Hong Kong celebrity Sharon Kwok's tragic pangolin encounter

It is my first trip to Sumatra, in Indonesia. I received a call from a friend on April 25 saying there had been a large, pangolin-related seizure and that this would be a good chance for me to do some research. So I hopped onto a plane and, on April 27, I am at a press conference being held at the scene of the crime: a seafood warehouse in Medan.

Upon arrival, we are greeted by members of the Wildlife Conservation Society's Wildlife Crimes Unit and officials in police or forestry department uniforms. A cocktail of smells assaults my nose - seafood, unwashed bodies, cigarettes and an unfamiliar stench: that of pangolin excrement and death. Frozen pangolins and parts are stored in two freezers, bags of scales are in a storeroom and the largest room holds 50 or so plastic poultry crates, the festive colours at odds with the cruelty being suffered by the 100 or so creatures inside.

I've never held a pangolin and I learn that these domestic-cat-sized animals must be handled with care. I pick up a large male, probably the strongest specimen of the lot, which was perhaps not the wisest choice: my wrists are now crisscrossed with small scratches from his scales.

These gentle forest animals never attack. If threatened, they roll into a ball for protection. This may protect them from lions or leopards but it's no defence against their greatest predator: man.

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After the press conference, the living pangolins are loaded onto a truck, to begin a four-hour trip to freedom. At a midway stop for food and fuel, I check the animals and find several more have died - the stress of captivity tends to kill pangolins, which is why you rarely find them in zoos - while those still alive are either too weak and traumatised to move or are extremely parched and greedily lap the water I provide. I take a baby away from a mother that appears too traumatised to care for her young, to safeguard it from being crushed.