Each chosen knife wielder was blessed by the priest who marked them with blood on their foreheads before they entered the buffalo enclosure that held over 3,000 thousand animals. Thousands of people stormed the walls to get vantage spots to witness the killings. I watched through the holes in the walls, as no media were allowed into the killing fields.
One by one each young calf was decapitated, some had the privilege of a clean cut, others were brutally hacked several times as they tried to flee their killers, stumbling over the dead bodies of their families. Men with hatchets branded them over their heads warrior-like as they looked for the perfect angle to swipe. Some blades were blunt and screams were heard from the animals, some fell to the ground and broke their legs.
Every animal that slaughtered shit themselves before dying. Every animal felt fear ... and every animal I saw, cried. When I was allowed into the killing fields I walked among the bodies and heads, feces and blood spewed between each carcass. I found a young calf still alive with its eye slightly open, he looked up at me and I cried. He dropped his head and lay there in his own feces. I took his picture and filmed him, all the time talking to him. I felt useless, I told him to forgive me filming him instead of helping him, because I couldn't do anything except to tell his story.