Around the World in 50 Years by Albert Podell Page A

edict required all vehicles to have their headlights blackened with paint or covered with tape, which turned night driving into a demolition derby. Some took it upon themselves to camouflage their cars with tree branches and leaves, counterproductively making those vehicles all the more conspicuous, masses of green moving through a brown city. Even more ridiculous were the gas station owners who covered their pumps with foliage. When we stopped at one such station to get the daily gallon ration, I prepared to photograph the jungle-covered pumps, but the attendant yelled for the police, compelling us to drive away with neither photo nor gas. The government issued an edict proclaiming it a crime to carry a camera; anyone doing so was presumed to be spying. Two days later we discovered we were being followed; wherever we drove, a white Renault kept close behind us. When we returned to our hotel room we saw that our bags had been searched.
    We needed to find a safer place to stay. A minister we’d met on the ferry had given us the address of his missionary friends in Dacca, so we went to see if they knew anyone who could put us up. We drove out to Dhanmondi, the section where the foreign community lived—the suburb the Pakistanis call the “Golden Ghetto”—and located their house. They weren’t home. Their chaukidar (servant) looked at us suspiciously and told us we’d have to come back later.
    As we climbed into our Cruiser, the air-raid sirens howled. The quiet residential street filled with noise and commotion. Residents ducked from their houses to scan the skies for enemy planes while pedestrians caught outside ran for cover. The chaukidar impatiently gestured for us to hurry and leave so he could lock the gates behind us. But by now vigilante bands were running down the streets, chasing foreigners to cover, shouting and banging on the fences with clubs and sticks. Overriding the protests of the chaukidar, Steve drove our Cruiser into the yard behind the house, where it couldn’t be seen from the street. I slammed the gates shut just as the mob reached them. We ran into the house, followed by the chaukidar . Having little choice but to give us shelter, he led us into a small pantry adjoining the kitchen, lifted a trapdoor, and pointed down into a cellar. We descended a dark stairway and he closed the door above us.
    When the all-clear sounded, the chaukidar opened the trapdoor and led us into the house. The missionaries returned an hour later, listened with understanding as we told them why we needed to find a safe place to stay, and put us in touch with Bill Maillefert, the acting chief information officer at USIA, who knew as much about what was going on in Dacca as any American there.
    We spent the next day at his home in Dhanmondi, discussing the war in general and our problems in particular. By the time we left, Bill had arranged for us to move in with Mike Schneider, an audio-visual specialist at USIA, who lived alone in a large house nearby.
    We had plenty of company there: Mike’s house had become the nightly gathering place for other unfortunate foreigners, mostly Americans, who’d been caught in the hostilities. We met a missionary, a USAID engineer, six Peace Corps volunteers who’d been ordered to Dacca from rural areas, and others who popped in and out with the latest rumors and directives.
    On our second day at Mike’s house we saw a directive from Consul General Bowling:
    NOTICE TO AMERICANS IN EAST PAKISTAN
    East Pakistan has become an area of hostilities. The Consul General has therefore determined to evacuate all Americans in the near future, using aircraft chartered by the U.S. Government, if they can be brought into Dacca. We hope to have aircraft in Dacca on Saturday. All Americans should report to the American Consulate General for processing as soon as it is convenient. They should bring their passports or other proof of U.S. citizenship.
    We filled out