Did I ever tell you about the time I saw a zombie?

Yeah, I was hanging outside the gate to the house of a former bad guy in Gonaives, Haiti, B.S.ing with a bunch of kids. Billy Badass (Vladimir), a 14 year old punk with the smile of a shark, turned and started yelling at this woman across the street. Starling-like, the kids shifted from the jokes and games we were playing to taunting. Some ran across the street directly in front of the woman and some just started yelling “Go home, zombie!” in Creole.

I looked across the street. “Why is everyone calling her a zombie?” I asked. Billy laughed and looked up at me. “Because she a zombie.”

My orders were explicit when we entered country: Don’t mess with anything of religious significance, including and especially zombies. So I watched. To be honest, that was all I could do.

The zombie walked slowly, like her feet were asleep. You know when you get the needles but have to get up to answer the phone or something? Like that but slower and with purpose. She was dressed like any other Haitian woman— a shirt, a cotton dress down to about mid-calf and an orange and white striped scarf tied around her hair— except she was filthy and her clothes were ripped.

It was difficult to determine her age because she was coated in dirt, ash and soot. Her nappy hair was dusty and covered in twigs and what looked like maggots nestled in each disgusting lock. Tear-trails went from her wide, unblinking eyes, down her face and neck. The open sores on her knees, elbows and hands glistened.

Years later, after the World Trade Center fell and the images of New Yorkers walking around stunned, covered in dirt, ash and soot hit the air, I thought of the zombies again.

As the zombie walked past, the kids broke into a chant about a bloodthirsty general named Badagri, the spirit of war, keeper of the storm and sender of thunder and lightning.

Sitting there, in front of the gate as the zombie kept walking and the children chanted to a war spirit, I, for the first time as an adult, truly appreciated the power of religion and began to question my own beliefs.

And it was bad ass.

Sleep tight.

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