Dear Donors,

First and foremost, I would like to wish you a Happy New Year, albeit a little belatedly, as always. I wish you good health, much success, and an abundance of love.

For me, 2025 will bring about many changes. Therefore, this trimester letter will be slightly longer than usual. Because it is of utmost importance to me to share this news with you before you read about it in the newspapers, this time, it is being sent via priority mail.

Let me start from the beginning:

Exactly 26 years ago, our Centre L’Espoir in Adjouffou was inaugurated. I vividly remember that day, as it brought immense joy to inaugurate our four shipping containers, saved from being scrapped and converted into two patient rooms, a pharmacy, and an office. We had no idea what lay ahead, tackling each day as it came. At that time, we weren’t yet a foundation, and we had four staff members who helped for a modest wage. My husband, Aziz, sent me 500 Swiss francs each month, which I used to buy medicines for our “home pharmacy.” A consultation at our center cost €0.80, and only those who could afford it had to pay. We’ve maintained both principles, as the poor are even poorer now than they were 26 years ago.

The early days were incredibly tough. AIDS was rampant on a horrific scale. Many people could no longer make it to the Centre L’Espoir, so I drove into the slums to pick up those who were dying and bring them to us. It was important to me that they had a clean bed—even if it was in a container room—and received the dignified and loving care every human being deserves in their final moments. Many had been abandoned; out of fear of infection, relatives and neighbors had fled. I worked up to 18 hours a day, driven by what felt like an addiction, a compulsion. To stop? Impossible. To take breaks? Unthinkable. How could I? There were so many people dying. Abandoning them would have gone against my upbringing, my conscience, and above all, my heart.

And so, it has been for the past 26 years. Thankfully, the worst of the AIDS epidemic is behind us, but disease, hunger, and hardship remain all too prevalent. Over time, we became known in Switzerland. A TV program, books, and a documentary film in cinemas drew attention to us. The Swiss public was intrigued by the story of this somewhat eccentric Swiss woman—46 years old at the time, wife of a Nestlé director, and mother of three—who gave up her dream life of luxury to live among the poorest of the poor in one of the largest slums of Adjouffou. A neighborhood no white person dared to enter, let alone a woman.

This was the life I wanted. It was what I had been searching for, without knowing how to name it. It was what truly enriched me—not materially, but spiritually—in a way I had never experienced before. My husband understood and allowed me to follow my calling. He realized it couldn’t be otherwise. Sarah, our youngest, was only nine years old at the time. It was difficult for her, but she understood and saw how I lived and the dying children I cared for, as she spent her school holidays with me in Adjouffou. Our two older children, Sonia and Selim, were already attending a Swiss hotel management school.

Soon, we built a hospice, our second center, and shortly after, an orphanage, the third center. The three facilities were only 300 meters apart—300 meters of mud and dirt, which I could hardly see when called to the bedside of a dying person at 3 a.m. At times, we had no electricity or water for weeks, working by kerosene lamps and drawing water from a well.

With the media coverage and my recognition as Swiss of the Year in 2004, much changed for the better. We received donations and were able to establish the Lotti Latrous Foundation. This enabled us to help more people and create additional jobs. We hired courageous staff, some of whom are still with us today—except, of course, for those who have retired or sadly passed away. We also expanded our infrastructure.

After 18 years in the slum, we had to leave Adjouffou and start anew because our three centers were displaced by the expansion of Abidjan Airport. This brought us to Bassam. I wanted to be in a slum again, and through a series of fortunate events, we found a place on the edge of one.

Today, we have about 80 employees and run an outpatient clinic and a very active social office that supports hundreds of mothers and children. Every year, we enroll around 800 children in school who, without us, would face a future of illiteracy. We have a hospice that now serves not only dying AIDS patients but also cancer patients and those needing palliative care. There’s an orphanage housing 35 children, ranging in age from 5 to 22. Additionally, we built Ayoba, a village for elderly, sick, disabled, and marginalized individuals to live in dignity as part of a community. I call it “my” village because it had long been a dream of mine to create such a place. With Providence once again on our side, Ayoba now spans 2,500 square meters with 14 African-style huts surrounded by flowers, palm trees, chickens, two cats, and everything else a small African village needs. In the middle stands a kitchen where two women cook and sing, treating our residents. There’s even a bocce court. It’s simply beautiful!

Our centers are thriving thanks to your unwavering support, for which I am deeply grateful.

Now, to the point: they say you should stop when things are at their best.

I will turn 72 in May. Since contracting tuberculosis in 2007 and suffering constant lung infections and pneumonia, I have developed chronic obstructive bronchitis, also known as smoker’s cough. Ironically, I’ve never smoked in my life. This condition saps my strength and forces me to focus more on self-care. Accepting this hasn’t been easy. But it has shown me I am not indispensable.

We have found two exceptional women to carry the torch forward.

Llum Fouz, a 48-year-old Spanish kinesiologist, joined us after a serendipitous encounter and has already been with us for a year. She embodies the compassion and dedication our centers need.

Barbara Jurisic, a 50-year-old Belgian psychologist, began in October 2024. With extensive experience from Médecins Sans Frontières, Médecins du Monde, and the ICRC, she brings the expertise and empathy I have always hoped for in my successor.

In May, Marie Odile and I will hand over the keys to Barbara and Llum. I will continue to return and live in Ayoba periodically. Aziz, or “Papa Aziz,” as he’s known here, will still assist with technical matters. I dream of sitting on the bench outside my little house, laughing, praying, eating, and living with the others—just living, knowing the responsibility is in capable hands.

Passing on my “fourth child,” as I call it, will not be easy. But it has grown up, and I am ready to let go.

Barbara will continue the trimester letters, though I promise to write occasionally.

Thank you for your incredible support over the years. Your love, prayers, and positive thoughts have carried us through many valleys. Please, continue supporting our project.

May God bless you.

With utmost respect and gratitude,
Lotti

Dear donors,

I was deeply touched by the many responses to my last newsletter, where I shared the story of Souman, the twin boy born with hydrocephalus seven years ago.Your kind thoughts, prayers, and encouraging words deeply moved me, and I even received offers to cover the cost of Souman’s surgery. Today, I am happy to report that Souman has successfully undergone surgery, and his health has greatly improved. - Read the latest newsletter from Lotti.

Dear Sponsors,

As always, I sincerely hope this message finds you in good health and spirits. I must admit, I am currently overwhelmed by a profound sadness. So many questions remain unanswered, so much injustice lingers, and a deep sense of doubt and anger weighs on me. Recently, hundreds of people have come to our clinic, feeling discarded and overlooked by the world. Here, they have finally found the dignity that had been taken from them. Meanwhile, a few unscrupulous individuals, driven only by self-interest and greed, continue to amass wealth at the expense of the poor, with no regard for the suffering they cause. These people have no respect, not even for God. Yet, I find solace in the belief that the last shall one day be first.

You may wonder, dear sponsors, why there are so many harsh words, so much sadness? Why is Madame Lotti, who has lived for over 25 years on this continent where poverty is most severe, who has witnessed countless hardships, feeling so disheartened? It is because I am beginning to doubt. I doubt that there will be a change, that the world will ever be just. The divide between those who have far too much and those who have far too little is widening. So many people think only of themselves, ignoring the welfare of others.

In the week I wrote this letter, I accompanied two people in their final moments. One was a very young mother who died of cancer; the other, a man who had stopped taking his AIDS medication, only to succumb to tuberculosis, kidney failure, and a brain tumor. God, in His mercy, did not let them suffer long. They are now at peace, likely for the first time in their lives.

I would like to share with you two other stories that have left fresh wounds in my heart. I don’t know how many more wounds my heart can bear, but it seems to be both brave and strong, for which I am infinitely grateful. Above all, I am thankful that it has never grown callous.

PAPA ALASSANE

Papa Alassane - his son carried him to us on his back

Papa Alassane is 82 years old and lived peacefully with his family on a farm he built 64 years ago. He was a hard worker, toiling day and night as a bricklayer to build a small house with several rooms. Then came the first blow—his wife passed away. A second blow soon followed—he lost his sight. Yet, despite everything, he was content. Every morning, he would sit in front of his little house, and his grandchildren would come to greet him. Age is highly respected in Africa; the children would curtsy to him, and even though he could no longer see, he knew how much they appreciated him. He delighted in hearing them play and argue, as well as the sound of their mothers washing, cooking, and chatting. One of his daughters would bring him a bowl of grain to feed the chickens. Despite his losses, he still had a good life. He told me that he had sixteen children, that God had taken two of them back, and that everything God does is right—“Tout ce que Dieu fait est bon.” Though life has bent him a little, Papa Alassane, with his white beard and hair, looks beautiful, and a great light shines from his blind eyes. He embodies the saying that the eyes are the mirror of the soul.

On Sunday, June 2nd, his son Moussa brought him to us. “The machines arrived last night,” he said, “and tonight, our farm, house, and garden will be demolished, just like our neighbors’!” The people were forced to leave their homes without any compensation and had no idea where to go. Papa Alassane managed to save only a few cloths and his walking stick. And his life. We happened to have a vacant house in our village of Ayobâ, so I immediately set to work scrubbing and cleaning it. No one stopped me because my staff knows that when Madame Lotti is in a rage, tearing everything apart and cleaning furiously, they must let her be. They see my tears, know that my heart is bleeding, and understand that no words can calm me. The anger must be released, and I do that best when I’m cleaning.

Now, Papa Alassane sits in the middle of our beautiful little village. Though he cannot see it, he feels the goodwill and warmth surrounding him, helping him cope with the greatest pain of his life. He is sad, but he is alive, and very soon, he will be surrounded by our chickens, which he can feed.

Last belongings among the rubble

Like Papa Alassane, many people have come to us after being forced to leave their homes due to urban development projects. Sons carried their elderly parents on their backs, fearing they might die of grief. Others were brought in pushcarts. These people were not physically ill, but deeply shaken. Many found refuge in churches and mosques, others in schools closed for the holidays, and still others went to the cemetery, saying they were already half-dead anyway. And as if all this weren’t bad enough, it is currently the rainy season. The suffering is almost unimaginable. In just one week, over 1,250 people came to my office seeking advice and help. The level of poverty has become unbelievable. So many people are living on less than a dollar a day. Electricity prices have tripled, and basic foodstuffs are prohibitively expensive. And when I see the new buildings, the luxury boutiques, and the French supermarkets, it just fills me with sadness.

AWA AND HER FIVE SIBLINGS

Awa is 18 years old and has five siblings: Hamed, 16; Samira, 15; Fadil, 10; and the 7-year-old twins Souman and Djennatou. Their mother has died, and their father has abandoned the family. They live in a ruin, without electricity or water. Awa and Samira work for a woman who owns a restaurant. They spend the whole day cleaning, and in the evening, the woman gives them 1,000 CFA, which is about 1.50 francs, plus leftover food. Hamed works as an assistant bricklayer to help the sisters earn money. Fadil stays “at home” to look after the younger children. None of the children go to school anymore. In the past, before their mother’s death, they lived in Adjouffou and attended school. But since the twins were born, they have been insulted and abused, called cursed children, spawn of Satan, all because Souman, the smaller twin, was born with hydrocephalus.

I met these children when someone brought the sick Samira to us. She was suffering from a severe malaria attack, as well as anemia and hunger. We took her into our hospice and cared for her. She is now much better and overjoyed to sleep in a real bed with pillows and sheets! I spoke a lot with Awa, who told me that their beds are made of cardboard boxes, with a few old rags as blankets. There is no electricity. They make a small fire at night and collect rainwater. The ruin they live in has no doors or windows, and I asked her if they weren’t afraid in this remote place. She replied with a small smile that prayer protects them.

Beds made from cardboard boxes and rags

Seven-year-old Souman urgently needs surgery to treat his hydrocephalus. He often bleeds from his nose and suffers severe headaches. Without help, he will die in terrible pain. When I see the love with which Awa cares for her siblings, how the six of them help each other and try to find their way, that familiar anger rises up in me again. But I also feel enormous humility in the face of these children’s resilience. I’m so grateful they found their way to us. We will take care of them.

All these stories and experiences make me infinitely sad. Perhaps even sadder than I was in my early days here. Have I become more vulnerable with age? Or has the poverty increased so much that it has become almost unbearable? Every day, I see the poor people that others try to hide, chased away so that they are no longer visible.

Awa and her siblings in front of their “house”

Yet, amidst all this, we still receive those wonderful smiles from mothers and their rescued children. They tell us: “Keep up the good work, it’s good!” We have our great staff to support us, and our faith gives us the strength we need. Instead of destroying, we can build and make our world a little bit better.

And all of this is possible thanks to your support, dear sponsors. Words cannot express my gratitude. Thank you for your goodwill and your willingness to stand with us. May God bless you.

Please accept my warmest wishes! Yours, grateful for life and for you, 

Lotti Latrous