I worry about those who say this disease is invented
In the gold-mining town of Mongbwalu, at the heart of eastern Congo's Ituri province, a deadly Ebola outbreak meets an adversary older than any pathogen: disbelief. The Bundibugyo strain has claimed 204 lives across the Democratic Republic of Congo's seventeenth recorded outbreak, yet decades of state neglect have left communities more willing to trust mystical explanations than government warnings. Where science cannot reach quickly enough — and where trust has long since eroded — disease finds its most willing passage.
- The Bundibugyo Ebola strain, for which no vaccine or treatment exists, has killed 204 people across DR Congo and crossed the border into Uganda, prompting the WHO to declare an international health emergency.
- A coffin that broke open on a rough road, inconclusive local tests, and an 1,800-kilometer delay before Kinshasa confirmed the diagnosis gave denial the time it needed to take root — and the outbreak the space it needed to spread.
- Many residents of Mongbwalu believe the illness is a 'coffin affair,' a mystical malady rather than a biological one, a conviction shaped by generations of government neglect and conflict that have made official authority deeply suspect.
- MSF warns the official death toll is almost certainly an undercount, as testing capacity is 'extremely limited,' healthcare infrastructure is improvised, and an unknown number of deaths in remote areas go unconfirmed.
- Traditional faith healers and rare community voices like 26-year-old Laureine Sakiya are beginning to push back against denial, but the work of rebuilding trust is slow against a disease that spreads precisely through the closeness denial permits.
Laureine Sakiya is one of the few people in Mongbwalu who believes Ebola is real. She has watched neighbors die. Most others in this town — the epicenter of DR Congo's seventeenth Ebola outbreak — remain unconvinced.
Mongbwalu sits in Ituri province, roughly 60 miles from Uganda, in a landscape of constant movement: gold miners, traders, and motorbike couriers crossing provincial and national borders daily. The Bundibugyo strain of Ebola has killed 204 people across the country, with 88 of Mongbwalu's 322 suspected cases ending in death. There is no vaccine for this strain. There is no treatment.
The outbreak's first suspected case arrived as a corpse being transported home from Bunia. The coffin broke apart on the 80-kilometer journey. Local tests came back inconclusive, and the disease seemed to disappear from official reality — until samples sent nearly 1,800 kilometers to Kinshasa confirmed Ebola. By then, the virus had already spread to neighboring provinces and into Uganda, prompting the WHO to declare an international emergency.
In the gap left by delayed answers, other explanations filled in. Many residents call it a 'coffin affair' — a mystical affliction, not a biological one. This belief is sustained by something real: decades of government neglect and conflict have made state authority deeply untrustworthy in Ituri. MSF coordinator Florent Uzzeni says the official death toll is almost certainly too low, with testing capacity 'extremely limited' and healthcare infrastructure reduced to chlorine rinses and plastic buckets for handwashing.
Adam Hussein, a 35-year-old representative of local traditional faith healers, has begun speaking out. 'I worry about those who say this disease is invented,' he said. Each person who disbelieves is a person who may not isolate, may not take precautions, may carry the virus onward. The outbreak is, as one MSF coordinator observed, 'out of the ordinary' — not only because of the virus itself, but because of the collision between a disease that kills and a community that has learned, through long experience, not to believe what authorities tell them.
Laureine Sakiya is one of the few people in Mongbwalu who accepts that Ebola is real. She has watched neighbors die. Most others in this town at the center of the Democratic Republic of Congo's latest outbreak are not so convinced.
Mongbwalu sits in Ituri province, in the country's northeast, roughly 60 miles from Uganda and 200 kilometers from the unstable border with South Sudan. It is a place of constant movement—gold miners, traders, motorbike couriers crossing between provinces and countries. The town itself is modest: a hospital tucked among trees and high grass, mud roads, the ordinary infrastructure of a remote place. But it has become the epicenter of something extraordinary. In recent weeks, the Bundibugyo strain of Ebola has killed 204 people across the country's 17th recorded outbreak. In Mongbwalu alone, 88 of the 322 suspected cases have ended in death.
The problem is not just the virus. It is the belief that the virus does not exist. Decades of government neglect and conflict have left residents of Ituri deeply skeptical of state authority. When the first suspected case arrived in Mongbwalu—a man who had died in Bunia, the provincial capital, and whose body was being brought home—the coffin broke apart on the rough 80-kilometer journey. The exposed corpse alarmed people. Some wanted to burn it. But when local laboratory tests came back inconclusive, the disease seemed to vanish from official reality. It was only when samples reached the biomedical research center in Kinshasa, nearly 1,800 kilometers away, that Ebola was confirmed. By then, the outbreak had already spread to neighboring provinces and crossed into Uganda. The World Health Organization declared it an international emergency.
In the absence of clear answers, other explanations took hold. Some people called it a "coffin affair"—a mystical malady, not a biological one. This belief is not uncommon in remote areas of the DRC. It persists partly because testing capacity is almost nonexistent. Florent Uzzeni, a coordinator with Doctors Without Borders, said the official death toll is almost certainly too low. The ability to confirm cases is "extremely limited," he explained. The hospital itself is a study in improvisation: healthcare workers in full hazard suits and goggles rinse floors and walls with chlorine, but handwashing happens in plastic buckets. MSF has provided tents for isolation, but the infrastructure is fragile.
Lauraine Sakiya, 26, knows what she needs. "The authorities need to bring us vaccines," she told reporters. But there is no vaccine for the Bundibugyo strain. There is no treatment. What exists is fear, denial, and the slow spread of a disease that moves through close contact and bodily fluids—exactly the kind of proximity that denial encourages.
Adam Hussein, a 35-year-old representative of Mongbwalu's traditional faith healers, has begun speaking out against the skepticism. "I worry about those who say that this disease is invented," he said. His concern is not abstract. Each person who does not believe is a person who may not take precautions, may not isolate, may carry the virus to someone else. The outbreak is, as one MSF coordinator put it, "out of the ordinary." What makes it so is not just the virus itself, but the collision between a disease that kills and a community that refuses to see it.
Citas Notables
The authorities need to bring us vaccines— Laureine Sakiya, 26, resident of Mongbwalu
The epidemic is out of the ordinary— Florent Uzzeni, MSF coordinator
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does denial take such a strong hold in a place like Mongbwalu? People have seen deaths.
Because seeing deaths and understanding their cause are different things. When the first body came back damaged, when local tests said nothing, people filled the gap with their own explanations. Mystical malady made sense to them. The government had abandoned them for decades.
But Laureine Sakiya believes. Others must too.
Some do, yes. But belief spreads slowly when trust is already broken. And when there's no vaccine, no treatment, no clear help from above—what does belief even protect you?
The testing capacity is the real bottleneck, isn't it?
Absolutely. You can't fight what you can't confirm. The samples had to travel 1,800 kilometers to be verified. By then, the virus had already moved across provinces, into Uganda. The delay wasn't just bureaucratic. It was deadly.
What about the healthcare workers? They're suited up, they're trying.
They are. But plastic buckets for handwashing. Tents borrowed from MSF. They're doing what they can with almost nothing. The infrastructure was never built for this.
Is there any sign the denial is breaking?
Slowly. People like Adam Hussein are speaking up. But each day of denial is a day the virus spreads further. The WHO calling it an international emergency—that might shift things. But in Mongbwalu, words from far away travel slower than the disease itself.