Earning it, every day.
The most honest question people ask us is also the hardest to answer. Not because we don't want to. But because the real answer is more complex than it seems.
"But how do you know the money actually gets there?"
It's the question we get asked most often. And it's the right one.
We work with partners thousands of kilometres away. In Uganda, Afghanistan, Nepal, Tibet. We can't be there every day. We can't check every single step.
And anyone who claims they can is probably telling a story that's too good to be true.
The honest answer is this: we can't have absolute certainty.
What we can do is build solid relationships over time, choose our partners carefully, verify results, and account for everything we do.
And have the courage, when something goes wrong, to say so — with the same clarity with which we celebrate our successes.
In the past we have closed projects that weren't working. We have changed partners when the relationship wasn't holding. We have changed course when we realised a path wasn't the right one.
Not because we're infallible.
But because transparency, for us, is not a slogan. It's how we work.
And all of this — every decision, every project, every relationship — rests on one thing alone.
Trust.
Trust is a strange thing.
You can't see it, measure it, or prove it with a document. It builds slowly, through consistency, through time, through actions. And it doesn't take much to lose it.
In August we were reminded of this — twice, in very different ways.
The first time was painful.
Someone asked us for help in a situation of great difficulty. It wasn't the kind of help we could offer as a Foundation. We said so immediately. We did what we could do as people, not as an organisation: we listened, made referrals, shared within our network.
It wasn't enough.
The person doubted us. They looked for proof of what we had done. They didn't find it — not because it didn't exist, but because some actions simply don't leave visible traces.
It hurt. Not because of the distrust itself — which, in a difficult situation, we can understand. But because it reminded us of something true:
trust cannot be demanded. It can only be earned.
And sometimes, even when you genuinely try, it's not enough.
The second story began in 2022.
He told us himself, over dinner on Wednesday evening.
He had come to Alta Badia from abroad to take part in a cycling event. He had stayed at Hotel La Perla. During that visit he had come across the Foundation — only briefly, in passing. But evidently he had understood how we work.
And he had said to himself: one day I'll want to do something for them.
He hadn't told anyone. He hadn't made any promises. It was simply a thought that stayed with him.
Then, in June of this year, he wrote us an email. He told us his idea — to raise funds, involve his friends and family, and turn his own birthday into an opportunity to support someone else. We chose the project together. He did the rest.
Last Wednesday he chose to come and visit us. Not to check up on things. To be together, to share, to understand.
He asked questions. He listened. And when he left he wrote to us:
"Thank you for giving me the opportunity to give something back to people who weren't lucky enough to be born in a country like mine."
Between his donation and those raised through his friends and family, we reached €12,750 for our new agroforestry project in Uganda.
And in January he will go to Uganda with his son and daughter. Not so much to see what became of his money. But to do something with his hands. And — his words — to start the new year in the best possible way.
These two stories belong together.
The one of someone who couldn't bring themselves to trust us. The one of someone who, without anyone asking, held onto a thought for four years and then decided to turn it into something real.
They both remind us of the same thing: trust is fragile. It must be cared for every day.
It is not something you earn once and keep forever. It is built through consistency, transparency, and time. It is the foundation of everything we do. Without it, no project holds. No help truly arrives. No relationship lasts.
We work every day to earn it — from our partners in the field, from our donors, from those who follow us from afar.
We don't always succeed. But we never stop trying.
And sometimes trust takes an unexpected shape.
A person comes from the other side of the world for a cycling race.
Stays in a hotel.
Hears a story.
Takes home a thought.
And four years later, on their birthday, decides to turn it into a gift for someone else. Thousands of kilometres away.
Thank you to those who continue to trust us.
Fabio Bertocchi
