The Nigerian commander of the U.N.-sanctioned peacekeeping force here crossed into rebel territory this afternoon to coax forward the fragile truce that has suddenly descended on this capital, and tonight U.S. defense officials authorized a small team of Marines to enter the shattered city.

From the government side of Monrovia's heavily contested Old Bridge, [Lewis Brah] slowly made his way toward the enemy he had fought for much of the last three years. His steps jingled the spent shell casings that carpeted the pavement approaching the span, fell silent on the no-man's land of the middle of the bridge, then jingled again when Brah reached the rebels' firing line and the old friend he knows only as Gen. Azim.

Fighters name themselves in Liberia. Cairo Pooh Pooh, for example, explained that his name attested to the fact that "you see me, you smell me. You dodge me, you smell me." They also assign their own rank and assemble their own uniforms. This general wore a black, wide-wale corduroy jump suit and held a cell phone, the real sign of authority in a war fought without radios.

The Nigerian commander of the U.N.-sanctioned peacekeeping force here crossed into rebel territory this afternoon to coax forward the fragile truce that has suddenly descended on this capital, and tonight U.S. defense officials authorized a small team of Marines to enter the shattered city.

But first, Liberian Col. Lewis Brah had some peacemaking of his own to see to.

From the government side of Monrovia's heavily contested Old Bridge, Brah slowly made his way toward the enemy he had fought for much of the last three years. His steps jingled the spent shell casings that carpeted the pavement approaching the span, fell silent on the no-man's land of the middle of the bridge, then jingled again when Brah reached the rebels' firing line and the old friend he knows only as Gen. Azim.

"We were hugging and shaking hands," Brah said after his reunion with the fellow veteran of Liberia's civil wars, albeit one he spent the last 17 days shooting at. "We drink. We smoke. We talk about the past.

"It's finished," he said of the decade-and-a-half of fighting that has killed 100,000 people and sent combatants shifting back and forth among fluid alliances and splintering factions. "No fighting any more. We need peace."

After two months of devastating fighting for the Liberian capital, today was a day of rapprochement, and brought at least an inkling of reconciliation.

Nigerian peacekeeping troops, who began arriving on Monday, continued to touch down aboard U.N. helicopters at Monrovia's airport, together with their armored vehicles. Brig. Gen. Festus Okonkwo, the commander, indicated they would remain at the airport for several days.

The force will eventually include at least a few of the 2,300 U.S. Marines waiting offshore, a senior defense official said today in Washington. A team of six or seven Marines has been authorized to go ashore to facilitate communications between U.S. commanders and the West African peacekeepers, said the official, who spoke on condition of anonymity.

The official stressed that the Pentagon has no plans thus far to send more of the amphibious force into Monrovia. "This should in no way be construed as a vanguard force signaling a decision to send more U.S. forces into Liberia," the official said.

With rebel mortars silent for a second day, the capital's 1.5 million residents climbed out of wretchedly crowded buildings and looked -- often in vain -- for affordable food in makeshift markets.

The United Nations said it would ask for $69 million in emergency humanitarian aid for Liberia, news services reported. The appeal, to be made Wednesday at U.N. headquarters in New York, includes $22 million for food and $8.5 million for health care.

On one devastated thoroughfare lined with looted shops and the bloated bodies of men who died with their hands tied behind their backs, a convoy led by armored sport-utility vehicles flying outsize American flags carried U.S. Ambassador John Blaney and Okonkwo past cheering Monrovians and across the front lines.

"The government of Liberia is committed to the cease-fire," Defense Minister Daniel Chea assured Blaney as he gave the order to allow the convoy across the newer of two disputed bridges.

"Well, let's go patch it up then," Blaney replied, and proceeded to a private meeting with Liberians United for Reconciliation and Democracy (LURD), the rebel group that promised similar cooperation.

Yet the most encouraging signs of peace came from the lightly armed, tightly wound young men who have been doing the fighting.

Instead of shooting across Monrovia's bridges, militiamen were running from either side and embracing when they met in the middle. Veterans of hostilities that began in 1989, when a rebellion led by Charles Taylor triggered a war among a confusing array of factions, they are united in agreement that Taylor, now Liberia's president, should leave.

"We are all waiting for our president to leave because we want to get on with things," said a government officer who calls himself Gen. Cairo Pooh Pooh.

Fighters name themselves in Liberia. Cairo Pooh Pooh, for example, explained that his name attested to the fact that "you see me, you smell me. You dodge me, you smell me." They also assign their own rank and assemble their own uniforms. This general wore a black, wide-wale corduroy jump suit and held a cell phone, the real sign of authority in a war fought without radios.

Brig. Gen. Dega Wa Wa International, a woman, made do in jeans and T-shirt. Gen. One Eye carried a huge knife.

"They come, we break bread," One Eye said, flourishing the blade to demonstrate how he might normally disfigure the enemy he was now inviting to share a meal. "Go and tell them we don't want war."

The rebels said they felt much the same.

"I'm a professional mechanic in the Armed Forces of Liberia," said Sanderson Gbeen, who deserted a government army that no longer paid him and took up arms as a LURD rebel. "My future was delayed. My children couldn't go to school."

Gbeen, friendly and well-spoken, wore grubby jeans and a pageboy wig held in place with a smart black hair band. When asked why, he politely ended the interview.

Liberian civilians and others explain that by altering their appearance, fighters signal that they are no longer themselves. "They have gone to the spirit world," said one Monrovia resident.

Traditional African beliefs remain strong in this nation of 3 million, settled in 1822 by freed American slaves, who long reserved educational opportunities for themselves. The indigenous Africans who overthrew the settlers' oligarchy 23 years ago have done little better. Today only 15 percent of Liberians can read and write.

"I want to go to school, complete my course" said Brah, who, like almost all the fighters, seemed to welcome the peacekeepers as much as the civilians did.

"When will they be here?" asked George Sly, 40, who goes by the nom de guerre Affable. He held up a hand missing three fingers lost in battle 11 years ago. A bandage was wound around a head injury suffered last week.

"We're tired of this," Sly said. "We want to go to school."