“Kallee woo Mayaaya!”, the priest sings, “Give respect to the beautiful flower.” From the top of this mountain, with my binoculars, the flower is anything but beautiful. The petals are like cheese, with tiny creatures exploring the dark tunnels the flower has to offer. The tribesmen fall down on their knees in order to continue the ritual. Once a year, one of the young tribespeople will be claimed by the flower. Today, a young girl, with tears rolling off her cheeks. Chains bind her feet and hands as she tries to break free from the slow procession of priest and flower. The priest ambles over with the flower in hand. One of the creatures jumps out and burrows itself into his hand. The priest barely flinches. He brings the flower towards the girl’s face. Several creatures writhe out of the flower, but they are not close enough. One creature falls on the ground and emits a ghoulish scream as it burns up. The others wait as the priest brings the flower directly in front of the girl’s face. At once, a multitude of the creatures burrow themselves into the young girl’s face, creating the first holes. She screams once, then falls silent. Slowly she opens her eyes, pupils empty and lifeless. A single sentence escapes her mouth before she stands up and joins her family in the crowd. “Kallee woo Mayaaya!”, she whispers, “Give respect to the beautiful flower.”