For the 96 members of the coalition's Philippine contingent—a mix of soldiers, policemen and volunteer medical personnel—Iraq has so far been more comfort zone than war zone. They have received a warm welcome from Iraqis in and around Hillah, the town where Camp Charlie is located, and, more importantly, have suffered no casualties yet, apart from a soldier who was slightly injured in a car accident. Sometimes the Filipinos seem almost like they are on vacation. They ride in civilian vehicles, occasionally forget to carry their military IDs, and often opt not to wear their helmets and bulletproof vests—even though regulations of the Polish-led Multinational Division Command South, under which they serve, say they should. When they are on the move, they stop on the roadside for leisurely breaks, taking photos, waving and smiling at nearly every passing car, M-16s slung casually behind their backs. They have yet to fire a shot in Iraq.
Like Asia's other contingents in the country, the Filipinos are based in the relatively quiet southern part of Iraq, and their mission is not to pursue and confront the enemy, but to help rebuild the nation: putting up schools and clinics, laying roads and bridges, and training the local police. Still, the challenges they face can't be underestimated. Even in the south, safety is an ever-present concern, especially while on base—mortars have been lobbed at Camp Charlie. The commander of the Philippine force, Colonel Joel Ibaez, says his men are always on alert, despite their relatively casual appearance. "We wave and smile at people, but we keep our fingers on our triggers," he says. "We don't follow convoy roads because the enemy attacks on convoy roads. The best way to avoid being ambushed is not to be there." It's a lesson Ibaez learned firsthand a few years ago in Luzon in the northern Philippines, when a patrol he was leading was ambushed by communist rebels and he was shot just beneath his collarbone.
Another issue is homesickness. Having been stationed in Iraq for almost six months already, the Filipinos miss their families, their homes, their food. This sense of disorientation is intensified by the fact that they're often forced to tackle problems that weren't part of their training, such as taking bids from local contractors to build schools and water-treatment plants. Because they enter villages as representatives of the coalition, they often bear the brunt of the innumerable complaints Iraqis have about fuel and electricity supplies, water, sewage, corruption, and unfulfilled promises of better days to come. Says Major Donald Gumiran: "We are the shock absorbers."
The Filipinos are used to strife, though. Few coalition countries have as much counterinsurgency experience as the Philippines. Nearly all the military men and women in the contingent have seen combat back home. Several have received training from American soldiers and special forces, and several have been wounded in action and witnessed friends killed. They're veterans—the youngest is in his late 20s—who have battled at various times the Muslim separatist rebels of Mindanao, the terrorists and kidnappers of the Abu Sayyaf, and the guerrillas of the communist New People's Army. "Because of our experience, we are prepared," says Captain Ben Zulueta, 42. "Compared with the Philippines, we don't have any fear here."
That the Filipinos are pretty comfortable in Iraq was evident when they recently visited the village of Erada. As local adults lined up outside a half-completed schoolhouse, Technical Sergeant Natividad Constantino led games such as sack races for the local children. She also handed out toothbrushes, toothpaste and cans of sardines. At one point, the crush around her nearly knocked her over. Later, she led the children in chants of "Good, good, Philippines" and posed for pictures with them and with some adults, including one man who kept brushing his cheek against hers until she had to push him away. A smitten teenage boy pinched her nose and held her hand for as long as she would allow. Constantino, who spent most of her 17 years in the army working office jobs and who often prepares Philippine dishes for the other troops at base, eventually had to take cover on the team's bus. She left the Erada Iraqis happy, though. The only complaint came from the overly affectionate man, who lamented, "They wouldn't let me kiss her!"
But it's not all fun and games. Day after day, the Philippine police help train the nascent Iraqi police force, while Filipino soldiers and doctors travel on back roads and along muddy tracks from village to village, offering checkups, handing out medicines and vitamins, or ensuring that building projects are proceeding on schedule and on budget. They are surrounded by need: mud-brick schools that need to be made of concrete, children who need medical attention, villages that need purification plants to make the water drinkable. And they are dealing with people schooled in dependency by more than three decades of Saddam Hussein's tyrannical rule. Children rush at them with outstretched hands, saying, "Mister, give me," only occasionally asking for something specific. When the Filipinos work one area, Iraqis from other locations show up complaining that they're being neglected. That the Philippines is itself impoverished does not register here. The Filipinos are part of the coalition, so they are expected to have the answers and the cures.
In Erada, Dr. Flor Llesis conducts checkups in a dirt-floor classroom, using the Arabic words for common respiratory and gastrointestinal ailments that she has learned in Iraq. Llesis, who lives in Davao, Mindanao's biggest city, and has treated evacuees from the conflict between the Philippine military and the Mindanao rebels, says she applied to the Philippines' Department of Health for a place in the contingent after seeing Iraqi children on the news. "The faces kept haunting me," she says. Llesis, who is married and has no children, even looked into adopting an Iraqi girl. But the process was too complicated, forcing her to abandon the idea.
Colonel Ibaez has also been touched by the plight of Iraqi children. Since October, he's been writing letters to superiors in the division and the Coalition Provisional Authority trying to find the funds to send a girl named Hameda abroad for treatment of a magnesium deficiency that causes regular seizures and threatens her life. Standard procedure for applications for medical care outside the country involves a lengthy process. Ibaez is trying to find a way around the wait. "Her father came to this unit and asked for help," he says, "so we have no choice but to try to find some."
Ibaez will soon return to the Philippines to be executive officer of the Mindanao command, southcom, and he is already thinking about how he can apply back home what he has learned in Iraq. Captain Zulueta also believes Iraq is relevant to the Philippines, particularly in prevalently Muslim Mindanao, not so much from a military but a cultural angle. He says he now has a greater understanding of Islam and of the feelings of Muslims: "Their customs may be different from Catholic ones, but they should be respected. In Mindanao, people get upset that soldiers eat roast pig. It's normal for us, but offensive to the Muslims. That shouldn't happen. We should respect their beliefs." Zulueta doesn't know what his next assignment will be, but, says the Luzon native, "I hope I can go back to Mindanao some day and try to impart some of the lessons I've learned here."