EN-Newsletter-aktuell

Dear donors,

I hope you are all doing well.

It has already been four months since I left Bassam and our center. The pain is beginning to fade. The mind says everything is fine, but it does not feel what the heart feels. The heart and the soul — two vital parts of me — have always helped me make decisions in difficult situations. Never to turn away a dying child, a dying person, even when reason said there was no more hope. There is always hope — even if it is only to be accompanied with love on the final journey.

And now, after four months, I must say that, for once, I have followed not only my heart but also my mind. My advancing age and fragile health commanded me to find good successors. Women who understand my heart, who are sensitive and deeply empathetic. And we have found them. Barbara (she wrote this quarterly letter) and Llum fit perfectly into our world, our oasis.

And what makes me especially happy is that they keep me informed. Repeatedly, I receive photos, letters, emails, and even small videos from people I love very much. And they ask me for advice, again and again — and that fills me with immense gratitude, because in some way, I still belong.

I was also very afraid that the donors would stop helping. I am deeply grateful that you, dear benefactresses and benefactors, continue to support us, and I thank you with all my heart. Our project must live on — so that mothers, children, and fathers may live; so that our employees do not have to fear losing their salaries, which would turn their lives upside down and plunge their families into deep poverty.

Your help is a blessing for everyone.

Soon, I will visit our shared work of the heart, and my heart is joyful and happy. Aziz is also looking forward to it very much. He is in contact almost daily with the technical director in charge. But he too is eager to feel, smell, and experience Africa again, and to see all those smiling faces once more.

We are filled with deep gratitude.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you, dear benefactresses and benefactors.
May God bless you and your generosity.

With my deepest and most respectful greetings,

Yours,
Lotti Latrous

______

Dear donors,

I hope this message finds you well. This is my first trimester letter – and the first quarter without Lotti’s physical presence. I say physical presence because Lotti is still here: supporting us from afar, and present in the thoughts and hearts of everyone at Centre Espoir. I am writing to you today, almost exactly one year after that small woman with her kind, blue eyes – Lotti – welcomed me at Abidjan Airport. Despite all the information I had received, and even after reading the website from beginning to end, I didn’t truly know what awaited me. My story with Centre Espoir began with deep emotion, moved by the humanity and solidarity I found here. One year later, I am still happy, touched, and motivated – together with Llum, our colleagues, with your support, and that of Lotti and Aziz – to preserve and continue developing this small refuge of peace and solidarity that Centre Espoir represents.

I would like to begin this letter with heartfelt thanks to Lotti, for her trust, and for the gentle, patient way in which she guided the transition of Centre Espoir’s leadership.

Now, I would like to share two stories with you, of people who have been connected to Centre Espoir since my arrival. The first is the story of Ingrid*, her mother, and her baby. The second is about our youngest residents, the brothers Estefan* and Daniel*, and their mother, Margarete*.

The story of Ingrid:

One Tuesday evening, just before the social office was about to close, a woman came to see me, visibly worried, exhausted, and in tears. Hardly pausing for breath, she told me that her 17-year-old daughter, Ingrid, married in Mali, had been abandoned by her husband and had returned home to give birth. The mother had scraped together all her money, borrowed some from relatives, and managed to pay for a caesarean section for her daughter. Mother and baby – a little girl – came home, but soon Ingrid developed a high fever. It turned out she was suffering from peritonitis, caused by an infected surgical wound. The mother once again sought help from her family and was able to raise the money for a second operation. But shortly after the procedure, the wound became infected again, and she had to undergo a third surgery. When the mother finally came to Centre Espoir, her own means and those of her family were completely exhausted. Ingrid was in the intensive care unit of the university hospital, feverish again. The infection had developed into life-threatening sepsis. Only expensive antibiotics could possibly save her, but there was no money left. Ingrid’s grandmother already knew us. She herself had been treated at Centre Espoir a few months earlier. She was ashamed to ask for help again – but this time, it was about the life of her daughter and granddaughter. In her hands, she held a prescription for the vital antibiotics that are unaffordable for so many people in Côte d’Ivoire. Our chief physician, Dr. N’da, confirmed the urgency of the situation. We immediately decided to cover the cost of the medication to give Ingrid a chance to survive.

In the following days, the mother came back again and again with new prescriptions and receipts. Ingrid still had a fever, but little by little, thanks to the antibiotics, she began to recover – until she was finally discharged from the hospital, healed. A month later, again on a Tuesday evening, three women came to Centre Espoir – the grandmother, Ingrid, and her baby. All three radiated joy and health. They had come to say thank you – to us, and to you. Thank you for Ingrid’s life.

Dr. N'da with Ingrid, her mother, and daughter

The story of the brothers Estefan and Daniel:

One Friday morning, usually a quiet day, a very sick mother arrived at the social office with her two little boys. The older one, Estefan, was 12 years old; the younger, Daniel, only two. The mother was so weak that our colleagues immediately placed her in a wheelchair. She could hardly speak, so Estefan spoke for her. He explained that his mother had sent him to work as a child helper with a family to pay his school fees. But three weeks earlier, she had brought him back because she was too ill to take care of Daniel. Since then, Estefan had been taking care of his small family – nursing his mother, cooking, and looking after Daniel. When his mother’s condition worsened, he gathered all his courage and the little money they still had and brought her to the hospital in Grand-Bassam. Because in Côte d’Ivoire medical care must be paid for privately, the hospital referred them to us. They had no money left, only enough for the transport. After examinations and tests, our doctors determined that the mother needed to be hospitalized. We took her to the hospital in Bassam and provided financial support for her admission. I asked Estefan if there was a father. “Yes,” he said, “but he is dead.” “And other relatives?” “No.” We gave him a little extra money and explained how he could reach Centre Espoir in case of problems. With heavy hearts, we watched the two boys and their mother drive away in a taxi. But we couldn’t stop worrying. Together with Dr. N’da and our social worker, Pierre, we discussed what to do. We decided we couldn’t simply abandon these children and their mother to their fate. We resolved to take Estefan and Daniel into Centre Espoir while their mother was being treated. That same night, Pierre and our driver, Issouf, picked them up – exhausted, hungry, and tired. Since we were almost certain that the mother was suffering from advanced tuberculosis, we had to place the children in quarantine until test results were available. Estefan showed great courage, remained calm, and took loving care of Daniel. Our nurse, “Mama Adrienne,” bathed them, gave them food, clean clothes, comfort, and security, all under the necessary precautions. For five long days, they remained in isolation while doctors and nurses carried out tests. Estefan drew, read, and played with Daniel, and Daniel, always hungry, ate eagerly and took his medicine faithfully. Soon it became clear why he was so weak: he had inherited his mother’s HIV infection in the womb.

The two brothers during the five days of isolation.

During those days, Estefan asked me whether his mother could also live with us after she recovered – “because at home there is no electricity, no water, and no proper roof.” Meanwhile, our social workers searched for relatives and tried to have the mother admitted to a specialized tuberculosis clinic. It took eight days and several attempts before we finally succeeded in getting Margarete admitted. The health system here is not designed for poor or single people. Even though we had agreed to cover all costs, the hospitals refused to admit this seriously ill mother without an accompanying person. So we eventually hired a caregiver, Mr. Yves Laurent, who looked after her for a month and stayed in touch with us. Several times, Estefan and Daniel were able to talk to their mother via video calls. But after four weeks, Margarete’s condition deteriorated rapidly, and she passed away. She is gone, but we, and her sons, know that she did not die alone. We did everything we could to give her a chance at life. And now, Centre Espoir has become the new family for Estefan and Daniel. The children of Loaziz have especially helped them feel safe and at home. Estefan now goes to school without having to work, and Daniel continues to eat with great appetite, takes his medicine conscientiously, and is starting to speak – to the joy of the whole big family of Centre Espoir.

Estefan in uniform in front of his school         

Daniel carried on Maman Arlette's back                          

Thanks to you and your donations, we were able to change the lives of Ingrid, her mother, and her baby, as well as of Estefan and Daniel, and to accompany Margarete with dignity – and of many other people whose stories we cannot all tell.

I thank you personally: it is a great joy to be able to do this work.
And I thank you on behalf of all those who benefit from it – and there are many.

With warm regards,
Barbara

*Name has been changed

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