Abdi Nor Iftin is a Somali-American writer, radio journalist and public speaker. He lives in Yarmouth and can be contacted at noriftin@gmail.com.

It’s Halloween season again. Skeletons dangle from porches, pumpkins sit carved on doorsteps, and the air is filled with an eerie excitement. Seeing all this reminds me of the ghost stories and spooky experiences from where I grew up, in Mogadishu, Somalia, a place that could feel like living in Halloween every day.

In Mogadishu, a city nestled along the stunning Indian Ocean, ghost stories were a part of daily life. Haunted houses stood in every neighborhood. Growing up during a civil war, where many buildings were reduced to rubble and those still standing were riddled with bullet holes, missing roofs and shattered windows, our surroundings felt like the backdrop for a never-ending horror movie.

People often misunderstand Mogadishu, assuming it was all chaos. But beneath the destruction, there were remnants of a different time. Most streets were named after Italian cities like Via Milano, Via Roma and Lazio, thanks to Italy’s colonization of southern Somalia. There was even a beautiful cathedral, built by the Italians, standing just half a mile from the beach. If you squinted, you could almost imagine you were in Italy. Yet, despite this European charm, the city carried a chilling aura, especially when you factored in our local ghost stories.

One of the spookiest places for us kids was the old Italian cemetery. Unlike Somali graves, which often went unmarked due to lack of resources, the Italians had elaborate gravestones, complete with names, birthdates and causes of death. We’d visit the cemetery during the day, but never at night. There were legends that the Italian soldiers buried there would rise from their graves and wander the streets as ghosts, seeking revenge. The grave markers and the quietness of the cemetery fueled our imaginations, and to us, it became a place of haunted history.

In Mogadishu, the idea that the dead could return for revenge was more than just a story – it was something we believed deeply. During the civil war, nighttime was filled with the sounds of dogs barking and bullets firing, and we’d stay absolutely still, fearing not just the living but also the spirits of the dead who might be seeking justice. Many nights felt like living in a real-life horror show, where the fear was not just of ghosts, but of real human danger.

Now, every Halloween in America, people ask me what costume I’ll wear. Maybe this year, I’ll dress as an Italian soldier, tapping into the spooky tales of my childhood. For me, typical Halloween costumes like ghosts, witches and spiders don’t compare to the fear I grew up with – the barking of dogs, the sight of dead soldiers’ uniforms and the uncertainty that nightfall brought.

Yet, in this shared experience of Halloween, I see a beautiful connection. Whether you grew up in Maine or across the world, we all bring our own flavors, our own stories, to this celebration. One of my favorite things to do during Halloween here in Yarmouth is wander through the local cemeteries. While I’m no longer caught up in the belief that the dead rise from their graves, I’m fascinated by the history etched into the tombstones. Some date back as far as the 1800s. It reminds me of standing in the Italian cemeteries in Mogadishu, staring at the graves of those who died in the 1950s and ’60s, marveling at their stories. Now, not knowing where my own grandparents are buried, I have a deep appreciation for how people here preserve the memory of their ancestors with marked graves. Halloween, in its essence, is about storytelling – about taking the eerie, the strange and the unknown and finding a way to make it our own.

So, as we enter this spooky season, I wish you a fun and story-filled Halloween. And maybe we can all find a way to connect our unique pasts to America’s love of ghost stories and haunted nights.