Building trust takes time, and it starts with listening.
In the eastern reaches of Congo, where conflict and grief already run deep, a rare strain of Ebola called Bundibugyo is spreading at a pace that has outrun every effort to contain it. The WHO's director-general traveled to Bunia to bear witness and to urge the world toward transparency rather than isolation, knowing that trust — not only medicine — is what ultimately turns an outbreak. With no approved treatment or vaccine, and with communities resisting protocols that ask them to grieve differently, this seventeenth Ebola crisis in Congo tests not just public health infrastructure, but the fragile compact between institutions and the people they serve.
- The Bundibugyo virus is spreading faster than any Ebola outbreak on record, with 906 suspected cases and 223 deaths — and experts warn the true scale is almost certainly larger.
- There is no approved treatment and no vaccine for this strain, leaving health workers racing to contain a disease they cannot yet cure.
- Residents have attacked at least three health centers, their grief and cultural identity colliding with burial protocols that forbid the intimate rituals of mourning.
- Armed rebel groups — including ADF-ISIS affiliates and M23 — are fracturing the medical response across Ituri, North Kivu, and South Kivu, cutting off access to entire regions.
- International aid is arriving — the EU with supplies, the US with $130 million total — but Doctors Without Borders warns that testing capacity and worker deployment must expand immediately.
- The WHO is urging nations to lift travel bans, arguing that border closures punish transparency and drive outbreaks underground rather than into the open.
Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus arrived in Bunia, the provincial capital of Ituri in eastern Congo, to find an Ebola outbreak moving faster than the response assembled to meet it. The virus — a rare strain called Bundibugyo, for which no approved treatment or vaccine exists — had produced 906 suspected cases and 223 suspected deaths in Congo, with nine confirmed cases and one death already recorded across the border in Uganda. Doctors Without Borders noted that no Ebola outbreak had ever accumulated cases so rapidly after being declared.
Aid was arriving. The European Union delivered medical shipments to Bunia, and the United States announced $80 million in new assistance, bringing its total to nearly $130 million. Hospitals in the city were better organized than before. Yet the outbreak continued to widen, and officials acknowledged that the true scale remained unknown — many cases were likely spreading undetected in surrounding areas.
The hardest obstacles were not logistical. In Ituri, residents had attacked at least three health centers, their anger rooted in burial protocols that prevented families from touching or washing the bodies of their dead. The medical rationale was sound — contact with Ebola victims can transmit the virus — but it asked communities to abandon rituals that carry the full weight of love and tradition. Tedros did not dismiss the tension. He spoke of listening first, of building trust before issuing directives, acknowledging that grief and cultural identity could not simply be overridden by necessity.
Armed conflict deepened the crisis. Rebel groups including the ADF — allied with the Islamic State — and ethnic militias were targeting health infrastructure across Ituri. In the south, M23 rebels backed by Rwanda controlled Goma and Bukavu, where two cases had been reported but access remained dangerous and uncertain.
Neighboring countries had closed their borders. The United States had restricted entry from travelers recently in Congo, Uganda, or South Sudan. Tedros urged all of them to reconsider, warning that such measures discourage the transparency that allows outbreaks to be tracked and stopped.
Congo has survived sixteen previous Ebola outbreaks and ended every one. Standing with the country's health minister, Tedros invoked that record — not as reassurance, but as a foundation for the difficult work still ahead.
Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, the director-general of the World Health Organisation, stood in Bunia, a city in eastern Congo's Ituri province, watching an outbreak of Ebola spread faster than anyone could contain it. The virus—a rare strain called Bundibugyo—was moving at one of the fastest rates ever recorded. Despite new shipments of medical supplies, additional staff, and improved organisation at the city's main hospitals, the outbreak was outpacing the response.
The numbers told part of the story. Officials had documented 906 suspected cases and 223 suspected deaths across Congo. In neighbouring Uganda, nine cases had been confirmed, with one fatality. But those figures, Tedros knew, likely understated the true scale. The Bundibugyo virus had no approved treatment and no vaccine. People were arriving at Rwampara and General hospitals around the clock, and no one could say with certainty how many more cases were spreading undetected in the surrounding region.
International aid was flowing in. The European Union had delivered medical shipments to Bunia on Thursday. The United States announced $80 million in additional assistance that same day, bringing its total commitment to nearly $130 million. Yet Doctors Without Borders issued a stark warning: never before had an Ebola outbreak recorded so many cases so quickly after being declared. The organisation's deputy director of operations, Dr. Alan Gonzalez, called for immediate expansion of testing capacity, faster deployment of aid workers, and sustained access for medical supplies. "Nobody knows the true scale and severity of this outbreak," he said.
The response faced obstacles that money and supplies alone could not solve. In Ituri province, residents were attacking health centres—at least three assaults had occurred—driven by anger over burial protocols that clashed with local customs. When someone died of Ebola, safe containment required practices that prevented families from touching the body, from washing it, from honouring their dead in the way their traditions demanded. The medical necessity was clear: contact with bodies of the deceased could spread the virus further. But clarity did not ease the pain of loss or the weight of cultural violation. Tedros acknowledged this directly. "I understand how painful it is to lose someone, and how much it means to honour them properly," he said. "We are not here to tell people what to do. We are here to listen. Building trust takes time, and it starts with listening."
Beyond the hospitals and the burial grounds, armed conflict was fracturing the response. The Allied Democratic Forces, a rebel group allied with the Islamic State, and various ethnic militias were attacking health infrastructure in Ituri. Further south, in North Kivu and South Kivu provinces, the M23 rebel group—backed by Rwanda—controlled key cities including Goma and Bukavu. The rebels had reported two cases, but access to those areas remained uncertain and dangerous.
Countries bordering Congo had sealed their borders. Uganda and Rwanda had closed theirs entirely. The United States had banned entry to non-citizens who had recently visited Congo, Uganda, or South Sudan. Tedros pushed back against these measures, arguing they discouraged the transparency that saves lives. "I would also ask countries that have imposed travel bans or border closures to reconsider," he said.
Yet Congo had faced this before. The country had endured sixteen Ebola outbreaks and ended every one. This was the seventeenth. Standing alongside Congo's health minister, Tedros invoked that history as grounds for confidence. The question was whether confidence, combined with aid and organisation and the hard work of building trust in communities fractured by loss and suspicion, would be enough to outpace a virus spreading faster than anyone had seen.
Citações Notáveis
Never before has an Ebola outbreak recorded so many cases so soon after its declaration.— Dr. Alan Gonzalez, Doctors Without Borders deputy director of operations
The Democratic Republic of Congo has faced Ebola before, 16 times, and has ended every outbreak. This is the 17th. That history gives me real confidence.— Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, WHO Director-General
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does the WHO chief keep emphasizing that Congo has beaten Ebola sixteen times before? Doesn't that feel like false reassurance when this outbreak is spreading faster than any previous one?
It's not false reassurance—it's a different kind of statement. He's speaking to the people of Congo, many of whom are terrified. Yes, this outbreak is moving faster. But the fact that the country has the institutional knowledge and the will to fight these outbreaks matters. It's saying: you've done this before, you know how. The speed is the new problem, not the capacity.
But the speed seems to be winning. The hospitals are overwhelmed, testing is inadequate, and now you have residents attacking health workers because of burial practices. How do you build trust when people are grieving and angry?
You listen first. That's what Tedros was saying. The medical protocols make sense—touching a body infected with Ebola spreads the virus. But that protocol asks families to abandon their way of honouring the dead. Those two things are in direct conflict. You can't solve that with more supplies or better organisation. You have to sit with the grief and find a way forward that respects both the medical reality and the cultural reality.
The travel bans seem logical though, don't they? If the virus is spreading this fast, shouldn't countries protect their borders?
Logically, yes. But Tedros is arguing that border closures actually make things worse. When countries shut down, people stop reporting cases. They stop being transparent about what's happening. The virus spreads in the dark. He's saying the short-term security of a closed border costs you the long-term intelligence you need to actually contain the outbreak.
So the real problem isn't the virus itself—it's everything around it. The conflict, the distrust, the politics.
The virus is the problem. But the virus alone isn't the crisis. The crisis is the virus moving through a place where there's armed conflict, where communities don't trust the health system, where burial practices clash with medical necessity, and where neighbouring countries are closing their borders. That's the actual outbreak you're fighting.