One of the families we got to know, invited us over for afternoon dinner. When we got there, the grandfather had to kill the chicken first. We were all pretty fascinated as he got out his bow and arrow and chased the chicken around the yard, and then shot it. The dead bird was thrown on the fire, where the feathers were burned off. Then we all walked to the river, where it was cleaned and cut up. We felt honored that they killed one of their chickens for us, since they save their chickens for very special occasions. 
