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
“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