Monologue Of 'Kenbe Fem Jennifer Pa Lage'

“Kenbe fem Jennifer pa lage. ” Five words in Creole I heard for the first time at the crack of dawn in the East Harlem Projects. I looked over my shoulder to see if my uncle or aunt were there but I noticed my grandfather leaning against the wall with his cane, next to a picture of his hometown. He looked up at me and winked. I stood in front of him in shock because he had barely spoken to me during the times I stayed with him. I needed someone to translate my grandfather’s Creole for me so I woke up my uncle and hold on tight Jennifer, don’t give up he said. As a seven year old child, I wasn’t holding anything, and what was my grandfather talking about?
He started to say it every morning, afternoon and night , “Kenbe fem Jennifer pa lage.” As I listened intently I heard his modulated voice through the cracks of the window, where I could feel the cool summer wind blowing in the small apartment and a sense of comfort in my grandfather's words. I felt safe and at ease as he repeated it to me because he would
After a couple of days, I told my parents what my grandfather had told me.
“Why couldn’t Grandpa tell me that in English? He knows I don’t understand Creole that well,” I said. My mother stopped in front of our house and turned to me. “We are not American and English is not our language. Grandpa told you that phrase in Creole because it is the language of our ancestors, who spoke that tongue during slavery.” Creole was their language, it was what they took seriously, it was a part of their blood and nothing could take that away--Not even English. Creole was their history and it is their future. As my mom told me the history behind her language I was amazed because I did not know that phrase was so
intense.
I was 12 years old walking inside the Aldo store, holding my mother’s hand. We entered the store and felt someone staring at us. Every item my mother picked up someone was asking if we needed help. We continued to browse the store and noticed that the security guard was following us. I assumed that my mother was doing something wrong because he just kept staring at us. I felt scared and I didn’t know what to do. My mother grab me towards her while she dropped her items that she was going to purchase in a random shelf. She didn’t want to cause a scene so we walk towards the exit and didn’t turn back. That is when I could hear my grandfather whisper “Kenbe fem Jennifer pa lage.” This was the moment he was preparing me for. He wanted me to be strong in situations like these.
My grandparents left Haiti in the hopes of a better life, they wanted opportunities, jobs, and the chance of owning something with their names. I realized that others’ preconceived notions do not even see that we are people with dreams and hopes-- for a better life, a better American life. They would only see a girl with short nappy hair, dark skin and two immigrant parents that have come to steal hard-working American citizens’ jobs.
I realize I’m different in this world. I am not a regular girl living the American dream. My grandparents immigrated for our generation to have a better life. I have navigated this world from the margins. I have to try extremely hard, I have to be twice as good or even better. As an Afro-Caribbean woman, I have to hold on twice as hard. But then I hear the words of my grandfather: “Kenbe fem Jennifer pa lage.” I close my eyes I hear myself saying don’t let go, hold on strong. I’m holding on strong to my American dream and not letting go of my Creole identity.