ETHIOPIA: The corpses of decaying animals lined our route, writes Paul Cullen in Moyale, southern Ethiopia
"Have you ever seen a camel die?" Gedlu Beyene, a relief worker with 20 years' experience working for the Ethiopian Red Cross, asks me.
"They sit down and cry before passing away, did you know that? I never thought I'd see such a thing."
But it isn't just camels that are dying as a result of the drought that has afflicted the Horn of Africa over the past year.
The smell of rotting carcasses regularly assails you on a journey through the remote bush in these parts, where the dirt tracks are lined with the corpses of decaying cattle.
Most of the population here are pastoralists, already living on the edge in the best of times. Their animals give them meat, milk, clothing, company, as well as their status in society - without their beasts, they are bereft of both food and self-respect.
And these are far from the best of times. It's been a decade since this region has had regular rains and until recent weeks, it hadn't rained in a year.
The UN says up to 11 million people affected by the drought in the Horn of Africa need help urgently.
Yesterday, we travelled with Red Cross workers to some of the worst-affected areas in Ethiopia, in the Somali end of Borena province. As the road petered out into bumpy laterite tracks, each village looked poorer than the last.
There is no electricity here, no education system to speak of, and while there are a few health centres, not many seem to be operating.
Aside from their animals, people here have nothing, save western hand-me-downs to clothe themselves and straw huts for homes.
All along the route, local people relate their stories of loss with great dignity, in a matter-of-fact way.
Aden, a tall herder from Ketena, says he once had 54 cattle but only three or four remain. He has camels too, but they are weak. In desperation, he sent his animals over to a water source in Lay, a day's march away, but they died anyway.
"We are trying to grow maize now," he says, gesturing towards a small plot planted with some limp shoots. "But this is new for us and we have little experience of this type of farming."
Aden says he's seen hard times, but things have never been this bad before. "I have lived many seasons and I have never seen this kind of drought, and so much disease in our animals."
Over at Lay, Mohamed Issa, a young boy in charge of a herd of 50 scrawny camels, says he is about to return home without many of the animals he was originally put in charge of.
The administrator of another village tells us that 1,500 animals have died in his locality.
Yet in spite of the animal carnage, there is little evidence of human starvation.
Malnutrition is common, acute malnutrition far less so. (The UN says one in five children in the region is severely malnourished.)
Villagers mention increased rates of stomach problems, including diarrhoea, especially in children, but it's clear they are making the most of their survival skills.
They are clear about what their needs are - food, water and help with restocking their herds.
Too little food aid has come from central government too late, they say, while many of their traditional sources of water have disappeared.
The local Red Cross and other NGOs are helping out, but Beyene says the area is so vast and inaccessible it's difficult to cope.
And, as ever in a crisis, it's the most remote areas most in need that are least likely to receive help.
This point was amply illustrated yesterday afternoon, when the rains finally came with a vengeance. Almost instantly, our track turned into a raging torrent. Even for our 4x4s, it became virtually impassable.
The downpour forced us to abandon our attempt to reach El Kur, the most distant village on our itinerary and reportedly the hardest hit.
In spite of its volume, most of the water appeared to run off the hard soil and would be of little use in promoting grass growth. It seems the problem may not be the amount of water that falls in these parts, but man's ability to capture it.