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