Lacor Hospital’s Ambassador
Dr. Dominique Atim Corti, daughter of Piero Corti, director of Gulu’s Lacor Hospital, is a popular personality at the hospital.
By Caroline Lamwaka
Dr. Dominique Atim Corti, daughter of Piero Corti, director of Gulu’s Lacor Hospital, is a popular personality at the hospital. Many know her by face or name, for she was born and raised at Lacor, where her mother, the late Dr. Lucille, and father, worked as doctors. But Atim (40) lives in Milan, Italy, where she helps raise funds for the hospital through the Dr. Lucille Piero Corti Foundation, set up in 1995.
On a hot Thursday afternoon, I knocked on Corti door at Lacor, eager to meet Atim. Atim is an Acholi name given to someone born in a foreign land.
She was in Lacor for a ten-day visit, last month, after her last visit in early 1994, with her husband, Dr. Contardo Vergani, a surgeon.
Corti opened the door, and Atim was at his heels. Atim greeted me in Acholi — she is the first European I have ever met, who speaks Acholi without an accent. However, she says she has difficulty in remembering some words. “It was my first language. My parents were always in the hospital. I would stay with my Lapidi (maid), called Liberata, an Alur. So I would speak Acholi with an Alur accent,†says Atim.
Born at the Corti’s residence on November 17, 1962, Atim went to a Demonstration School, about 2 km away.
“I used to walk and target mangoes hanging from branches with stones. The nuns would run after us. It was wonderful “stealing†those mangoes.â€
Atim grew up eating Acholi dishes like boo and malakwang. She used to drink kongo kwete, a local brew, too, and she danced dingi dingi and other Acholi dances.
After five years at the school, her parents sent her away to Italy in 1973 to live with an aunt with seven children. Her journey to Italy was precipitated by events after Amin’s coup in 1971.
“Imagine what a shock it was for me. I had never put on big sweaters, stockings for the cold. And the sun going down at 4:00pm during winter, how sad,†she says.
Atim lived with her aunt for three years, but she had a month’s holiday in Uganda annually. She says the three years were the most awful in her life. “The people were very kind, but you are so free here. The door is always open. You go out and in. I used to go in the hospital. My mother would always take me there and would even take me to the theatre.
“After three years in Italy, I was so miserable that I started writing very sad letters to my parents. My mother started looking for a place where I could be nearer home, and so they found me a place in Kenya. That was wonderful. It was a boarding school at Green Acres’ School in Limuru. I would come home every three months,†she says.
Atim completed her “O†Levels and then went to a British school in Milan, where she did her “A†level. Then she took a break from working in the hospital. She wanted to do languages, but after six months of studying languages at the university, she ran away.
“That was when I realised I wanted to do medicine. You see, when my Lapidi wasn’t there, my mother would put me in a corner in the operating room, or she would sit me on a patient’s bed when she was doing the ward rounds.
Later, when I grew up, I started learning the small jobs like taking pressure and helping in the sterilisation room. Away from hospital, my parents would discuss medical cases in the dining room, sitting room, anywhere. If you add to the fact that medicine is a very interesting subject, there was no alternative.â€
It, however, took Atim more than eight years to complete her course at the University of Milan. There were years when her mother was sick, so she would join them in England. And then she was already actively working for the hospital support group, which was created in the 1960s to support the hospital with materials bought and donated, medical and non-medical.
Atim says her parents were role models without thinking of themselves as role models. They did not preach to her about their careers, but living with two doctors made her appreciate their world.
Although many people had expected her to take over the hospital after her parents’ retirement, Atim says she is more useful raising funds for the hospital abroad.
“There are already excellent doctors here. Ugandan doctors working for Ugandan people. The problem in the hospital is that more than 80% of what is spent each year (running cost), must come from outside, from donations.
“Fundraising in Italy, having a person, who is a doctor and who was born and grew up here is extremely important. It is also a full time activity, thanks to my husband, who understands and allows me to carry out fundraising full time. I don’t have a salary. It is a voluntary job.â€
She adds: “The hospital’s role is to help as many people as possible. This hospital is for the poor. We are happy if the rich people find that our hospital is worth coming to. So we are glad to receive patients who pay the real price for our services, which is much more than what most patients pay. But the mission of the hospital is accessibility for all.†Ends
Dr. Dominique Atim Corti, daughter of Piero Corti, director of Gulu’s Lacor Hospital, is a popular personality at the hospital. Many know her by face or name, for she was born and raised at Lacor, where her mother, the late Dr. Lucille, and father, worked as doctors. But Atim (40) lives in Milan, Italy, where she helps raise funds for the hospital through the Dr. Lucille Piero Corti Foundation, set up in 1995.
On a hot Thursday afternoon, I knocked on Corti door at Lacor, eager to meet Atim. Atim is an Acholi name given to someone born in a foreign land.
She was in Lacor for a ten-day visit, last month, after her last visit in early 1994, with her husband, Dr. Contardo Vergani, a surgeon.
Corti opened the door, and Atim was at his heels. Atim greeted me in Acholi — she is the first European I have ever met, who speaks Acholi without an accent. However, she says she has difficulty in remembering some words. “It was my first language. My parents were always in the hospital. I would stay with my Lapidi (maid), called Liberata, an Alur. So I would speak Acholi with an Alur accent,†says Atim.
Born at the Corti’s residence on November 17, 1962, Atim went to a Demonstration School, about 2 km away.
“I used to walk and target mangoes hanging from branches with stones. The nuns would run after us. It was wonderful “stealing†those mangoes.â€
Atim grew up eating Acholi dishes like boo and malakwang. She used to drink kongo kwete, a local brew, too, and she danced dingi dingi and other Acholi dances.
After five years at the school, her parents sent her away to Italy in 1973 to live with an aunt with seven children. Her journey to Italy was precipitated by events after Amin’s coup in 1971.
“Imagine what a shock it was for me. I had never put on big sweaters, stockings for the cold. And the sun going down at 4:00pm during winter, how sad,†she says.
Atim lived with her aunt for three years, but she had a month’s holiday in Uganda annually. She says the three years were the most awful in her life. “The people were very kind, but you are so free here. The door is always open. You go out and in. I used to go in the hospital. My mother would always take me there and would even take me to the theatre.
“After three years in Italy, I was so miserable that I started writing very sad letters to my parents. My mother started looking for a place where I could be nearer home, and so they found me a place in Kenya. That was wonderful. It was a boarding school at Green Acres’ School in Limuru. I would come home every three months,†she says.
Atim completed her “O†Levels and then went to a British school in Milan, where she did her “A†level. Then she took a break from working in the hospital. She wanted to do languages, but after six months of studying languages at the university, she ran away.
“That was when I realised I wanted to do medicine. You see, when my Lapidi wasn’t there, my mother would put me in a corner in the operating room, or she would sit me on a patient’s bed when she was doing the ward rounds.
Later, when I grew up, I started learning the small jobs like taking pressure and helping in the sterilisation room. Away from hospital, my parents would discuss medical cases in the dining room, sitting room, anywhere. If you add to the fact that medicine is a very interesting subject, there was no alternative.â€
It, however, took Atim more than eight years to complete her course at the University of Milan. There were years when her mother was sick, so she would join them in England. And then she was already actively working for the hospital support group, which was created in the 1960s to support the hospital with materials bought and donated, medical and non-medical.
Atim says her parents were role models without thinking of themselves as role models. They did not preach to her about their careers, but living with two doctors made her appreciate their world.
Although many people had expected her to take over the hospital after her parents’ retirement, Atim says she is more useful raising funds for the hospital abroad.
“There are already excellent doctors here. Ugandan doctors working for Ugandan people. The problem in the hospital is that more than 80% of what is spent each year (running cost), must come from outside, from donations.
“Fundraising in Italy, having a person, who is a doctor and who was born and grew up here is extremely important. It is also a full time activity, thanks to my husband, who understands and allows me to carry out fundraising full time. I don’t have a salary. It is a voluntary job.â€
She adds: “The hospital’s role is to help as many people as possible. This hospital is for the poor. We are happy if the rich people find that our hospital is worth coming to. So we are glad to receive patients who pay the real price for our services, which is much more than what most patients pay. But the mission of the hospital is accessibility for all.†Ends