On a vast, sun-scorched sandy plain in Djibouti, groups of men walk towards a distant home after failing to reach Yemen via the "Eastern route" linking the Horn of Africa and the Arabian Peninsula, one of the world's most dangerous migration routes.

Their faces are drawn, their bodies emaciated. Some say they haven't eaten for several days. Only a few withered acacia trees occasionally offer a bit of shade. This April, for the Djiboutians, it's "winter" and the temperature is 35°C.

Like the vast majority of migrants using this route, Jemal Ibrahim Hassan comes from neighboring Ethiopia, the second most populous country in Africa (approximately 130 million inhabitants), plagued by multiple armed conflicts.

He himself left his region, Amhara, "because of the war" between rebels and federal forces.

"We no longer had anywhere to live in peace," emphasizes the 25-year-old, who earned his living as a farmer when he left his village in northern Ethiopia for Djibouti. A journey of approximately 550 km on foot, or 15 days of walking. "Our feet were swollen and covered in blisters," he recounts.

One evening, he boarded an overcrowded boat bound for Yemen. Several hours later, they were arrested by Yemeni coast guards and taken to a detention center.

"There was no food, nothing. We stayed there for eight days before they sent us back" to Djibouti, he recounts.

On the return journey, a storm broke out. Without "the will of Allah (...) the boat would have capsized," believes Jemal Ibrahim Hassan, who is walking again, about fifty kilometers north of the coastal Djiboutian town of Obock - this time heading towards Ethiopia.

- "Piled together" -

Despite the risks, both on land and at sea, tens of thousands of migrants from the Horn of Africa take this "Eastern route" each year in an attempt to reach the oil-rich Gulf emirates, fleeing conflict, natural disasters, poverty, and a lack of opportunities. Most attempt the crossing from Djibouti, which, at its closest points, is only about thirty kilometers from Yemen.

According to the International Organization for Migration (IOM), between 200 and 300 migrants arrive daily in Obock.

This route is one of the deadliest in the world. More than 900 migrants perished or disappeared there in 2025, the "deadliest year ever recorded", according to the IOM.

At the end of March, during the latest shipwreck near Obock, at least nine migrants died and 45 disappeared.

On board the capsized boat was 20-year-old Zinab Gebrekristos, who had fled Tigray, the volatile northern Ethiopian region that emerged from a bloody war in 2022. She paid a smuggler 50,000 birr (approximately €270), a significant sum in a country where 40% of the population lives below the poverty line. En route, she was robbed of her money and phone, then left for three days on the Djibouti coast, "without food or water, just the desert."

On the evening of March 24, the smugglers crammed 320 people onto a small boat. "The boat quickly began to sink," recalls Zinab Gebrekristos. "Many people died before our eyes, friends and family members."

"I don't even know how I managed to get off the boat," she says from an IOM-run reception center in Obock.

The UN organization regularly patrols the desert to provide assistance to migrants.

From the Khor Angar post, the Djiboutian coast guard has been increasing its operations to try to arrest the smugglers, most of whom are Yemenis.

Around ten seized boats are facing the station. In these small wooden boats, the migrants are "crammed together," says Ismaïl Hassan Dirieh, the station commander. "There are two levels, some go downstairs, others upstairs," he says, describing a "very difficult" crossing for the migrants.

After having to cross war-torn Yemen, tens of thousands of people each year reach the Gulf countries, particularly Saudi Arabia, where they work as laborers or domestic workers.

- "Mass grave" -

About fifty kilometers north of Obock, Gehere beach is one of the starting points. Migrants' clothes, flip-flops and shoes litter the fine sand.

A cairn is erected. "We are facing two common graves," explains Youssouf Moussa Mohamed, 38, the IOM's chief physician in Obock.

"Not far away, there are two more mass graves with five bodies each. Behind this mountain, there is a mass grave with 50 bodies. Another mass grave with 43 bodies (...) That makes more than 200 bodies buried in the surrounding area," he lists.

According to Dr. Youssouf, 98% of the migrants he meets are Ethiopians. Originating from a landlocked country, most have never seen the sea before attempting the crossing.

Between June and August, temperatures in Djibouti climb to 45°C, and violent sandstorms blind migrants and throw them off the road. Many get lost in the desert.

"We found about twenty bodies a month during this (hot) season last year," Dr. Youssouf points out. Those whom the sea or the desert did not kill sometimes end up taking their own lives, like the migrant who, he recounts, hanged himself last year, "out of despair."

In the Obock cemetery, where migrants who died at sea or on the road have been buried for several years, dozens of mounds of earth are lined up.

- "Abandoned in the desert" -

Also from Ethiopian Tigray, Genet Gebremeskel Gebremariam, 30, struggled to provide for her four children and her mother with the 200 to 300 birr (1 to 2 euros) she earned daily as an agricultural worker.

Convinced by a smuggler, she left the regional capital Mekelle in the back of a truck, crammed against more than 160 people. Landing in the neighboring Afar region, the migrants continued on foot, "crossing the desert and climbing cliffs all night."

"No one helps those who are tired or who fall, they are left behind. We were forced to walk like soldiers, while being beaten with sticks on the back. Many women, weakened by thirst and hunger, were abandoned in the desert," she says, waiting in an IOM center to return to Ethiopia.

Muiaz Abaroge, for his part, still hopes to reach Saudi Arabia despite the risks. "It's frightening, but I have no other choice," says the 19-year-old from western Ethiopia, who is walking with two other people on the road connecting the Djiboutian towns of Tadjourah and Obock. "I know that many people have died, but I have to overcome this ordeal."

Faced with the growing influx of migrants, "resources are lacking," notes Dr. Youssouf. He fears that 2026 will break another grim record, as each year is "more deadly than the last, and we don't know exactly how long this will continue."