The main transit area of Hammam Al Alil camp just south of Mosul is hell on earth.
Exhausted and traumatised families stream off buses by the hour, escaping the city with not much more than their lives.
“Whose daughter is this? Dear families, whose daughter is this?” a volunteer shouts, carrying a crying toddler on his shoulders as he desperately looks for her mum.
Relatives who have been separated for months collapse sobbing into each other’s arms; others sit dazed in the mud clutching the few plastic bags that hold all their belongings. I find 13-year-old Ahmad who’s standing at the edge of the crowd looking terrified.
"My uncles are here in the camp but I can't find them," he says quietly. "I think my mum and my dad are in Makmour. Can you take me there?"
We find an aid worker from the NGO Save the Children, who takes the young boy off to help him to trace his family. Meanwhile, crying women were waiting by the gate of the camp registration office, desperate for news of their missing loved ones.
"He was wearing blue trousers. They tell me he was checked in and is here in the camp somewhere," said Um Mohammad, who is searching for her 15-year-old son.
"He's my only son," she says with tears streaming down her face. "He's sick. He can't walk properly."