Day of the zombie isn't what you think

"We named him Zombie," she said, talking of the pet corn snake my son had given a friend when he moved to sunny Florida. "As in the African god, not the scary creature."

An African god? I'd no idea the word "zombie" had such a benign - even pleasant - origin. Funny how these things develop. Etymology can be both entertaining and enlightening. Upon further research, I learned how much pop literature and film distort our perceptions of things Halloween-ish.

"Zombi" is one name for the Niger-Congo snake god lwa Damballah Wedo, sometimes depicted as a python, like our pet Balaji you see here. The Kikongo (Bantu) word "nzambi" means simply, "god."

Other cultures better explain how we got from the divine to the frightening. For the Haitian and Creole (zonbi) and Angola's people of North Mbundu (nzumbe) a zombie refers to the traditional notion of an animated corpse raised by magical means. Just like the man or woman it once was, it may or may not be benign. Because so many cultures have developed to increasingly fear life's completion, it isn't surprising that with the dubious help of stories and film, the undead of today seem to be depicted with horror, rather than a chance to again see Grandma, hear her wisdom, and heed her warnings.

The grossly misunderstood West African Vodou and Haitian Vodu (imported with slavery to Haiti) beliefs focus on the connection with the spirit world. These spirits mirror humans and thus range from good to bad, to be consulted or avoided. They may serve as intermediaries between the gods and people, dwelling in the waters and earth, with many positive applications for the living. The Haitian "zombi" is brought back by a medicine man (nganga). When a zombi - rather dramatically with a dance-like entry - possesses a human he (or she) shares predictions to guide the future and instructions on how to increase fortunes.

These beliefs do include the notion of a "bokor," or sorcerer, who can raise the dead's "ti bon ange" or soul, and manipulate them to do his bidding. The bokors sometimes claim to bottle the zombie's astral being (like a spirit) in a bottle, for transfer or sale to others. Wonder if that's how Barbara Eden ended up in her genie bottle? In some African stories, certain children can do the same.

Most African "magic" (considered an expertise at connecting with nature's essence) isn't bad. South Africa is still home to thousands of sangoma (a Zulu term) - like a shaman or healer - who restore the balance between living and dead, with the help of ancestral spirits. In South Africa sangoma are said to outnumber practitioners of Western medicine, with some people consulting both. As complementary and alternative medicine has also become more mainstream here, it seems the old ways still influence the new worldwide.

Now, how about the idea of an actual zombie? Think Romeo and Juliet's tragic misunderstanding: an ingested chemical or fungus ("zombie powder") that mimics death, but doesn't go all the way. Yes, it's possible.

While in Haiti in the 1930s, novelist Zora Neale Hurston, who wrote the award-winning "Their Eyes Were Watching God," came upon such a story of a woman-come-back after burial. She referred to it in "Tell My Horse." Fifty years later, Harvard ethnobiologist Wade Davis went to Haiti to research the idea. His analysis of zombie powder revealed neurotoxins from the puffer fish and frogs. The result was the cultural study "The Serpent and the Rainbow," a serious nonfiction book which was sadly, but not surprisingly, later twisted into a horror film.

If you run into a nice zombie tonight on All Hallows' Eve - the one night the dead can visit the living - stick to candy. Just don't give him salt. African legends say salt confuses the poor things and they go insane, forgetting who they are.

Thanks to local healer Keryn Richards for inspiring today's topic.

Sholeh Patrick is a ghost-loving, gore-hating columnist for the Hagadone News Network. Contact her at sholeh@cdapress.com.