In the morning I met a guy called Voice. After walking around his village we crossed borders for I had seen smoke on a faraway hill. A traditional wedding ceremony was taking place. Voice said he could coax them into allowing me to photograph it. I was the sole white man there with little understanding of the language. I got their blessing as long as I would eat some of the liver. Voice and I shared a cow liver and then I picked up my camera and walked toward three men holding a machete. The sheep gurgled as blood spurt from its neck whilst youngsters were emptying the colon of the slaughtered cow. A drunk man pulled me into his bedroom where the remains of the cow lay, peacefully.