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“When someone has a wild idea, say yes”

Lessons from the life and work of Els Smeyers

On Wednesday November 20th, 2024, Els left home early in the morning, as she always did. She got on her bike, ready for another busy but exciting day at Hasselt University. The preparations for Dag van de Wetenschap were in full swing. A yearly highlight on the calendar, she had poured herself into the preparations for weeks.

That morning, there was a team meeting. Els was running late, that wasn’t like her at all. Someone had heard there had been a traffic accident on her route. Why wasn’t she at the office yet? A police car passed by the building. “Please do not stop here,” someone whispered. But it did, and the officers brought the news that confirmed what everyone by then already feared.

Six months later, I park my bike in front of the same building. I climb the stairs to the fourth floor, where the communication and marketing team have their offices. Els’ colleagues would later tell me that Els also took the stairs, always. ‘You can’t cycle into work and then take the elevator!’, she’d say.

I have a meeting with Thomas Vandenreyt, Sanne Op’teynde, and David Geysen, three close colleagues, who can tell me much more about Els Smeyers, a woman I had by then heard a lot about. My heart is pounding, partly because of the four flights of stairs, partly because this interview is different. I do not know how the team is doing, losing their longtime colleague in such a devastating way. After all, it’s only been a few months. 

Thomas takes me to the floor’s meeting room, which has been renamed ‘Els’, he tells me. We walk by a wall decorated with dozens of photographs, picturing Els at events she helped organize. In the meeting room itself, another picture, framed this time, with flowers, little flags... Her colored scarf and big smile are impossible to ignore. 

Sanne and David join. “Sometimes we come and sit here to be with Els,” they say.


Always honest, always herself 

What was Els like as a colleague, I want to know.

“Els was always completely herself,” says Sanne. “She was honest, open, and kind.”

She always said what was on her mind, and had a great sense of humor in that way, even if she wasn’t trying to be funny. Her wit revealed itself in unexpected remarks that would catch you off guard, but were always delivered with warmth.

She had a very authentic and deep curiosity, both in science and in people. “If she asked you on Friday what your plans were, she would remember to ask again on Monday how it went,” Thomas says. “She made you feel seen.”

“She was indeed a thoughtful person,” Sanne adds. “When she listened, she really listened. That kind of presence is rare.”

So was her seemingly boundless energy. “She cycled to work every day,” David says. “Rain, wind, it didn’t matter. She came in soaking wet and still managed to show up looking immaculate. Matching scarf, matching shoes. Always. She even outdressed Queen Mathilde the day she visited Hasselt University.”

Waiting for Queen Mathilde's arrival
Waiting for Queen Mathilde's arrival

“And the cycling is just one aspect,” Sanne adds. “She did yoga and fitness classes with us. During a Tuesday lunch break workout, her colleagues were all sweating and collapsing, but Els was still going strong. I never wanted to stand next to her at sporting events, cause it would make me look bad.”


Taking a crazy idea, and making it happen

She was the kind of science communicator who welcomed every crazy idea. A science slam with a comedian? Sure. A boxing ring on campus for a scientific debate? Let’s do it. A ball pit to visualize plastic particles in the ocean? Why not?

“Her gift was taking vague or complex topics and turning them into something tangible, fun, and accessible,” says David, who worked closely with Els on Dag van de Wetenschap, her signature event and annual highlight.

“She worked with researchers from every discipline, transforming half-formed concepts into real, memorable experiences.”

Even when something unexpected happened, like someone fainting in the anatomy museum, Els took it in stride. 

Dag van de Wetenschap wasn’t the only place where she created magic. From large festivals to small lectures, Els had a way of finding the right audience for every story.

“She could really draw people in,” David said. “And her enthusiasm was contagious. When I was new at Hasselt University, I didn’t really know what to expect. But Els’ energy was so contagious that I caught the bug immediately. That’s the kind of spark she gave you.”

Els had the rare gift of making science exciting for everyone, and of making everyone feel welcome in the world of science.


In service of others

Els had another superpower: she had a way of taking weight off other people’s shoulders.

“She understood all too well that science communication was often an extra task for researchers,” Thomas explains. “So she made it easier. She prepared the materials, guided them through interviews, turned complex content into plain language. She made it possible for them to succeed.”

That generosity extended beyond her job description. “If you needed help at a quiz night, she was there. Someone needed to welcome students in Ghent for Let’s Talk Science, she would be on the 5:30 train to make it, and do the same all over the next morning.” 

“At events, she was always the first to arrive, and the last to leave,” says Thomas. “Always.”

“When we look back through our photo archive,” says Sanne, “Els is everywhere. Year after year, at every event, every lecture—there she is. And always helping out in one way or another.”

She also never stopped appreciating the effort others made, adds David: “She ended every email thanking you for your input, help, thoughtfulness...  A small phrase, but she meant it every time.”


No nonsense

As story after story made clear, Els brought the same quiet strength and no-nonsense determination to her personal life as she did to her work.

“Once I had a cubic meter of bark delivered for my garden, to put among the roses,” recalls David. “I told Els about it, and she just said, ‘Bark? Oh, we make that ourselves.’ “Who does that?” he laughs.

It turned out Els and her husband—both engineers in the truest sense—had plenty of do-it-yourself projects at home.

She approached each challenge with that same hands-on mentality. After one late-night university event, she recounted having to carry her bike over a fallen tree blocking the road on her way home. “She told it like it was nothing,” recalls Thomas. “But that was Els. She didn’t seek admiration, she just got on with it.”

Sanne: “I know it sounds like we’re completely glorifying her, But honestly, that’s just who she was.”


After the accident

In the days and weeks after the accident, the team was in shock. “We didn’t know what to do,” Thomas says quietly. “So we started puzzling. Disney puzzles. One after the other.”

The grief was overwhelming. And yet, as the university’s communication team, they were the ones expected to field the questions. “We had barely caught our breath, and we were already being called by media for an expert quote on traffic safety,” he recalls. “They didn’t even know yet that the victim was one of our own colleagues.”

Somewhere in that chaos, they found each other. The puzzles became a ritual. A way of sitting together when talking felt too hard. “And sometimes we’d stop and say, ‘What would Els have said about this?’” Sanne adds.

The messages poured in. From university students and staff, scientists, colleagues—even the Nerdland community and Minister Diependaele got in touch. “We knew Els was respected and had an extensive network,” says David, “but we didn’t realize just how far that network reached. It was incredible. People from all over the country, across all kinds of organizations sent us messages.”

Els’s husband and children also visited the office. They shared stories, memories... They brought one of her scarves—bright, colorful, unmistakably Els. “It had to be joyful,” says Sanne. “Because that’s who she was.”

“The fact that we could support Els’ family in some way helped us too,” Thomas shares. “For them, it was comforting to know how deeply we miss her. To learn just how much she was loved throughout the university and beyond, and that everyone saw her as a kind and generous colleague.”



Carrying her legacy forward

There’s no denying that the team still misses Els. They likely always will. But they carry her forward—in how they work, how they treat each other, and how they think about science communication.

“Els may have been taken from us physically, but her presence hasn’t gone anywhere.”

What can we learn from how she approached science communication, I wanted to know. What do you carry forward, and do you hope others will too?

“When someone has a wild idea, say yes,” says Thomas. “That’s the Els way. Don’t shut it down. Try it. Make it happen.”

“Keep an open mind,” nods Sanne. “She lived by that. She tried everything at least once. Nothing was too crazy to at least consider. She wanted to give everything a shot to see where it would go.”

“And be yourself,” they add. “She taught us that, too. She didn’t change who she was to fit the situation. She brought her full, honest self, and people respected her for it.”

The team is still working through the grief. But they do it together. “We regularly check in with one another. If one of us has a difficult moment, we can just say so. We all understand, and it is okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes.”

I asked if there was anything we hadn’t touched on—anything they still wanted to share. 

“Our gratitude to the science communication community,” they said. “That’s important.”

It was the last line in my notes. 


What struck me most during my visit was not only how much her colleagues loved and admired Els, but how much of her spark they reflected back. It convinced me that part of what made Els so warm, so full of life, were the people surrounding her.

Maybe that’s why she cycled 15 kilometers to work and back, every day, rain or shine, always with that unmistakable smile. Not only because she loved outreach. But because she loved all those people she got to work with.

And perhaps that’s the most powerful legacy of all. It’s the knowledge that science can be joyful. That colleagues can become chosen family. That a scarf can match your shoes, and still be practical. That energy, kindness, and gratitude are renewable resources.

Els didn’t need to say those things out loud. She simply showed up, every day, and lived them.

And for everyone she worked with, that will never be forgotten.

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