We're here every hour making coffins
In the remote mining province of Ituri, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, a lesser-known strain of Ebola has outpaced the systems meant to catch it — spreading through communities already fractured by conflict, displacement, and grief. Authorities have moved to restrict the very rituals through which people process loss, setting containment measures against cultural practice in a region where trust in institutions has long been eroded. The World Health Organisation has raised its alarm to the highest domestic level, and the world has begun to send money, but the outbreak grows faster than the response can follow. What unfolds here is not only a medical emergency — it is a reckoning with what happens when vulnerability compounds upon vulnerability.
- A misidentified virus circulated undetected for weeks, and by the time the Bundibugyo strain was recognized, 750 suspected cases and 177 suspected deaths had already accumulated across Ituri Province.
- Funeral bans and gathering restrictions have ignited community anger — in one town, grieving youths burned an Ebola treatment centre after being denied the right to retrieve a friend's body.
- Doctors treat patients in expired protective masks, emergency centres sit empty, and armed conflict blocks aid convoys from reaching the people who need them most.
- M23 rebels control key cities where cases have appeared, yet the rebel group and the Congolese government are not speaking to each other about the outbreak, leaving entire territories without coordinated disease response.
- The United Nations and the United States have committed tens of millions of dollars to accelerate containment, but coffin workshops run around the clock and the WHO warns the race is not yet being won.
In the mining town of Mongbwalu, in the far northeastern corner of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, a virus no one was looking for began to spread. Health officials were testing for a different Ebola variant when the Bundibugyo strain quietly took hold. By the time the mistake was caught, the outbreak had grown beyond clean containment. Across Ituri Province, 750 suspected cases and 177 suspected deaths have now been recorded — though the WHO acknowledges the true toll is almost certainly larger. There is no vaccine.
The provincial government has responded with sweeping restrictions: funeral wakes banned, gatherings capped at fifty, strict protocols imposed on burials. But these measures cut against the grain of how communities here mourn. In Rwampara, youths set fire to an Ebola treatment centre after being prevented from retrieving a friend's body. A sixteen-year-old girl named Lokana Moro Faustin's daughter was taken from the hospital directly to the cemetery by health teams. Her father was in isolation. He could not say goodbye.
The health system is visibly strained. In Bambu, doctors treat suspected Ebola patients wearing expired masks. Treatment centres in Bunia sit empty. Aid cuts have forced the International Rescue Committee to suspend surveillance in three of five areas across the province. Roads to affected communities run through territory controlled by armed groups, and nearly a million people have already been displaced by years of conflict over mineral resources.
The M23 rebel group, which holds key cities including Goma and Bukavu, has reported two cases in its territory and announced a crisis team — but the rebels and the Congolese government are not coordinating. Foreign Minister Thérèse Kayikwamba Wagner said plainly that M23 is ill-equipped to fight the disease.
Misinformation deepens the crisis. Some churches have told congregants the outbreak is fabricated and that prayer is sufficient protection. Rumours travel fast in a region long accustomed to hardship and institutional betrayal. The dangerous work of burying victims falls to authorities precisely because bodies remain highly contagious — a practice that violates local custom and widens distrust.
In Mongbwalu, the demand for coffins has become relentless. The United Nations released $60 million in emergency funds on Friday; the United States pledged $23 million more. The WHO has raised its risk assessment for DR Congo to "very high." Kayikwamba Wagner called it "a race against the clock." For now, the outbreak continues to grow faster than the capacity to stop it.
In the mining town of Mongbwalu, in the far northeastern corner of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, a virus no one was looking for has begun to spread. The Bundibugyo strain of Ebola circulated undetected for weeks while health officials tested for a different, more familiar variant. By the time they realized what they were facing, the outbreak had already grown beyond their ability to contain it cleanly. There are now 750 suspected cases and 177 suspected deaths across Ituri Province, though the World Health Organisation acknowledges the true number is almost certainly larger. Only 82 cases have been officially confirmed, with seven deaths recorded. There is no vaccine.
The provincial government in Bunia, the regional capital, has responded with blunt instruments. Funeral wakes are banned. Gatherings of more than 50 people are forbidden. Funerals must follow strict health protocols. Journalists need permits to report on the outbreak. The measures are meant to interrupt transmission, but they collide directly with how people in this region mourn their dead. On Thursday, youths angry at being prevented from retrieving the body of a friend set fire to an Ebola treatment centre in Rwampara. The body of a sixteen-year-old girl named Lokana Moro Faustin's daughter was taken directly from the hospital to the cemetery by specialised teams. Her father was in isolation and could not say goodbye. He was not there when they buried her.
The strain on the health system is visible and acute. In the town of Bambu, doctors tend to suspected Ebola patients while wearing expired medical masks. Emergency treatment centres in Bunia sit empty. The region's medical infrastructure was already fragile before this outbreak; it has been further hollowed by international aid cuts. The International Rescue Committee had to suspend surveillance activities in three of five areas across Ituri over the past year because funding dried up. Getting supplies and personnel to affected areas means navigating roads controlled by armed groups. The region has been destabilized for years by conflict over mineral resources, and nearly a million people have been displaced. The M23 rebel group, which controls key cities including Goma and Bukavu, has reported two cases in its territory. The group announced it would form a crisis team to respond, but the DR Congo government and the rebels are not communicating about the outbreak. Foreign Minister Thérèse Kayikwamba Wagner said bluntly that M23 is "thoroughly ill-equipped" to fight the disease.
Community resistance to containment measures runs deep and is rooted in misinformation and cultural fracture. Some churches have told their congregations that the outbreak is fabricated and that prayer alone provides protection. Rumours spread easily in a region that has endured years of conflict and hardship. Julienne Lusenge, president of a local aid organisation, said the anger stems largely from false information circulating through communities. The dangerous work of burying suspected victims falls to authorities because bodies remain highly contagious and can transmit the virus during preparation for burial or when families gather. This practice violates local customs and deepens distrust.
In Mongbwalu, where the outbreak is believed to have started, the demand for coffins has become relentless. Christian Djakisa, who manages a coffin workshop in Bunia, said simply: "We're here every hour making coffins." The United Nations released $60 million from its central emergency response fund on Friday to accelerate the response. The United States has pledged $23 million and committed to funding up to 50 Ebola treatment clinics in the affected regions. Kayikwamba Wagner described the effort as "a race against the clock." The WHO has escalated the outbreak risk for DR Congo from "high" to "very high," though it maintains that the risk of global spread remains low. Researchers are still working to determine how contagious the Bundibugyo virus actually is. In past Ebola outbreaks, transmission rates have varied. For now, the outbreak continues to grow faster than the capacity to stop it.
Notable Quotes
It is a race against the clock— DR Congo Foreign Minister Thérèse Kayikwamba Wagner
We have lived through years and years of conflict and hardship, so rumours spread easily— Julienne Lusenge, president of Women's Solidarity for Inclusive Peace and Development
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did this particular virus go undetected for so long?
They were testing for the wrong thing. Health officials were looking for the more common Ebola strain, and the tests came back negative. By the time they realised they were dealing with Bundibugyo, it had already spread through the community for weeks without anyone knowing what was happening.
And there's no vaccine at all?
None. That's part of what makes this so urgent. They can't prevent infection the way they might with other diseases. Everything depends on finding people quickly, isolating them, and preventing the virus from reaching new people through contact or burial practices.
The ban on funeral wakes seems logical from a public health standpoint, but clearly it's backfiring.
It is, because it strips away something fundamental to how people process grief and honour their dead. When you tell someone they can't say goodbye to their child, that strangers will bury them, that creates anger and distrust. Some people start believing the outbreak itself is a lie.
What's the role of the armed groups in all this?
They control territory, which means aid workers have to navigate roads where they might be attacked. And the rebels themselves lack the capacity to respond to the outbreak in their areas. The government and the rebels aren't even talking to each other about it, so there's no coordinated response across the region.
How bad is the equipment situation really?
Bad enough that doctors are wearing expired masks while treating suspected Ebola patients. Treatment centres are sitting empty. The infrastructure was weak to begin with, and funding cuts have made it worse. It's a system trying to respond to a crisis with almost nothing.
What does "race against the clock" actually mean in practical terms?
It means every day the virus spreads faster than they can trace contacts, set up clinics, or convince communities to cooperate. The coffin maker working every hour is a kind of measure of that—the demand is outpacing their ability to respond.