Something I would like to mention before talking about my weekend (last weekend), are the topics of gender roles and other conceptions. Although people here tend to consider Dakar as any other modern city, and in most ways, divorced from traditional conceptions and practices. However, as we learned in class as well, many superstitions, as well as traditional religious beliefs have persisted. An example of this is a story that Papa Ignace told us a few weeks ago, and loves to retell. Apparently this is a “true” story, and he claims this happened to someone that his wife knows, from her original town. The story goes like this:

A man who had grown up in the small traditional Serer village (an ethnic group) and who had moved to Dakar to study, became a Catholic priest. He stopped practicing all of the animistic beliefs that he had grown up with, and totally embraced the religion that most people recognize came from European missionaries. (Papa Ignace explained, when I asked him why people didn't give up their colonial-bestowed Christianity after independence, he said people preferred the egalitarian beliefs of Christianity as opposed to traditional religions which tend to label people as witches, believe in evil spirits when things go wrong, and still intensely practice the caste system.) Anyway, when the man went back to his village to visit, they had a gigantic feast for him. During the party, he discovered that he really needed to urinate. So the man went to find a place nearby to take care of his business, and he came across the shrine of gifts to the family fetishes (spirits of family ancestors who prefer to be noticed once in a while, if not, they give the family bad luck). Despite the protests of the family members who noticed him considering this spot, he laughed and said, “I'm a Catholic now! I'll convert you all, and you'll see that these silly superstitions are nothing but nonsense.” He began to pee, and almost immediately, his testicles began to swell to painful proportions. He doubled over in pain, and the family rushes over. Frantic for some way to stop whatever the fetishes were doing to him, they decided the best way was for the man to ask for forgiveness in the traditional posture. He knelt on his knees, while they tied gri-gri's around him, as well as some other spiritual items/rituals, and he had to pray for forgiveness for over 2 hours before his testicles began to return to normal.

I think he learned his lesson....don't mess with tradition.

Even the wrestlers, like I mentioned before, recognize traditional practices. As far as my family, as Catholics, they go to church every Sunday and cross themselves before a meal. Catholic tv is usually playing all day on Sunday, with priests speaking Wolof. But, whenever we watch horror movies on tv (which are always American), the cultural nuances do not transfer. Americans, for example, watch horror movies to be entertained and to consider “what if people really did get possessed by the devil?? wouldn't that be scary??” They never seriously consider this possibility; usually horror movies play on superstitions long gone. America has dropped almost all of its superstitions (vampires, werewolves, witches) that used to seriously frighten people, in favor of organized religion. Horror movies for us are like roller coasters; when they're over, you're just proud that you made it through, and you move on.

My family here, however, take it seriously. They finish the movie in a serious mood...and then all agree that the Devil is a very real part of real life. I try in vain to explain that these movies are simply for entertainment, they aren't real. They explain to me that these movies are of course not true stories, but that they reflect actual occurrences in real life. That people do get possessed by the devil, witches do exist and cause harm to others, and evil spirits are real threats that people need to be concerned about.

We watched a movie about a little girl who is possessed in a small town, and one by one, about 3 people or so are either killed or driven to kill themselves because of this little girl. My family was convinced, in very serious tones, that the Devil was possessing her. I voiced that I believed there was more to the story than that. Sure enough, it turned out that there was this complicated twist at the end that involved another girl had been gang raped, and then her friends came in and saved her and after an intense car chase, their car was pushed off the bridge and all three died. Then, for revenge on those kids who raped the girl, they possessed this new little girl and the people who were getting killed were those kids. Complicated, I know. The family was bothered by this movie, and asked me at the end if I believed in evil spirits and demons. I laughed and said I didn't, but that I didn't want to talk about religion because it would just get complicated. I blamed it on my “culture” and that Westerns have a vested interest in science, and have abandoned their beliefs about the supernatural. They shook their heads and said they pitied me, and that they knew this fact about Westerners “thinking they know everything.”

I even got into a debate with Josh's host brother about the Devil and God. He was saying that when a person does bad things, it's because the Devil is inside him, influencing him. I said what about when he does good things. He said that's the man's decision to follow God, that God isn't influencing him. I asked him how you can blame a man, then, when he does bad things, if the Devil is controlling him. He said that every bad person originally invites the Devil in. Then I asked if it was possible to have both God and the Devil in you at the same time – because he had agreed that sometimes good people do bad things. He wasn't sure how to answer, and then said that they were. I asked what free will has to do with this, and to what extent it is the person's decision to be good or bad. He didn't know how to answer, and just started laughing.

In class, Professor Kane told us all a true story, where when he was young and back in his Fulani village, he had a real experience with a witch. His sister got suddenly sick, and they couldn't help her, and took her to the hospital only to be told the doctor's didn't know what was wrong with her. Finally they took her to a traditional psychic woman, who told them that the maid was a witch and was making his sister sick. She said at that moment, the maid would start crying. The professor didn't know this had been said until later, and he had been at home – when the maid started crying. Needless to say, the family fired the maid and drove her out of town. His sister apparently got immediately better after this happened. He offered this up as proof that witches exist. He didn't explain the fact that the witches are usually elderly widowed women who are living with the families of their deceased husband (a social burden). They're almost never young men.

I don't know what to think about all this. Even the French man who stayed with us, when this subject came up, told me of his doctor friend from France, who had been doing some work in Burkina Faso – and “even his doctor friend” said that he had witness “some things that couldn't be explained.” I want to know why unexplainable things don't happen in the States....witchcraft and things of this nature. This is why I can't accept what people here are saying. Is Africa just a more magical and mystical continent than the United States? The thing is, about 200 years ago “unexplainable” things happened, and people believed in vampires and such...as well as the Native Americans....and then these things stopped happening. Because we decided to do research and conquer our fears. I just can't reconcile this in my head. Apparently in Nigeria, when things go wrong in a village, they have recently started accusing small children of being witches. There was this one traditional priest/spiritual healer, who mixed a toxic potion to give to the children to try and “heal them.” The man admitted to killing over 150 children. He was arrested, and the Nigerian government is apparently trying to seek out men like him to stop this practice.

Something quick about gender roles: women here are not treated as equals. Despite a more “modern” life here in Dakar, where many women have jobs, their traditional expectations are not lifted. In the villages, this division of gender roles is more of an economic efficiency solution: the men are gone during the day earning money, while the woman occupies herself at home with the children and the house chores. However, in the city, the stigmas associated with gender roles remain, even though the men are aware of the fact that woman also go out and work. For me, the obvious solution of efficiency would now be for both people to work, and both people to help each other with the cooking and housework. Then both people would have more time to do other things. Instead, I witness the men either in their rooms, watching television, reading, smoking or doing other things they enjoy...while the woman have to begin housework right after they got home from work. With no dishwashers or laundry machines, they clean the house, wash the laundry/fold it by hand, wash dishes for 9 people in gigantic bowls on the floor, and cook. I can't imagine what life must be like for a household full of men with one woman....even with three woman in our house, there is still a lot of work to do. The men laugh when I ask why they don't help. They rarely even clear their dishes. The only one who has ever stepped foot in the kitchen is Antoine, to make himself some more food if he's still hungry. He isn't bad at it, either. I think it's just embarrassing for them to do a “Woman's work”, and this is why it doesn't happen. It's just beyond me...I've never been able to hang out with Kenjo or Cathy or anything, because they're always too busy. After 10:00pm, even on the weekends, they just go to sleep. I would too...I would be exhausted. The boys in our group at MSID think this is pretty funny, for the most part, and are constantly making jokes about how Senegal is paradise for a man: polygamy, women as servants...to me, it just makes me angry. The men explain that it's “changing” these days, the gender division...but I don't see them getting up to help the changes.

There are also many different parts of Senegalese society and American society that are conflicting. I prefer some aspects of Senegal, in fact. For example, I think when I go home to the states, I will definitely have trouble adjusting to the cold nature of people on the street. I remember being one of those people, like everyone else, who stares straight ahead when they walk and totally ignores everyone else. We like to imagine that we're the only person walking around, and we are “creeped out” when other people acknowledge our existence. If someone begins talking to us, we automatically assume this person has mental problems or is generally lonely and needy. Neighbors often don't say hello to each other, even if they're next to each other in an apartment. My professors here say over and over that when they visit America or Europe, they are struck by the coldness of people. The fact that it happens quite frequently in these countries, that an elderly person who is living alone can die, and not be discovered for several days – is baffling to the Senegalese people here. This would never occur. Not only because families live together, and would never dream of putting their elderly parent in a nursing home, but neighbors are almost just as concerned for each other as family. If people in a neighborhood like mine knew there was an elderly person that lives alone, neighbors would come over and check on that person quite frequently.

I find I really enjoy saying hello to people on the streets, who definitely don't expect this from a white foreigner, and who excitedly respond to me every time. I've chatted with so many people I don't know on the street on my way back from W.A.R.C. It may make you guys at home feel uneasy, or suspicious, or even afraid for me that I do this. But if you were here you would understand...a sense of community is so strong, that people aren't as mistrusting and paranoid as in the States. Serial killers, school shootings, gruesome murders, and depression medication doesn't exist here.......so you have to wonder who's got it right. Even in the midst of debilitating poverty, even here in Dakar, you still see the street kids laughing and happy in the parking lot. The only crime here is petty theft. Let me describe a scene to you, and consider if this would ever happen in the States in a major city:

There is this one street in Dakar, where for about half a mile, on the grassy median of this street, is top-quality furniture. During the day, only a few people are manning it, in case someone comes to buy something. At night, this furniture – of the quality you would see in a furniture store in the states – stays outside, covered in nothing but a plastic tarp. We were even surprised to NOT see homeless people making their temporary beds out of this furniture. No one was sleeping on the furniture, no one had stolen any, no one had defamed any. A staggering respect for other people and their means of livelihood exists here, the likes of which you would never witness in the U.S.

As far as that goes as well, people come over all the time without calling. Even for dinner, more food is made than necessary – even when people are cooking for nine people, which is a lot of food to begin with! Neighbors just let themselves in the front door, say hello, and when they hear “Kaay lekk! Toggal!” Come and eat! Sit down! , they oblige. My friend Thierno, who I met over last semester on the internet, has come over twice already without calling me. This is never for more than 15 or 20 minutes, it's just “passer pour saluer” stopping by to say hello, essentially. It's surprising, and when I assumed he was just being rude, my family vehemently corrected me. Apparently, they only call each other if they're planning on spending the night, or an entire day, or if they want to make plans to do something outside the house. Other than that, doors are never locked, and people are warm and friendly with each other. It's refreshing.

It made me realize that human beings are definitely meant to be social creatures. The consequences of intense individualism in the States is evident, like I said, in the amount of people – the most in the world – on psychological medicine. Therapists don't exist in Senegal. This is partly because most people can't afford it, but also the concept makes people here laugh when we've discussed it. The concept that people pay, (a lot of money) to talk to another human being is overwhelming for them. It's also evident in the horrific murders and other crime that seem to come out of the blue in the United States, and that is broadcasted all over television. Teen suicide, the ever-increasing frequency of teen self-mutilation...the concept of a mother losing her mind and killing her family is not something that can even be understood in our own society...much less in Senegal. Saying that this occurs, that a mother would murder her own children, is met with puzzled and horrified stares here. The fact that we have to have strict rules and policemen everywhere to “protect the children” on Halloween, makes you wonder. Apparently the Senegalese were aware of Halloween, but they were not aware that there are sickos out there who want to harm children.

The only things here that make me uneasy, is the rate of rape. Apparently, and I'm not sure how frequent this is, people will come at night to the talibe's, (the small boys who live in Koranic schools and beg for money during the day), and offer them money in order to perform sexual acts with them. Most of the time, however, it's European foreigners who do this. In Toubacouta, according to our Professor, where we were two weeks ago, European tourists come in order to have sex with local children. In a place where people are so poor, some people know they can take advantage of people much more easily.

There is also apparently a very lucrative business in most of the developing world, although in particular, Africa and Latin America, which involves middle-aged or elderly women from Europe and the United States descending from on-high to have sex with attractive black men in their early 20's. This is quite frequent here in Senegal. Young men make themselves as fit and in shape as they can, and usually wear their hair in long-dread locks...rich women will come perhaps once a year to have this male companion all to themselves. Call it a midlife crisis, or what have you...but it's usually the male Europeans who prefer young children...at least the women pay for it. :) Just kidding.

Antoine and I unearthed another sensitive cultural subject. I didn't mention the first semi-argument we had, but it involved him harassing me for 45 minutes about the reason that I don't prefer rap music is because I'm racist. He also continued with the fact that white people have continually screwed over black people over throughout the ages – and that white people are violent by nature (colonialism, slavery, neo-imperialism, debt, etc). It's true but...I decided to keep the subject on rap. He wouldn't listen to me when I tried to tell him that the reason white people listen to more rock music, is because the subjects of these songs are subjects we can relate to.....rap music is mostly oriented toward poverty, racism, police violence and other inner city oppression. These are not concepts that are familiar to middle class people who have grown up in the suburbs. We like music we can relate to. Anyway, it ended with me storming out, because everyone here thinks they understand the United States and can make generalizations about our society based on rap music videos, Hollywood, and Bush's foreign policy. I said “Have you ever even been to the United States? No? Well then you have nothing to say. You don't understand that racism is a sensitive topic for whites, as well as blacks.” I refuse to feel “white guilt” wherever I go.

Anyway, a few days ago, we were sitting in the living room after dinner watching Brazilian soap operas as usual. Antoine said to me, out of the blue, that I had a “gros ventre” a big stomach. I tried to swallow my shock, and tried to joke about it, saying “Je viens de manger!” I just ate! But he persisted, taking me response to be an encouragement, and continued...comparing my stomach to Papa Ignace's – which is a huge potbelly, laughing the entire time.

I turned all red at this point, and just said quietly, “T'es mechant.” You're mean. I tried not to get upset, and just suggested that we play cards. Once we sat down to play, however, Kenjo noticed that I was still rattled. She asked me what he said, and I asked her if she would care if a guy told her she had a big stomach. She looked at me blankly, and said, “No...?” I couldn't believe it, and pressed on, explaining that in the United States, it's a grave insult to mention anything about a woman's weight, unless to ask if she's lost some. Hearing myself explain why this is an insult, turned out to be pretty embarrassing for American culture. “See, in the United States, we are pretty obsessed with image, more than we'd like to admit. For women, it's worse; we're expected to be skinny. The more thin you are, usually, the more beautiful. We have unnaturally high standards of beauty, impossible to attain; therefore almost all women walk around with an insecurity complex about the way we are. All the MSID girls by now have all wondered if we're going to lose weight on this trip.” Antoine agreed that we have a “complex,” and that American culture is “idiotic.” Kenjo just shook her head in silent sympathy, and said that it's “sad.”

Antoine and Kenjo could not understand this concept, even after 20 minutes of discussing it. I tried to explain that I wasn't mad because I knew he didn't know the extent to which it hurt my feelings (to them, it was as if he had said - “your hair is messed up!” or something less grave), but they didn't believe me. Antoine insisted that Senegalese girls would not have gotten upset, and he even went so far as to say that I did not react as most Americans would have. At that point, I called Melanie downstairs to vouch for me, and she agreed that she would have been upset. Antoine called over his sister Cathy, who is a twig, and proceeded to demonstrate how I should have reacted by pulling up her sweatshirt to show her stomach. She giggled and ran away. After this happened, something striking happened – I got a sudden urge to cry. As if I was being shown what I was supposed to be. I kept thinking, of course it's easy for her to giggle and not get upset – she's skinny! But this wasn't the case.

Antoine was more angry than I was after about an hour of discussing our different cultures, and couldn't figure out why I couldn't have rationalized my way through the scenario – as a student, taught to be rational and critical – to not have reacted the way I did. He was offended at how upset I apparently got, even though I didn't cry or anything. He asked me why I had never considered this aspect of American society as ridiculous, and simply refused to believe in it. I tried to explain to him that even though I HAVE thought about it, and that no, I do not agree with it, I think it's ridiculous, it's STILL a part of our social system that's engrained in my mind.

Apparently, this sort of thing has been happening in other host families as well. This one girl from another program is in a family that constantly jokes about her weight. Her parents are from Nigeria, and she's a pretty big black girl. In front of the family and neighbors at dinner one night, her host mom pointed out an enormous black man on tv, and said, “Look! It's your brother!!” Everyone chucked at her comment, except the girl herself – who got up and ran to her room crying.

I think this is an embarrassingly pathetic part of our culture, and we should all be ashamed with ourselves for going along with it.

I heard from someone else that their aunt, who is very obese, went traveling to Africa for a healthcare-related trip. Because of her large size, which is considered to be very beautiful, all the village woman gathered around her in awe, and said “My Gosh, you're so beautiful...how did you get so fat??” The villagers I'm speaking of had enough to eat, in case any of you are inclined to rationalize that the reason this might be the case is because food it hard to come by, so obesity is glorified. This isn't necessarily the case. Large women are associated with fertility and health, even if that isn't always the case (high cholesterol, heart attacks, etc).

Just the simple fact that I'm not constantly bombarded by signs and advertisements showing “beautiful” impossibly-skinny models and photo shopped girls, preaching about diet pills and fitness centers...makes me more at ease with myself and how I look. Just detaching myself from all the crap we just become used to in the United States, has made me more relaxed, and less image-conscious.

Just something to think about. Love yourself for who you are, and love how you look.

Things I miss the most:

Hot Showers

Washers/Dryers

Sweets/Desserts/Fruit....anything sweet

My feet not being completely filthy, not having soars, blisters, dry skin or scabs all over them...I want a pedicure when I come home!!

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Last weekend was the Islamic holiday of Magal (among the Maurides, a sect of Islam here). Although I'm still not sure what this holiday commemorates, I know it has something to do with meeting in the village of Touba (about 8 hours north east of Dakar), and giving money to the Marabou. About 2 million people left Dakar (including eight of us from MSID) on Thursday or Friday, for this festival. According to the story, Chiekh Amadou Bamba was an Islamic leader during colonialism, who was exiled due to his widespread support from the population/ his perceived threat to colonial rule. He came back and founded Touba, which then was simply a dense forest. He wanted to live somewhere far away from the hustle and bustle of city life, to concentrate on God and piety. Of course, all of his followers found him there, and built up the city of Touba. Kind of ironic if you ask me. Overall, it sounded like those who went to Touba with their host families didn't like Touba that much; Seth, for example, was supposed to do his internship in Touba and now wants to change it. Card playing, hand-holding between boys and girls, not covering your hair completely as a girl, was all forbidden – and drinking alcohol, of course. Lots of sheep were slaughtered (Josh sadistically took videos), and lots of ataaya was consumed. The weekend consisted of praying, praying, and more praying...inside one of the most beautiful mosques in all of Senegal.

Back in Dakar, we who live with Catholic families, partied all weekend like the rest of the Christians. I heard from Sonya, that her friend was living with a Catholic family in St. Louis (Senegal), during Ramadan when all the Muslims were fasting – they had a pig roast party on the beach. A “pig” roast – for those who aren't aware, pork is also not eaten by Muslims, like Jews. This was a similar situation; when 95% of the country is Muslim, the Christians took the opportunity last weekend to party in a city that was practically empty. There was nearly no traffic at all, especially at night, and hardly anyone walking which was a strange sight to see. Thursday night we went to Melissa, a black-light dance club/bar with Jean-Marie (those of us who stayed in Dakar), and Friday we went to a community center in Liberte 6 (another neighborhood) for a party. Antoine came that night, and brought some friends. It was a good time, all-around.

Saturday, Melanie and I decided to make brunch and dinner for our family, American-style. Although somewhat limited by what we were able to buy here in Dakar, we ended up cooking : French toast (yes, we found maple syrup! Although it was $10 (U.S.)), fruit salad and omelets. All of the above are totally foreign concepts to our family, even the fruit salad. People rarely eat raw fruit here, and if they do, it's individually. The only time we've ever had omelets here, were breaded and fried and not the same.

To make the things on our menu, it was necessary to go to the food market. Kenjo took us, in a taxi at around 9:00am. We arrived where people had set up tents and had fruit and vegetables out, and Kenjo led us into an old, enormous warehouse that had been converted into a market. Even for a weekend when no one was there, it was super crowded and really hard to walk .It was loud, noisy, and smelled like fish. There was shouting, talking, hacking of knives, and the sounds of flustered chickens and goats. We allowed Kenjo to haggle for us in Wolof, because obviously if we did it we knew we would get screwed out of good prices. Sure enough, as soon as the women there saw that she was with toubabs, often they would give a ridiculously high price until Kenyo brought it down or put the pressure on by starting to walk away. One woman, dressed in a full Muslim head scarf, refused to sell anything to use because we're white. I have never in my life, encountered something like that, and in fact, I didn't know that this is what happened until Kenjo, a bit unnerved, explained it to us. I guess since I didn't understand what was said when it was said, I wasn't as upset about it as I would have been.

The market reminded me of something that one might see at the turn of the century in New York city. Huge chunks of freshly chopped fish lay out, exposed, on wooden tables, along with dangling pieces of freshly slaughtered animals. Women carried plastic bowls with peanut, cucumbers, lettuce, and other food items on their heads, asking if we wanted to buy them. Men were nowhere to be found, except as shop keepers in certain alleys with tiny little holes in the wall, essentially, selling jewelry. We got everything we needed there except eggs and onions, which we went elsewhere to get. The only other thing that we didn't get there, because Kenjo wasn't satisfied with the prices, was chicken. We assumed we could at least buy parts of the chicken, like in the United States, possibly prepackaged by body part. But no...we had to go to someone's house, who opened up a massive refrigerator like the one at my parent's vet clinic, in a garage-type space – to reveal the remnants of a chicken massacre. About thirty unwrapped chicken corpses lay on top of each other, feet and all, thrown in there right after the people had killed them themselves. This house was across the main road in my neighborhood, in a city house. While Kenjo debated the price, I admired their home de-feathering machine.

Given the fact that we just had a small burner with a flame, and a stove where only one burner works, we did pretty good cooking for 10 people. There was an extra person we weren't expecting; a German friend of Papa Ignace that was visitng. They loved the French toast and the omelets (I made the omelets: tomatoes, green peppers, oregano and basil which we had to buy, salt, garlic, etc). The reason we made this for lunch, around 1:00pm, was because Senegalese breakfasts are simply a piece of bread and coffee. We didn't want to overwhelm them with an American breakfast. While we were cooking, we thought the fact that we were cooking for everyone would be good for the women, who would be relieved from their work for at least a day. However, instead of going out and enjoying themselves as we expected, the women in our house and even some neighbors stood in the kitchen while we cooked, watching our every move and asking questions. At one point the maid, Anne-Marie, took my camera out of my purse and started taking pictures. She hasn't used a camera that much before, which was evident by the way she framed the shot, which we had a lot of fun teaching her how to improve. They thought my use of oregano and fresh milk was interesting, as they almost never use fresh milk – and never use oregano. Everyone made a big deal out of the meal, even though we had to walk them through how to put maple syrup on their French toast. Most people though, after trying the maple syrup, just preferred to eat the toast plain. Senegalese cuisine doesn't really have desserts...the only thing that comes close is French patisseries, which are sold in Dakar but I have not once eaten them at home. This means that the family isn't used to eating sweet things, and the maple syrup probably seemed too sweet. Papa Ignace especially enjoyed the meal, and said it was the first time anyone has cooked for the family. This made us feel special:).

Melanie and I took a nap until 6:30, and then started cooking again for dinner (salad, vinagrette, baguettes, spaghetti and tomato sauce). Melanie pulled apart the chicken by hand, and did a good job getting the meat off and into a skillet. It took her about an hour, which isn't bad considering it was her first time gutting a chicken. I started the pasta sauce on the stove, using a lot of garlic which I knew the family would like as Senegalese food is very garlic-y. However, when Melanie and I found a pot to boil water in, Cathy wandered in the kitchen and noticed what we were doing and started screaming, “No! Deedet!” She pulled the pot off the flame and then began laughing. We were utterly confused until we realized that the pot we had chosen to heat up over the fire was plastic...not metal, as it appeared. Oops....:) Nothing happened, luckily, there were just some dents in the bottom of the pot. Other than that, it was fine...otherwise we would have felt horrible.

I cut up a bunch of different vegetables for the salad, which is different than what they usually eat. Salad here usually consists of a few raw vegetables: shredded carrots, tomatoes, and hard boiled eggs from time to time. They eat this with peanut oil mixed with mustard as a dressing. They do not mix these together, so it's not really like a salad as we know it. In order to make my vinagrette, however, for the salad, I had to go out and buy olive oil which was available at a small boutique in our neighborhood, along with several baguettes. They were surprised when I used this, and agreed that it tastes pretty good. They also were surprised to know that oregano is Italian/Greek in origin. They assumed it was French, just because French cuisine still has a large influence here, and it's what they're familiar with. They didn't realize that the French imported garlic originally to incorporate it into their cuisine. Dinner went well, and the family applauded us several times after we were finished eating, saying “God bless dee U-S-Aye!!”