I’m sitting on a wonky hand-made stool in a remote Ethiopian hut, mud between my toes, brain still rattling to the tempo of the deeply-rutted road along which I’ve just traveled. My nose is plugged with hues from the dusty, rusty landscape, and my shoulder is raw from the chafing seatbelt.

An attractive sight, I know.

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Unaware of the toll on my body, my mind is utterly fixated on finding the story and pulling me in. Even on days like this, it doesn’t feel like work.