"Sir, down there in the woods, far behind the last huts, there they're eating my brother Kitibo.... They have slaughtered him like an antelope; they have cut his throat and put him on the fire, and now they're eating him.... They untied my Kitibo and dragged him towards the fireplace. Both of us cried and screamed; my brother struggled with all his strength. But what can a child do against big men, and the forest has no ears for the voice of a child. Sir, they threw my brother to the ground, I saw it and I screamed, and all eight of them crouched around him, fixing his hands and feet, and then they cut his throat. I heard my Kitibo, my dear brother, groan, groan like a dying antelope. His groans became slower and weaker, and then he was dead. My brother was dead. My soul broke in pain! They carved him up and put his flesh into their pots. "This one we'll eat here," they said, "and the other one we'll smoke afterwards.""