In the hills and market towns of North Kivu, a young doctor who once feared the same disease that struck his own body now walks back toward his neighbours with a draft book and photographs of his illness in hand. Dr Raymond Kamwanga survived Ebola after a delayed diagnosis, in a region where the virus has taken more than five thousand lives and where a long war has taught people to suspect every official promise. He speaks not only of the disease but of the older wounds beneath it: poverty, armed conflict, and the belief that help arrives with someone else's profit attached. His campaign again
'My mother said I would die': a Congolese doctor's Ebola survival and the fight against fear
Over 5,400 people have died and 11,000 have been infected in the outbreak; outreach workers have been attacked and the author's sources describe death threats and displacement in the region.
Ebola has come alongside the war
In the hills and market towns of North Kivu, a young doctor who once feared the same disease that struck his own body now walks back toward his neighbours with a draft book and photographs of his illness in hand. Dr Raymond Kamwanga survived Ebola after a delayed diagnosis, in a region where the virus has taken more than five thousand lives and where a long war has taught people to suspect every official promise. He speaks not only of the disease but of the older wounds beneath it: poverty, armed conflict, and the belief that help arrives with someone else's profit attached. His campaign against misinformation is therefore less a health message than an effort to rebuild trust, one conversation at a time, while the means to protect his community remain thin.
On the fourth day of his illness, Dr Raymond Kamwanga gathered his family in Butembo and told them he suspected Ebola and must go to the treatment centre. His mother wept and asked him why he would choose to die there. Few who arrive late leave that place alive, and the family saw it as a house of death. Kamwanga, a 30-year-old doctor at Katwa Hospital, knew his chances at home were worse.
He believes he caught the virus from a patient. His first symptoms were slight, and testing was slow because samples had to travel to Beni, a journey that could take days on broken roads. By the time he reached the centre, he was vomiting and losing fluid fast. He would not use the main entrance and asked colleagues to wear protective gear before they approached him. Thirteen days in bed followed, with no specific treatment available for this strain. "Every day, patients were dying right before my eyes," he says, though he tried to stay hopeful, passing the time with films and scrolling through his phone.
When he was declared free of the virus, he felt deep relief. His family was still afraid. For twenty-one days he lived apart in another part of the crowded family house, seeing them only from a distance as they left his meals. His mother says the experience taught her what the disease really is, and it helped break down some of the denial in their community.
Now Kamwanga tells his story to counter rumour. He has begun a book, The Price of Saving Lives, and carries photographs of himself during his illness to show people that Ebola is real. The work is hard. Many residents, weary from years of conflict and poverty, believe awareness campaigns serve donors more than the public, and some even suspect that the outbreak is a way to finish off those the war spared. He receives threats by phone, and outreach workers have been attacked. He agrees with recent reports that response money has gone missing and that protective equipment is in short supply. He says he will keep going, even with limited resources.
On the fourth day of his illness, Dr Raymond Kasereka Kamwanga gathered his family in their home in Butembo, in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo, and told them he suspected he had Ebola. He was going to the treatment centre. His mother, Masika Ndungo, who is 50, began to cry, as did his sisters. The family saw the unit as a death house, because few patients leave it alive, especially those who arrive late. "Why are you choosing to die at the Ebola treatment centre?" she asked him.
Kamwanga, who is 30 and works at Katwa Hospital in Butembo, knew the odds at home were worse. This was July, two months after the World Health Organization declared the outbreak a public health emergency of international concern. Since then 5,400 people have died and 11,000 have been infected, which makes it the second-most deadly Ebola outbreak on record. Butembo lies in North Kivu province, where the Congolese health ministry has recorded the most cases.
He believes he caught the virus from a patient, in a setting where protective measures are not always adequate. The first signs were slow: a bitter taste in his mouth, headaches, a general malaise. He contacted the Ebola response team, had a consultation and tests, and went home, but he did not improve. Butembo cannot test quickly for Ebola. Samples go to Beni, 54km north, and because of the state of the roads in this war-torn region the trip can take 48 to 72 hours. After three days at home he was very weak and had muscle pain. On the fourth he began vomiting and had diarrhoea.
Around 18:00 he walked to the nearby centre but would not use the main entrance. He phoned colleagues and asked them to put on protective gear before approaching and isolating him, since the virus passes through contact with infected bodily fluids. This outbreak is caused by the Bundibugyo species, for which there is no approved vaccine or treatment. Care is symptomatic, he explains, and in his case that meant managing severe vomiting and diarrhoea. In some patients such symptoms lead to organ failure and then internal and external bleeding. He lost a great deal of fluid and struggled to stay hydrated. "Every day, patients were dying right before my eyes," he says, though he tried to stay positive. Over 13 days in bed he watched films and TV shows on his phone, read, and scrolled TikTok.
When he learned he had recovered, he felt immense relief and thanked the health workers who had treated him. He is one of 3,031 survivors. Even a certificate declaring him Ebola-free did not settle his family's nerves. "We welcomed him home warmly. But because of our fear, we didn't get close to him any more," Ndungo says. For 21 days, the virus's incubation period, he lived apart in another part of the family house, which held at least 18 people, including several children and people displaced by recent fighting. He saw them only from a distance when collecting his meals. Neighbour Kavugho Sifa shared the fear; she says people prayed for his protection and saw him return in good health.
The family says the episode changed how they see Ebola. Some people locally do not believe the disease exists, and Ndungo says seeing it up close helped dispel some of that misinformation. Kamwanga turned to community outreach, telling his story to counter rumour and mistrust. A week after leaving hospital he began writing a book, The Price of Saving Lives. It is unfinished, but he uses the draft in awareness sessions, where he also hands out photographs taken while he was ill to show residents the disease is real.
The work is hard. He says some people see awareness campaigns as a way for humanitarian organisations to profit from donor money, and that such distrust, also aimed at health professionals, is fed by poverty and trauma from years of armed conflict. "Ebola has come alongside the war," he says, noting that some read it as authorities' way of finishing off those the war failed to kill. He thinks visible deaths, set against less visible recoveries, deepen the suspicion.
There are personal costs. Kamwanga says he gets death threats on his phone, and some residents accuse him of being paid to talk about Ebola. He reports that outreach workers have been attacked. He says the government is taking things lightly, and he agrees with a recent Médecins Sans Frontières report that Ebola funds are going missing, saying money meant for the response is being misappropriated and protective equipment is short. The BBC has asked the Congolese government for comment. He says he will not stop: the fight continues with limited resources.
Citazioni salienti
As someone who has recovered, I am living proof that the disease exists, but also that it is possible to recover from it.— Dr Raymond Kasereka Kamwanga
We welcomed him home warmly. But because of our fear, we didn't get close to him any more.— Masika Ndungo, his mother
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