What does it truly mean to care for others, not just with medicine, but wholeheartedly?
For Angulo Martin King, a 22-year-old third-year student studying Human Nutrition and Dietetics from Kyambogo University, caring goes far beyond hospital rounds and prescriptions. He believes healing involves being present, showing empathy, and offering help wherever needed, even if that means supporting someone financially or emotionally, not just medically.
Nine weeks ago, Martin King joined our hospital, St. Mary’s Hospital Lacor, as an intern to fulfill part of his academic requirements. Over the weeks, his stay here became much more than clinical training; it became a mirror of what makes him and us truly human, being present for others.
During ward rounds and daily interactions with patients and colleagues, Martin is reminded of his roots in Layibi in Gulu, where he grew up. There, life was never easy. Yet, amidst the hardships, his large family and tightly knit community gave him something that forever changed his life and how he looks at the world: people heal people. Not just with pills or procedures, but kindness. The kind that sits with you when you’re scared, fights for you when you can’t, and doesn’t look away when things get hard.
Growing up with this spirit of unity and mutual support, Martin knew firsthand what it meant to be lifted in moments of despair and to rally together for a common cause.
That foundation was put to the test just four days ago. While visiting the burns unit during ward rounds, Martin was approached by a distressed mother pleading for any financial help she could get to support her and her child, Sharon. Sharon had burned twice in the same tragic manner of falling into fire due to drop attacks.
With tears in her eyes, she called out to Martin and begged, “Ladit Konya, help me. I have been in the hospital for four months now, and my source of livelihood—farming has been crippled. My other children are at the neighbors’, but for how long? I can’t abandon Sharon here, yet I also fear for the other children’s schooling and well-being. And if I look away, will Sharon suffer another attack?”
These words struck Martin deeply. But he couldn’t help financially at the time; all he had was his phone, his voice, and a stubborn belief that someone out there would care. So that night, he posted Sharon’s story on his X handle @tabisamental-Angulo Martin King. Not for clout. Not for praise. Just because it was the right thing to do. He reassured her, “Keep calm. We will see what to do to help you.” He said.
And then this happened.
People—strangers, friends, good-hearted folks- started giving. A little here, a little there and by Saturday, they’d raised 885,000 Shillings. Not a permanent solution. But it was enough to bridge the gaps.
Today, Sharon underwent a successful surgery that will allow her neck to move freely again. Not just because of Martine’s act of kindness, but because a community came together once again, echoing the very values that shaped him
Martin King and Sharon’s mother just after the surgery
When we spoke with her, she was happy and at least smiled while saying “Apwoyo dacta, apwoyo lutela me ott yot ki Dano weng ma guribo cing me knoyo waa.”
She extended her heartfelt appreciation to Martin King, the hospital management, and everyone who contributed to helping her and Sharon. With hope and gratitude, she said, “I pray this healing gives her the strength to return home soon to her one-year-old child.”
Here’s the thing: Martin didn’t do anything earth-shattering. He just refused to let someone suffer alone. And that’s the magic of real care. It doesn’t need a degree, a title, or a big bank account.
It just needs you to show up.
Because sometimes, healing isn’t about fixing everything. It’s about being the person who says, “I’m here. We’ll figure this out.”
And that changes everything.
At St. Mary’s Hospital Lacor, our calling is to be bearers of light in the shadows of hardship. Each act of compassion, each gesture of solidarity, is a candle we ignite to dispel despair, to illuminate hope, and to remind those we serve that they are not alone.
