loni wulff

In the pitch-black night, at a desolate cemetery of Loi Thuy village, a group of people were straining with hoes and shovels to dig up the grave of Elder Kiem. They were not grave robbers, but a professional exhumation team, hired whenever a family needed to carry out a reburial.

Standing some distance away were the descendants and relatives of Elder Kiem’s family. Each of them wore a white mourning headband. In front of them were several offering trays, filled with fruits, sticky rice, meat, and paper offerings.