The Unwilling Heir: A Quiet Conversation at The Page

It is a little after 3:45 p.m. at The Page, a gay bar in the French Quarter, and the afternoon light is just beginning to settle into the corners of the room. The only sound is the rhythmic sounds of a knife against a cutting board as a coworker quietly prepares limes for the 4 p.m. opening.

Across the table sits Zajuan Breaus, a man whose presence is as timid as the environment is still. A stark contrast from the energy he possessed the day I met him. We had only met days prior, discovering through a casual conversation that we are fraternity brothers sharing mutual acquaintances. But as the topic shifts to his family history, Breaus’s posture changes. He leans in, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of the words he is about to speak.

Breaus is the son of a high-ranking Haitian priest, a man who navigated the complexities of African spirituality with a sense of fun and ease. For Breaus, however, the inheritance is a heavy one.

“It’s a blessing and a curse,” Breaus said.

His words are barely audible over the quiet prep work in the background. While he avoids the formal terminology of his father’s practice, he describes a persistent ability to see spirits. Referring to them as entities that he says become more intense in high-energy locations like hospitals or cemeteries.

For Breaus, this sight is not a gift to be honed, but a burden to be managed. He described a childhood spent trying to not be spooked by what he saw, guided by a father who tried to help him interpret the visions through drawing. The complexity of this legacy is doubled; Breaus has a twin brother whom he describes as a powerful empath, someone who physically feels the pain and injuries of those in his radius. The intensity of their shared connection is so profound that Breaus says they often maintain a physical distance to keep the spiritual noise at bay.

The transition from heir to outsider became permanent following his father’s death. Breaus describes a internal shut down that occurred after losing the man who was both his spiritual guide and his best friend.

“Once he passed, I just shut something up,” he said.

Despite his Haitian heritage and the cultural expectations that often follow the children of high-ranking practitioners, Breaus is choosing a different path. He is a man caught between two worlds, still waiting it out and navigating the silence of the bar before the neon lights of the Quarter flicker to life.

“The biggest misconception is that I would follow in the footsteps,” Breaus said.

For now, he is content to let the legacy rest with his father.

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This story is part of a semester-long investigative reporting project into African spirituality, history, and culture. It was created by an immersion journalism class in the Journalism, Advertising, and Media Studies program at UW-Milwaukee. Other stories from the project are available on The Power of the Tongue: From Walker’s Point to Congo Square.

This work was made possible through the support of MPC Endowment Ltd., the philanthropic affiliate of the Milwaukee Press Club, and a private donor.