When an Ebola outbreak was declared in Bunia, a bustling city in northeastern Democratic Republic of Congo, alarm spread globally. Borders closed and flights were diverted as far as the United States, while the Congolese World Cup team remains in quarantine in Belgium.
Yet in Bunia, the epicenter of the crisis, essential signs of an organized response—such as large medical tents, health workers in sealed protective gear, and isolated patients—have yet to materialize.
Instead, the nascent aid operation is frantically assembling. Outside Bunia’s main hospital on Saturday, workers hammered nails and erected tents near the entrance, scrambling to construct isolation wards for patient triage, isolation, and treatment.
“The virus is far ahead of us,” said Ahmed Mahat, a manager with International Medical Corps, which is building two of the isolation wards. “And it’s spreading fast.”
The international community is racing to catch up. Caught off-guard by an outbreak discovered perhaps two months after it began, the global response system is struggling to mobilize. Almost nothing was in place when the first case of the rare Bundibugyo strain was confirmed on May 15.
Shortly after, Macky Mbavugha, a field manager with the International Rescue Committee, contacted the local health office only to find empty shelves. “Zero,” he said. “Everyone was totally unprepared.”
President Trump’s aid cuts worsened the situation. Without reduced American funding for Congo, “maybe the alert would have sounded earlier,” Mr. Mbavugha noted, echoing concerns across the aid community.
When larger aid organizations sought local partners, many had disappeared—having closed after funding dried up last year.
The virus’s rare Bundibugyo strain has no available cure or vaccine, and field testing remains limited. Only a week ago, the World Health Organization estimated 246 cases, mostly around Bunia and a nearby district. By Sunday, that number surpassed 900, with 175 deaths reported—already the third-largest Ebola outbreak on record.
Resources remain critically scarce. Congolese health workers lack basic protective equipment, and pharmacies in Bunia have run out of hand sanitizer. Crucially, only a trickle of tests reaches the city’s government lab—about 40 daily, dropping to 20 one day due to fuel shortages for the generator.
Aid workers are running desperately behind. Intervention has shifted from containment to merely slowing the virus’s advance across the region. While concentrated in Ituri province, the outbreak has also appeared in two other provinces and neighboring Uganda, with signs it may have spread to South Sudan.
Ebola spreads through bodily fluids. Fruit bats are believed to host the viruses causing Ebola. The Bundibugyo strain has a roughly 40% fatality rate and has caused just two other known outbreaks.
This marks Congo’s 17th Ebola outbreak since the disease was discovered here in 1976—more than any other country. For Bunia, a lush city bordering dense rainforest, the crisis adds to decades of conflict and hardship.
Delivered by United Nations peacekeepers—mostly from South Asia—I witnessed the long-standing effort to maintain peace in an area where ethnic rivalries and valuable resources like gold, timber, and coffee have fueled decades of violence.
Militias overran Bunia in the early 2000s, battling intensely until 2003, when France deployed troops to enforce peace. Though government control has returned to Bunia, ethnic tensions persist, with armed groups controlling surrounding areas—including one affiliate of the Islamic State.
These divisions influence Ebola response efforts. Two isolation wards are planned for Bunia—one for neighborhoods dominated by the Hema and Lendu, Congo’s rival ethnic groups.
Years of conflict have left communities vulnerable to conspiracy theories about Ebola. As aid workers rush to build facilities, they face angry mobs accusing them of creating the virus.
In recent days, crowds burned down isolation wards in Rwampara and Mongbwalu, a mining town north of Bunia believed to be the outbreak’s origin. Funerals remain dangerous flashpoints, with rural communities insisting on traditional burial rites involving physical contact with corpses—the primary mode of transmission.
In Bunia, some residents appear unconcerned—swimming in public pools or meeting at saunas. But anxiety is mounting. Dr. Joel Mugisa spent Friday evening visiting pharmacies searching for hand sanitizer, only to find them empty.
“People don’t take Ebola seriously,” he said before departing into the night. “That’s the main problem.”
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