'Human shields' in tug-of-war

But when child cadets dressed in military fatigues began a common chant at half-time - "Yes, yes, our heart and soul for you, Saddam" - Mr. Houplina went to the group and implored: "Please don't sing that!"

"When you hear the chanting, that just made me think: 'That's it, I'm going. I'm not here for this,'" says Sands. "The tension and dilemma of it is horrible - we've been used by both sides."

"I don't really like the shouting for Saddam Hussein," says Marta Gregorcic, a 26-year-old sociologist from Slovenia. But she says that, in her mind, she has "no choice" but to stay. "I would rather be here than sitting at home and watching this war take place on TV."

The experience has been an eye-opener for many Westerners here, unfamiliar with Iraq's authoritarian regime. "A lot of shields were thinking it was black and white, and that we were on the side of good like Che Guevara," adds Sands. "But it's not black and white at all."

Still, many human shields are determined to stay in support of Iraqi civilians - even as they rely on the watchful hospitality of Iraq's government, which has in many cases provided food, housing, and transport. Keeping focused is half their battle amid all the swirling politics, and negative press coverage about splits among the various human-shield contingents.

"If people want to leave, they shouldn't bad-mouth everybody else. If people come here, that is good enough for me," says Annette Lemont, a mother of three who works for Scotland's health ministry, and now beds down at the Taji Food Silo. "The longer I am here, the more horrible it is to walk along a street, and know it could be bombed. Nobody deserves that."

Among the "true believers" at the Doura Refinery is Faith Fippinger, a retired teacher for the blind, who daily visits the nursery school for the refinery staff. "They're beautiful children, like the children on my block in Sarasota, Fla."

Ms. Fippinger has not been pleased with how the antiwar message - often a protest of US and British policy - has been so often transmitted back to the West as a pro-regime message. But, she says, the Iraqis she meets are the reasons she will stay, no matter what happens.

"I've never thought about not staying - I still believe in why I came," says Fippinger, who protested the Vietnam War. "The biggest shock is that America continues to pursue war in this way, and that's just impossible to believe: to choose war, to choose death, to choose murder ... killing hope, killing future."

Wrapped in a blanket in her six-cot room, under a portrait of Hussein, Fippinger's eyes tear up when she talks about the risks she is taking, and why. "None of us are here as martyrs. I would love to be home playing tennis with my friends, but for me now this is home.

"If there is an evacuation, and there is one seat on the bus, it is not for me," Fippinger adds. "It is for my Iraqi neighbor next door, with her baby."

But the experiences of human shields already in Iraq aren't deterring others. Some 17 Egyptian doctors, pharmacists, and lawyers passed through Amman, Jordan, last week, on their way to Baghdad. And in South Africa, a group of nearly 40 shields is preparing to go on Tuesday. A majority are Muslims of Indian decent. They say they are unfazed by reports that some shields are heading home.

"I think some of the British guys realized the reality of the situation and were gripped by cold fear. Some ran out of money. Some did things that the Iraqi government didn't want them to do," says Abie Dawjee, national coordinator of the Iraqi Action Group, a 12-year-old South African organization.

"But it doesn't worry us at all. We're committed to going."

• Nicole Itano contributed to this report from Johannesburg, South Africa.

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