their perseverance and the strong faith that not even death can deter. They wanted to be understood and their grievances to be heard. If we want to gain their trust and be their friends, we need to address their grievances.

There are many things we can do to help. As the cradle of human civilization, Iraq was once one of the best-educated countries in the Arabic world and its people were great traders.

Iraq has tremendous potential, and can stand up again as a great nation if the international community allows it to build its own future.

The greatest resource in Iraq is not buried underground; it is its people, especially its children. We must help Iraq's children build healthy bodies and gain a sound education so they can build the new Iraq. UNICEF is accepting donations for Iraqi children. Please help us to help the children help themselves.