Being in from the start of an odyssey is one thing; being there only for the end is quite another. It seemed like joining a group of long-distance runners for the last mile of their marathon when, on a whim, my BBC producer and I baled out of our Toyota 4x4 and started plodding back the way we had come, along a dusty road over the rolling hills of the Tigray highlands in the midday heat. We wanted to walk alongside two Ethiopian tribesmen who had almost finished an epic journey.
They were too weary to inquire about our motives. They had been walking for eight days. So had their small train of camels, mules and donkeys plodding, exhausted, behind them; swaying beneath impossible loads. The animals’ backs were piled high with slabs of salt. I could see pricks of blood on the soft leather pads of one of the camels.
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