Operation Hope XXVII began bringing humanitarian aid to the affected areas of Belarus and western Russia.

Among the crew were nurses, guards, truck-drivers, auctioneers, musicians, builders, bus-drivers and bankers. But each and every one of us knew we would witness something of grave significance. I had watched documentaries, read books and talked with people who had been to Belarus, but nothing is the same as seeing it firsthand.

In the first week of the convoy we drove across Wales, England, France, Belgium, Holland, Germany and Poland. The 3.5km of aid in single file across Europe was a formidable sight on the highways.

After 12 hours of gruelling customs duty at the border between Poland and Belarus we finally made our way into the country devastated by the world's worst nuclear disaster.

Underneath us the roads crumbled away into potholed tracks and as the rain fell the grey countryside brought a grim light to the window screen.

Radiation is everywhere in Belarus but the levels differ from one region to the next. There is no such thing as fresh air although trees grow, plants thrive and animals roam the fields.

The first night in Belarus was spent in Zhytkovichi Day Care Centre in the Gomel region of southern Belarus, where we slept in our first bed after a week of ambulance accommodation.

The centre, supported by CCPI, provides a range of social and community services to the most disadvantaged in the region. Locals can avail of advice services, childcare facilities, services to the disabled and temporary housing for children in crisis.

Unemployment and alcoholism are rife and many families have disabled children to look after with very little money. Galina, who ran the day care centre showed us around Zhytkovichi, which was made up of rows of shantylike wooden houses. Dust blew around the tracks between the dwellings and children played with old bicycles.

Eight children lived in the first house we visited. Both the mother and father were in hospital with heart conditions. The eldest daughter, who normally looked after the rest of the children, had just given birth at 18 years of age. There was no running water in the house and an uncle now came to mind the young children.

Inside, the house was dark and dank with bare dirty furniture.

The next house was a wooden shack where a dog growled in the kitchen.

There were no windows but one pane of glass looking into a grim bedroom.

We presumed the house empty, but somebody spotted a small child sitting on its bed in the dark. The dog protected the child. Uri, we found out, was being minded by the dog while both parents worked on a state-run farm from 7am until 8pm everyday.

Their wages were $40 per month and childcare costs $18 per month leaving them with no money to live on.

Belarus lacks industrial investment from the rest of the world because its goods are contaminated. Its once burgeoning wood industry and mushroom farming has no market now due to the radiation that lives in the soil. One of the only industries they boast is that of the tractors made in the country.

Families live in dire poverty. In the aftermath of the disaster, 400,000 people from villages close to Chernobyl were moved out, leaving farming, their only livelihood, behind. Many of these families now live in highrise flats in the city with little prospects of leaving them.

The convoy came with 3m worth of aid and it was our job to unload trucks to be delivered. Food, nappies, prams, bicycles, school supplies, teddies and clothes were unpacked and delivered.

The exclusion zone, a 60km radius around the reactor of Chernobyl, can be accessed only with permits obtained through the government. It was a personal choice whether or not to venture into this highly contaminated area. Access was denied this time due to the fact that Belarus's president, Lukashenko, was visiting the area.

Shiski is a town in the Purple Zone . . . the area most affected by the disaster. It was flattened after the accident and now small hills stand in place of dwellings, which once dotted the beautiful fields of this now dead village.

We met Irena, who still lives in the town on her magnificent farm, which she works and lives off. She had thyroid cancer and a series of operations some years ago. She invites us into her house and tells us that she did not want to leave her farm and will die there. Her grandchild, who plays around the farm, only visits for up to three hours at a time because the air there is so contaminated. She weeps as she tells us that there were only two families who stayed in the area after the Chernobyl disaster. The CCPI made it possible for Irena to have an eye operation, which saved her sight. As we leave she insists on giving us her own brew of vodka, we accept without a sip, as its radioactive potency is lethal.

The convoy came to a heartwrenching closure at Vesnova children's mental institution outside Minsk. The institution is a huge improvement on its original state, due to the work carried out by the CCPI.

It is home to hundreds of children with some sort of mental or physical disability.

There is now a sunroom where children can rest during the day in the light. They have proper beds. The children used to sleep in cots and often stayed there all day. We met children and all they wanted was a hug. Children like Natalia cannot move their limbs but a flicker in her eyes or a smile will show her reaction to a simple pet on her face.

As we left the grounds of the orphanage, the convoy was quiet. All ambulances were empty and anything worth giving to the children was gladly handed over.

Driving to Minsk to hand over the ambulances to hospitals and day-care centres, I finally got footage of a tractor in a field. It was a simple picture I wanted to capture. I cried because life is not so simple for the people left in the fallout of the accident at Chernobyl.

The hope is to make sure this doesn't happen again.