When Unicef demobilised over 3,000 Sudanese child soldiers two months ago, it was a glorious moment for the world's leading children's rights guardian. Television crews and reporters were flown to the dusty frontlines of Sudan's 18-year war; they captured dramatic images of lines of battle-hardened boys dropping their guns and boarding UN planes that would take them a new life.
It was a personal triumph for Unicef director Carol Bellamy who, four months earlier, had brokered a ground-breaking deal with Salva Kiir, a senior commander with the rebel Sudanese People's Liberation Army (SPLA).
Under the agreement Unicef would pluck the boys from the army and send them to "transit camps" 200 miles from the frontlines. They would receive an education and treatment for the mental and physical scars of army life before reunification with long-lost parents or relatives. Or so went the theory.
But in practice the dream project, "the largest demobilisation of its kind ever", has become an operational nightmare and drawn sharp criticism from fellow aid agencies. They accuse Unicef of arrogance, wasting resources and focusing on publicity.
"With another approach we could have avoided many of the problems," said Wendy Fenton of Save the Children UK.
The TV crews had barely returned to base last February when trouble started brewing in the demobilisation camps. There were at least 1,300 more boys than Unicef had planned for. In the camps dotted around the rebel-held town of Rumbek, resources quickly became strained, as did the atmosphere.
Food ran out, boys found themselves sleeping in the rain and sanitary conditions were terrible. Discipline broke down as older boys stole from younger ones to buy alcoholic drink and cigarettes. Some boys protested at the gates of the Unicef compound, where international aid workers enjoyed four-course meals and cold beers.
And it quickly became clear that many boys had not been child soldiers. Desperate parents had connived with local officials to send their boys off, believing they would get a free education, or just a respite from the grinding war.
Robert Makuac lived with his parents and four siblings in Pariak village before being sent to Rumbek as a "soldier". "The village chief said I would get an education. My parents agreed on that," the shy 10-year-old wearing a yellow Unicef T-shirt said at Ajeer camp.
Eight weeks on, Unicef is still fire-fighting. At the largest and most problematic camp, Akot, idle teenagers, some drunk, played cards while the younger ones wandered around in filthy, oversized T-shirts. Some cooked in empty petrol drums due to a lack of utensils. And many asked why the promised classes had been stopped.
"The kawja [white men] told us we would have sleeping materials, books for teaching and clothes. But these things have not appeared," said Peter Wol (18). He had come to the camp, he said, to "get an education, save my country and be like [SPLA leader] John Garang".
Fights had broken out on the sports field between youngsters from rival villages. Heavily armed soldiers from a local barracks had been called in to quell the violence; on one occasion a soldier accidentally fired a rocket-propelled grenade. It landed and exploded in the bushes. And at the medical centre, two boys had been given a triple dose of strong anti-depressants instead of anti-malarial pills. The dangerous side effects - locked jaws and necks - had to be treated at another clinic.
A local organisation named ACAAT had been paid by Unicef to run the camp but teachers and staff - who had not been paid - complained the manager was frequently absent or drunk. No Unicef staff was posted to the camp.
"I'm not proud of what I see here," admitted Unicef child protection officer Jens Matthes during a two-hour visit.
The project has sparked bitter recrimination within the aid world. Other aid agencies working in Sudan recently wrote a joint letter to Unicef expressing "great concern" at the way the project has been carried out.
With proper planning - and less focus on TV coverage - the current mess could have been avoided, they say. Unicef retorts that its first objective was to save lives. Military intelligence in early February suggested the children were about to be caught up in a major offensive by government troops, said Unicef Sudan director Sharad Sapra. There were just 20 days to get them out. "Given enough time we could have provided beautiful facilities," he said. "But hundreds, maybe thousands, of kids would have died."
Now the first children to be sent back to their parents are the "fake" child soldiers, Unicef says. Others have to face up to the traumas of Africa's longest running war.
Peter Maja (16) was involved in a serious battle with government-sponsored militia just two weeks before being demobilised. His side captured 15 enemy troops. "We shot them," he said without visible emotion. "And we felt proud."
Some of his childhood friends from his war-torn village ended up as refugees in Kenya. Now they are being resettled in the United States. Peter said he was proud to have fought the enemy. "But I wish I was with them."