The gate entrance of the Musteferret was not on ground level. A meager looking metal platform that looked like a flimsy piece of cardboard from far acted as a bridge, and was shaking violently from the in-pour of the human wave. I led the way ahead of Mama Joe, tightly grasping her hand. We were already extremely exhausted from the journey, but the path to the bridge was nearly in sight. The iron gateway on the fence, where the guard was supposed to inspect personal belongings and verify VIPs, were jammed with human flesh rubbing against each other. Others attempted climbing the fence, only to be electrocuted by the wirings, falling backwards and tumbling over the crowd.