COTABATO CITY, Mindanao, Philippines (AlertNet) Â? The two things I notice as I step out of the airport building in Cotabato City are the heat and a sizeable group of soldiers in green army uniforms, with M-16s on their shoulders.
Both are common features of my stay in central Mindanao, a politically volatile region of the southern Philippines. The sweltering heat is at times unbearable, while soldiers multiply at the numerous checkpoints on the national highway in and out of the city.
Despite the visible presence of arms, at first glance Cotabato looks like any other provincial city in the Philippines: tarmac roads laden with cars, motorbikes and local public transport; fast food chains on every other street; restaurants and hotels with Spanish names; a busy town square with a bustling market; and smiling, friendly people.
But as soon as the clock hits 6.30 in the evening, the similarity ends. By seven, almost every shop and business is shuttered, except a handful of pharmacies and restaurants. And for a city with a population of quarter of a million, there are few people on the main roads.
Every other person I meet has been affected in some way by the four-decade conflict between Muslim separatists and the government, as well as the region's banditry, clan wars and politically-motivated violence. They include a woman working with World Food Programme who has been displaced for over two decades and says her village is still too unsafe to go home.
The locals joke about drive-by shootings and kidnappings. This, I learn soon enough, is how people cope with the cycle of violence in Mindanao.
RAGGED CAMPS
Cotabato is outside the Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) - the result of a peace accord in 1996 between a Muslim insurgent group and the government - but serves as its regional centre. The city is a gateway to Mindanao's conflict-torn areas, and the damage caused by the struggle can be seen along the national highway.
Datu Piang municipality, in neighbouring Maguindanao province, witnessed heavy fighting between insurgents and governments in 2008. Burnt houses and damaged shelters line the otherwise lush road fringed by coconut trees.
Most camps for those uprooted by the conflict - still around 100,000 people despite July's fragile truce - are scattered across Maguindanao (where some municipalities are named after members of the notorious Ampatuan family) and are easily spotted from afar.
They stand a little apart from normal neighbourhoods, usually on unshaded, barren land owned by sympathetic landlords. Tarpaulins, some reduced to ragged shreds, have been widely used in building huts, most of which are on stilts.
Dried coconut husks - sold as firewood - litter the ground beneath the huts amid murky green water and rubbish. A lack of ways to make a living means both adults and children stay close to the centres.
There aren't enough water and sanitation facilities, but as veterans of displacement, residents have learned the hard way what makes safe drinking water. Living space is also in short supply.
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WAR-WEARY
Perhaps because of this, the camps have a community feel. Still, there are times when best intentions just aren't as helpful as a wad of cash.
At Elian Annex evacuation centre in Datu Saudi municipality, I meet a young father whose wife has just passed away six days after giving birth to their son. The 20-year-old says he didn't have the money to transport his sick wife to the local health centre. She was 18.
Living in such conditions has made people war-weary too. Their friendly and welcoming nature is on display whenever a group of foreigners with cameras and notebooks turn up, but they clam up when asked about the circumstances that forced them to flee their homes.
The ambiguous term "armed men" features heavily in answers to my questions, but few are willing or able to remember the details of the fighting - a symptom of the hazy loyalties and unpredictability of the violence.
During the couple of days I am in central Mindanao, using Cotabato City as a base to visit camps for the displaced, I don't once feel threatened or in danger.
But locals tell me this impression of normality is risky, as it can lull you into a false sense of security. As if to prove the point, two days after I return to Manila, I read in the local papers that a city official has been shot dead by gunmen on a motorcycle in the middle of Cotabato in broad daylight.
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