Uncle Kendji: A Human First, An Uncle Always

By Samuel Georges

In the heart of every Haitian family, there is that one pillar of wisdom, a shoulder to lean on, and a voice of reason—someone who, through life experience and a deep sense of care, earns the role of a trusted advisor. For many young people, especially those navigating difficult paths, Uncle Kendji—known formally as Kenley Jérôme—has been exactly that.

Before the world tries to place a label on him, before judgments are cast based on orientation or personal choices, it’s important to remember who Uncle Kendji truly is: a human being, a Haitian man of depth and value, and most importantly, an uncle who has stood by his family and community. His sexuality is a part of his identity, yes—but it should never be the defining factor in how he is seen, respected, or treated. The younger generation should feel safe turning to him not in spite of who he is, but because of the strength, compassion, and wisdom he offers.

Kenley Jérôme has never hidden his truth, and that honesty has not made him weak—it has made him brave. In a society that often celebrates hypocrisy over humanity, too many Haitians are quick to forget the core values of respect, dignity, and love that our culture holds dear. It is a bitter reality that while many quietly struggle with their own truths or carry their own flaws, they still feel entitled to throw stones at someone like Uncle Kendji for simply living authentically.

His love for Haiti is clear. Through his work, his voice, and his actions, Kendji has uplifted Haitian stories and communities. But where is the love returned when he is mocked, judged, or cast aside by the very people he tries to support?

This brings us to Chef Leen—a name that rose to popularity through Uncle Kendji’s unwavering support. Many forget that it was Kendji’s platform, his mentorship, and his belief in her that helped launch her visibility. And yet, when the time came for solidarity and gratitude, silence echoed louder than any words. Ingratitude, in any culture, is a poison—and it is especially painful when it comes from those you helped rise.

Uncle Kendji represents a painful truth and a hopeful vision. He reminds us that to be Haitian is to carry both struggle and pride—but never at the cost of our humanity. He should be honored as an uncle, a mentor, a builder of dreams—not reduced to whispers of judgment or discarded because he challenges narrow worldviews.

Uncle Kendji doesn’t just represent a lesson in tolerance—he exposes a deep fracture in Haitian society: the gap between who we claim to be and how we treat our own. His story isn’t about asking to be accepted—it’s about demanding justice, exposing loyalty lost, and paying the price of truth in a culture still reluctant to face itself.

Uncle Kendji deserves more than tolerance. He deserves respect, protection, and a rightful place as a voice of wisdom. Those who once benefitted from his generosity, like Chef Leen, and now choose silence, only highlight a broader issue: our tendency to love our icons only when they stay quiet or play safe. The Haitian community cannot move forward while it shuns the very voices that speak with courage, depth, and authenticity. To betray someone like Kendji is not just a personal wrong—it is a collective moral failure.