“Khush? Khush?” he asked. “Khoob khush!” (very happy) I responded, improvising on Uighur philology.

“Khitai - zulum! Khitai - zulum!” The Chinese are atrocious, he meant. To make sure I understood what he had said, he began whipping his poor donkey. I assured him that I had missed nothing in his statement. He showed me the scars on his hands that had, presumably, been inflicted by the Chinese and began to disrobe to exhibit the ones on his back. I gently pressed his shoulder, indicating there was no need for me to see his mutilation and reassured him that Allah was “mehrban”, merciful.

I spent three weeks in Xinjiang and came back convinced that Uighurs feel they are arbitrarily and unwillingly attached to China and are eager to cut loose.

The writer is an explorer, author and filmmaker