It's a Saturday night. I'm in the departure hall of Nairobi's international airport, along with half a dozen or so other correspondents and television crews.

Across the cafeteria we spot the Ethiopian ambassador. He's saying goodbye to a colleague, and when he's finished we call him over. He is extremely genial.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"Mm, well, actually we're going to Asmara."

Cathy Jenkins

Through the day we have all been monitoring the worsening situation on the Ethiopian-Eritrean border, and we've got the go-ahead from our offices to scramble to the airport to catch the overnight flight to Eritrea. Other correspondents are going, or have already gone to Addis Ababa.

"Oh yes" says the Ethiopian ambassador, to everyone in general.

And then to me: "You already have a BBC reporter in Ethiopia, don't you".

Reassured that the BBC will have correspondents on both sides of the border, he takes his leave, still extremely affable.

Propaganda and spin doctors

Once in Eritrea, the attitude from Addis Ababa towards those on the other side is noticeably less polite.

I use the satellite phone to check with my BBC colleague in Ethiopia what the government-backed newspapers and state radio have been saying about me.

Various spin doctors have already said the BBC has banned me from reporting on the conflict because my reports were so biased. Now I hear that I've apparently been sacked. This must be rather confusing to anyone tuning in to a radio to find me still reporting.

The vitriol gets worse: we hear that all the correspondents in Asmara are being paid by the Eritrean government to write their propaganda.

Then, and this is my favourite: "The BBC female correspondent is having an affair with an Eritrean government official."

I relay the comment to my bosses in London and remark that the Ethiopians obviously don't know how working for a 24-hour news channel like the BBC seriously limits one's quality time.

Getting access

When the border fighting first flared in the summer of 1998, the Eritreans felt they lost the propaganda war. This time they're determined to win it. So in the first few days of our stay in Asmara, everything we ask for, we get:

"You want to go to a front line - fine, go to a front line".

"You want to see some prisoners of war - fine, we'll take you and you can talk to them for as long as you want."

Consequently, on the Eritrean side the journalists are churning out story after story of what we've seen, whom we've talked to.

Our colleagues in Addis Ababa are being given no access, despite their pleas. They find they can't write so much, and there are no television pictures from the Ethiopian side.

The Ethiopians don't like turning on the television and finding all the reports coming from the enemy side. Their hatred of us seems unlimited.

War by e-mail

Alongside the battles on the ground, the cyber war has swung into top gear. Every day London tells me that more complaints have been e-mailed in from Ethiopia about the BBC's one-sided reporting.

I'm actually rather pleased when an Eritrean writes in to complain that I'm pro-Ethiopian.

It's impossible to win. However many times one writes "Eritrea says this, Ethiopia denies it" or "Ethiopia says this, Eritrea denies it", someone will be unhappy - extremely unhappy.

It's not only the Ethiopians who are bombarding cyberspace with complaints about one-sidedness. An Italian colleague in Asmara tells me that his counterpart in Addis Ababa has been receiving pretty strong e-mail attacks - presumably because he's writing out of Ethiopia.

One day, however, this Italian journalist writes a story from Addis Ababa which the Ethiopians hate, and the Eritreans love.

Suddenly, for the Eritreans, he is an excellent writer with an excellent understanding of the conflict. His article is translated into English on the Internet. In the hotel in Asmara, a copy of it is placed in the pigeon hole of every journalist.

Back in Nairobi, I contact the secretary of the Ethiopian ambassador to arrange a meeting. I'm a reporter. I like to see all sides of the story.