A chicken named Dinner...

So for my going away gift for my host family I treated them to dinner. Only here in the lovely land of Senegal spoiling your family does not consist of taking them to a plush air-conditioned sushi bar but entails buying them a live chicken to consume later that night. As I was picking out a dirty chicken from the rambunctious bunch, I began to have a moral complex about playing a role in the death of an animal. I soon justified it by remembering that the person raising and selling the chicken depended on the buyers for their livelihood. Moral crisis averted.

I returned home with the chicken and my friends, Eric, and Meera. I asked my Aunt where she wanted the chicken…which by this time I had named Dinner. She replied that anywhere in the yard (of sand) was fine and didn’t seem worried about it leaving the compound. Moments after the chicken was released a rooster paraded though my compound gate and promptly mounted dinner. “Stop screwing Dinner,” I yelled while Eric kicked the rooster away. I almost never like to see my meals have relations with others in their species before I consume them.

After the issue was resolved and the rooster was far from gallivanting around my compound, Eric, Meera and I thought a card game was in order. We relaxed and enjoyed a few lovely rounds of skip-bo before one of them said in a hushed voice, “hey guys…I don’t see Dinner…” We search up and down the street thinking that we had been outsmarted until Dinner was spotted hiding under the only SUV in Sangalkam. He escaped once more before receiving the punishment of kitchen confinement.

PS: Right now I am eating peanut butter out of the jar with the top of a pen…my standards have plummeted…please don’t judge me.