U.S. Troops See Beauty Amid Devastation in Sri Lanka Village
For a group of Marines and Seabees aiding tsunami cleanup efforts, the exotic locale and the hospitality of locals are a welcome respite from war duty in the Mideast.

By John M. Glionna, LA Times Staff Writer

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AHANGAMA, Sri Lanka — Andrew Willis can tell you this: It's a mighty long way from his hometown of Flint, Mich., to this steamy seaside village demolished by the tsunami that killed 30,000 people in this island nation.

At 21, the U.S. Marine is already well traveled in his military career, from tours in war-torn Baghdad to time on the Pacific islands of Hawaii and Guam.

But Willis says he's never seen mile after mile of exotic coastline reduced to rubble. He's amazed at how residents, reeling from tragedy, still muster smiles to greet foreigners who have come to help clean up the mess.

"I tried to imagine in my head coming over what I'd see when I got here," he said Friday, taking a break from clearing chunks of concrete and twisted metal from a village school. "But I was not prepared for this. The imagination can't do it justice."

Willis is with the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit. The Marines arrived this week to the curiosity and applause of hundreds of Sri Lankans, who watched as the Navy amphibious transport dock Duluth landed bulldozers and other heavy equipment on a palm-studded beach.

The Duluth was en route to the Middle East from San Diego when news of the tsunami hit. The ship stopped in Guam for shovels and chain saws and then diverted to Sri Lanka.

Before arriving at this southern town, the Duluth — carrying 400 Marines and 400 Navy personnel — delivered 30 tons of supplies to an eastern district hit hardest by the waves.

Along with a contingent of Navy Seabees, which arrived aboard a C-7 transport plane from Guam, the Marines are experiencing what many of the military personnel consider a break from wartime duty. Here, no one carries weapons, and there are no barbed-wire security perimeters. Bulldozers and heavy transport equipment — not tanks — rumble across the scarred landscape.

In the few days the Americans have been here, many people have stopped on the street to thank them for coming.

One man brought a group of Marines a Sri Lankan breakfast. Others stop by with orange coconuts, which they cut open with a knife and hand to the soldiers for a quick drink.

"A teacher at a schoolyard we cleared offered us tea," said Robert Silvey, 23, a Seabee from St. Charles, Mich., as he shoved a wad of chewing tobacco into his mouth.

"They're all just happy we're here. This placed really got smashed."

But along with the warm welcome has come heat that hits like an anvil.

Locals say their country has no seasons, only sun and rain, and the Americans have endured both: the days of blue skies in which temperatures hit 90 and others drenched by rain from the winter monsoons.

Yet it's the humidity that drains the troops most.

As a bulldozer rolls across the schoolyard, several Seabees wipe the sweat from their eyes as others guzzle from green camelbacks slung over their shoulders.

Their boots are dusty from the grit of passing cars and the fires that locals keep burning to dispose of tsunami debris.

"This place is like Kuwait — only with killer humidity," said Andrew Everson, 21, a Seabee from Highland, N.C. "But we're trained to do this work in all kinds of conditions."

There may not be gunfire, but there is still plenty of emotion here.

Countless residents have stopped to ask the Marines what country they come from. Then many weep as they launch into stories about family members carried off by the water.

Despite being preoccupied with arduous tasks, the Americans still manage to find time to marvel at a country where elephants and monkeys lurk in the underbrush.

They smile at the Sri Lankan custom of swiveling their heads, instead of nodding, in a gesture that to the untrained eye can be read as answering yes and no at the same time.

But what most amazes Seabee Chad Keller of Los Angeles is the madcap traffic.

"Driving on these roads is certainly not for the faint of heart," said the 25-year-old, dressed in a pair of flat-brown desert fatigues. "The roads seemed designed to fit one car, but there are three lanes: two going either way and the middle for the bravest and craziest."

Within a week, the U.S. contingent will be moving on: The Duluth will rejoin the rest of its battle group and resume its course for Iraq.

"It's too bad we're seeing this country at its worst," Everson said.

"This is a beautiful place, and the people have a gracious dignity. I'd like to return here with my family one day."