THE normal hazards faced by foreign correspondents these days range from being shot at in a helicopter over South Vietnam to the gastric despair caused by the need to entertain news sources in distinguished Paris restaurants. But among the most serious problems are the obstacles put in the reporter's path by newly independent and highly sensitive nations that talk much about freedom without necessarily practicing it. Two of our correspondents have once again experienced this in reporting the current wave of unrest in Africa (see THE WORLD).

After the recent coup in Zanzibar, TIME's East Africa Correspondent Bill Smith tried in vain to get to the scene by plane, finally chartered a dhow to take him the 23 miles from Tanganyika to the embattled island. On arrival, Smith had barely begun to interview a U.S. official when Zanzibar police seized his notes and placed him and several other Western journalists under detention. The charges included sending "biased" stories--although Reporter Smith had not yet cabled a word. After almost 24 hours and some browbeating, he was released and placed aboard a British vessel, but not without a special farewell gesture. Guards in Cuban-style uniforms and beards drove Smith through the countryside to a cemetery and remarked ominously, "We merely wished to show you how quiet it is here."

Smith got back to Tanganyika just in time to report that country's own brief rebellion against statesmanlike President Julius Nyerere. In the left-leaning police state of Ghana, meanwhile, there was worse trouble for TIME Correspondent James Wilde, who flew down from Paris to cover the African junket of Red Chinese Premier Chou Enlai. With the London Observer's Anthony Sampson, Wilde was arrested on the charge that he had tried to pass himself off as Chinese--which would have been a neat trick considering his entirely un-Sinic appearance. The inspector who picked him up was "charming, really charming," reported Wilde later. Less charming was the small, airless, bug-infested cell in which Wilde was stripped of all his clothes--even his glasses--and kept without food or water for 14 hours. "It was impossible to sleep," recalls Wilde. "In a cell next door there seemed to be a madman who yelled all night. It is amazing how soon one becomes conscious of sound in jail. A rattle of keys, a footstep in the corridor, a car stopping outside bring one immediately to attention because perhaps it means release."

Wilde was released amid more charm--the chief of police clapped him on the back, roared with laughter and apologized.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.