During the last week of winter break, I and 12 other members of the Syracuse University student body traveled to New Orleans to donate our time to rebuilding the devastated city, as well as making connections with Hurricane Katrina and Rita survivors.

When I first heard of the opportunity to attend this trip through the Protestant Campus Ministry, I immediately jumped at the chance to attend. How could I not? Watching the ordeal on television, sending money and offering prayers were not enough for me. I wanted a direct personal connection to help fix this horrible situation. Sometimes when you hear of devastating news, the event can be remote and impersonal, and I wanted more than just watch images on television. I wanted to help.

The whole trip was eye-opening, but the one moment that will stand out in my mind forever is when we toured the city on Jan. 11. Throughout all the houses there were signs saying the date it was inspected and if any dead pets and people were present. Just before we went to the Lower Ninth Ward, there was a huge white house that read ’15 People Dead’ in bold orange letters.

I was so frightened by the sign and saddened by the fact that people were dead in the house who were not given proper funeral arrangements, I couldn’t help but scream. As we were driving away from the house, my gaze remained fixated on it. I wanted to protect its people somehow. I wanted to be their savior. I didn’t want to leave because I knew what lay ahead was in worse shape than that upsetting sign.

I met many Hurricane Katrina survivors throughout my trip, but one in particular stays with me. Her name is Deborah Oatis, and she lived in her house with her husband Lonnie for 21 years. It was her dream house. In it was everything her family ever wanted, and now all those memories are covered with mold and regarded as trash.

Many of those possessions can never be recovered due to the sentimental value they carry. For example, she lost all of her prized cards, which she collected throughout her life. Also, pictures of her children are barely recognizable due to the dampness brought on by the flood. These are only a few of her irreplaceable items that were lost in this terrible tragedy.

But through it all, her Southern hospitality and spirit shined through the post-disaster mold and damage.

‘God has plans,’ Oatis told me. ‘I still have my family and health. I love New Orleans. I love the people, the atmosphere, and we have the best food and music. I’m not interested in moving anywhere.’

I gained so much from her and the other survivors. I learned that southern hospitality is no joke – there’s a reason the term is used. Since my family is originally from Georgia, I’ve been exposed to Southern hospitality, but there is nothing like experiencing it in the Deep South.

Despite every reason to be sad, the residents have been extremely optimistic about their futures and the future of their damaged city. They have nothing, but still manage to summon their strength. If nothing else, it’s extremely inspiring and amazing to me. It really puts things into perspective, because when you think of the times that you have it bad, there are others throughout the world who have it worse and still manage to pick themselves up everyday. Oatis and all the other survivors confirmed for me that good will persist in a universe, even, and especially when it is filled with evil.

Published on January 16, 2006 at 12:00 pm