In the eastern reaches of the Democratic Republic of Congo, where roads are poor and trust is thin, a young doctor in Butembo has come through an Ebola infection that his own family feared would be fatal. His survival, after thirteen days in a treatment centre, stands as a small proof that the disease can be outlasted even when the surrounding world is fearful and under-resourced. Yet his story also reveals how an outbreak of this scale, now the second deadliest on record, tests not only medicine but the fragile bonds between neighbours, families and the institutions meant to protect them.
'Why are you choosing to die?': A doctor's Ebola story from eastern DR Congo
Why are you choosing to die at the Ebola treatment centre?
Why does a doctor's own story matter in an outbreak this large?
Because his neighbours doubted the disease itself. Some accuse him of being paid to talk about it. A survivor who still works at Katwa Hospital is hard to wave away.
His family called the treatment centre a death house. Were they simply wrong?
Not entirely. The reporting says not many patients recover, especially those admitted late. He went early, on the fourth day of symptoms, and that may have mattered.
Careful with that. The article doesn't say that going early is why he survived. It's a reasonable inference, nothing more.
What slows the response down?
Testing. Butembo can't test quickly, so samples go 54km to Beni, and bad roads make that 48 to 72 hours. And there's no approved vaccine or treatment for Bundibugyo.
On the funding, he agrees with an MSF report that money is going missing, and he says it's misappropriated by the government. That's his claim. The BBC has asked the government for comment and there's no reply in the piece.
And the figures?
5,400 dead and 11,000 infected are given in the article, without a stated source for the tally, so I'd treat them as reported totals. The 3,031 survivors is the same.
What stays with me is the 21 days, eating alone in a crowded house, seen only from afar.
Il Polso
- A doctor who suspected Ebola chose to walk alone into a treatment centre, knowing he was carrying the virus and hoping he would not be turned away as a death sentence.
- Testing samples must travel 54 kilometres over broken roads, sometimes taking two to three days, so the sick wait while the virus moves through their bodies and their households.
- Families who once welcomed him now keep their distance, and outreach workers are being attacked as rumours of paid misinformation spread through the community.
- Missing funds and too little protective equipment hang over the response, while the Bundibugyo strain has no approved vaccine or treatment, leaving care to fluids and endurance.
- Recovered and speaking publicly, the doctor insists the fight must continue, and the next test is whether the government answers the allegations about money and action.
In the eastern reaches of the Democratic Republic of Congo, where roads are poor and trust is thin, a young doctor in Butembo has come through an Ebola infection that his own family feared would be fatal. His survival, after thirteen days in a treatment centre, stands as a small proof that the disease can be outlasted even when the surrounding world is fearful and under-resourced. Yet his story also reveals how an outbreak of this scale, now the second deadliest on record, tests not only medicine but the fragile bonds between neighbours, families and the institutions meant to protect them.
On the evening he decided to go, Dr Raymond Kasereka Kamwanga, a 30-year-old doctor at Katwa Hospital in Butembo, walked to the Ebola treatment centre rather than waiting at home. He phoned ahead so colleagues could wear protective gear before reaching him. His mother cried and asked why he would choose to die there, since many regard the unit as a death house. He told his family he was a doctor and trusted the care, though they were not reassured. He knew that staying home offered little hope.
His illness began quietly, with a bitter taste, headaches and weakness. Testing in Butembo is slow because samples must travel to Beni, and the broken roads of this war-torn region can stretch the wait to several days. By the time he began vomiting and had diarrhoea, he was gravely ill. With the Bundibugyo strain there is no approved vaccine or treatment, so care meant managing fluids and symptoms. Patients died around him each day, yet he kept his spirits up through thirteen days in bed, filling the hours with films and his phone.
Surviving did not end his isolation. Even with a certificate declaring him Ebola-free, his family kept their distance during the twenty-one-day incubation period, passing meals from afar in a crowded house sheltering displaced relatives. A neighbour credited prayer and the doctors for his recovery, and everyone agreed the experience had changed how they saw the disease.
Beyond his home, suspicion lingers. Some accuse him of being paid to spread information, and outreach workers have faced attacks. He says authorities are not responding seriously enough and echoes a recent Médecins Sans Frontières report alleging that response funds are going missing and protective equipment is in short supply. The BBC has requested comment from the government. Now writing a book and speaking outside Katwa Hospital, he says he is living proof the disease can be survived, and that doctors will keep working with what little they have.
Around 18:00 on the day he decided to go, Dr Raymond Kasereka Kamwanga walked to the Ebola treatment centre in Butembo, in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo. He did not use the main entrance. He phoned his colleagues first and asked them to put on protective gear before they came near him and isolated him. The virus spreads through contact with infected bodily fluids, and he knew exactly what he was carrying.
The decision had cost him an argument at home. When the 30-year-old, who works at Butembo's Katwa Hospital, told his family he suspected Ebola, they were horrified. Many regarded the specialised unit as a death house, because not many patients recover, especially those admitted late in the illness. His 50-year-old mother, Masika Ndungo, cried and asked why he was choosing to die there. His sisters cried too. He told them he was a doctor and was confident. They were not reassured. But he understood that if he stayed home, he was unlikely to survive.
This was in 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, making it the second-most deadly Ebola outbreak ever recorded. Butembo lies in North Kivu province, the epicentre, which has the highest number of reported cases according to the Congolese health ministry. Kamwanga is one of 3,031 survivors.
He believes he caught the virus from a patient, in a setting where protective measures are not always adequate. The first signs were gradual: a bitter taste in his mouth, headaches, a general malaise. He contacted the Ebola response team, had a consultation and some tests, and went home, but did not improve. Butembo cannot test quickly for Ebola. Samples go to Beni, 54km (33 miles) north, and because of the state of the roads in this war-torn, underdeveloped region the trip can take 48 to 72 hours. After three days at home he was extremely weak with muscle pain. On the fourth he began vomiting and had diarrhoea, and that is when he gathered his family.
The current outbreak is caused by the Bundibugyo species of the virus, for which there is no approved vaccine or treatment. Care is symptomatic, Kamwanga explains; in his case that meant managing severe vomiting and diarrhoea. In some patients such symptoms lead to organ failure, and some develop internal and external bleeding. He lost a great deal of fluid and struggled to stay hydrated. He was afraid, he says, as patients died in front of him every day, but he stayed positive. Over 13 days in bed he watched films and TV shows on his phone, read, and scrolled TikTok.
Recovery did not end the isolation. Even with a certificate showing he was Ebola-free, those around him stayed uneasy. His mother says the family welcomed him home warmly but, out of fear, no longer got close to him. For 21 days, the incubation period, he lived apart in another part of the family home, which then held at least 18 people, including several children and people displaced by recent fighting. He saw them only from a distance when he collected his meals. A neighbour, Kavugho Sifa, says people were really afraid and prayed for his protection; she credits God and the doctors' efforts for his return in good health. All agree the experience changed how they see Ebola.
Outside the family, hostility persists. Some residents accuse him of being paid to spread information about the disease, and he reports that outreach workers have been attacked by community members. He says the authorities are not tackling these problems effectively: the government, in his words, is taking things lightly. He agrees with a recent Médecins Sans Frontières report that Ebola funds are going missing, and says money allocated to the response is being misappropriated and that protective equipment is insufficient. The BBC has asked the Congolese government for comment.
Kamwanga has started writing a book about his illness, and speaks outside Katwa Hospital as living proof that the disease is real and survivable. He says the fight cannot be abandoned, and that doctors will keep doing what they can with very limited resources. Whether the government answers the funding allegations is the next thing to watch.
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, Kamwanga's mother