Editor's note: This is the first installment of a four-part series. To read other parts of this story, please click the links below.
Imagine a world where all hopes, feelings and emotions are irrelevant.
Hot and cold are just lukewarm.
Colors are turned into a gray muddle, and conversations are nothing more than a string of words.
In the days following a winter earthquake that jolted the island of Haiti, this has become Sky Georges’ world.
Two Worlds. One Heart. No Answers.
Standing before a crowd of 400 at a vigil on an uncharacteristically warm night in January, Georges, a criminology senior at UF, is no longer who he was a week ago. In the span of a few sunrises and sunsets, he has become a breathing shadow — barely recognizable.
As a pastor drones on about the need for hope in a time of great darkness, Georges’ mind wanders. He pictures the hospital where he was born and how it is probably no longer standing. He sees the kids he played soccer with crushed under a pile of broken buildings, their faces now gray and caked with debris.
The pastor’s lyrics of “Lean on Me” give way to another wave of sniffles. Georges’ thoughts now pause on Monday, the day he last spoke to his father, who had flown to Port-au-Prince for his brother’s wedding.
“Have a good trip,” Georges told his father. “I hope you have fun.”
In the days following the Jan. 12 earthquake that left thousands of people dead and millions more displaced, Georges has not given himself any time to let the gravity of the situation sink in. There are meetings for newly formed response clubs to attend, 5K races to plan for and dozens more in need of a hug. No time for reality. It didn’t take long, however, for reality to find him.
Like he had done throughout the past week, Georges took center stage, this time at First Assembly of God in Gainesville. Just like all his other speeches he gave that week – solemn, yet hopeful – he speaks into the microphone with a slow but firm cadence. The sentences are like all the other ones spoken in the previous days, but this time something different happens. A sudden rush begins to pull from within. He pays it no mind and continues. The pull becomes more powerful. It sparks with every reference to God’s love and heats up with every gaze at the teary congregation. Then comes a simple prayer of thanksgiving in Creole that, although foreign to some, is understood by all in the pews.
“Jezi merci deske ou fidel nan tout bagay mem nan trambleman tè ”—Jesus, thank you, because you are faithful even in earthquakes.
For the first time, in that span of several uncertain days, Georges wept.
For the second part, click here.
For the third part, click here.
For the fourth part, click here.
