Ain’t No Holy Like Celestine’s Holy

Ain’t No Holy Like Celestine’s Holy

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

“Boy, get yo tail in here and stop actin’ like you lost all ya sense!”

That’s how my grandmother Celestine would call me from the porch of our house on Ursuline Street, right down the street from Channel 4 News and a good stroll from the French Quarters, where the jazz doesn’t stop and neither does the gossip. She’d holler at me with one hand on her hip and the other holding a wooden spoon like it was a sword of righteousness, ready to battle any demon, spirit, or stubborn grandchild that got out of line.

I remember one summer afternoon hotter than a crawfish boil in July I came draggin’ my feet in the house, feelin’ sorry for myself because Miss Geraldine down the block told me I looked “too scrawny to be anybody’s grandbaby.” I was sulkin’ like I just lost the Gospel Spelling Bee.

Celestine didn’t miss a beat. She looked at me, puffed up her cheeks, then exhaled and said, “Lord have mercy, this child done let a woman with six mustaches and a broken fan ruin his whole day!”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Baby,” she said, “don’t let folks who ain’t prayed in the last 12 years tell you who you are. You better know you was made by the same hands that painted the sky and stirred the stars into the gumbo of the universe.”

I blinked.

“Now go wash up. And stop walkin’ round here like Jesus forgot your address.”

We always had a mix of spirit and comedy in that house. Mornings smelled like coffee, fried catfish, and anointing oil. Grandma kept her Bible next to her cast-iron skillet, and I swore she used both for deliverance. One for the soul, one for the attitude.

She used to say, “The devil be busy, but baby, he ain’t got no keys to this house. I done changed the locks with prayer and lemon water. and Chile." Let me tell you, when life hit me hard when I felt like the world was chewing me up and spittin’ me out like a bad piece of boudin; it was her voice that steadied me.

“You better smile, Kateb. Joy is holy too, ya hear me? God ain’t just sittin’ up in heaven lookin’ for folks to cry. Naw, He sittin’ back with His feet up, wantin’ to hear you laugh from your belly ‘cause He know you survived. That’s a praise right there!”

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