were foraging along the empty, cracked main street. My taxi stopped at a red light—the only car in sight—and a hollow-cheeked old woman hammered at the window. There were no playgrounds to be seen, few shops, no bright lights. After forty years of unceasing warfare—the Brits, the Soviets, every group from North Yemen—the little town of Aden, on the oil-rich coastline of South Yemen, was as
