By Priscilla Lecomte
Bunia, Democratic Republic of the Congo — Today I met Celestine. Well, I didn’t really meet Celestine. I only saw her head and her feet beneath the blanket, and, from behind, her frail shoulders. It was her shoulders that made me stop in my tracks.
She was struggling to breathe. Placed in a portable isolation chamber called the cube in the Ebola treatment centre, she was in respiratory distress. Oxygen was being pumped from a ventilator placed next to her. I could see the uneven movement of her shoulders.
I knew what that meant, because it reminded me of my mother. In my mother’s last weeks, when she was losing her battle against cancer, she started to have the same uneven movements of the chest, when she couldn’t breathe properly anymore.
I was scared. I thought she could stop breathing at any moment. And eventually she did. She died on June 16, 2017, and I was next to her.
Nobody was standing next to Celestine in the cube. No relative. No daughter. At some point, a doctor in full protective equipment came to give her some palliative medication through an intravenous line.
Dr. Etienne, who had just finished his shift, explained that Celestine was in a coma. She had been there for a week, he said. She was 60 years old and had been infected with Ebola.
I didn’t come to visit Celestine. I came to document the Ebola response, to help ensure that people abroad would care and pay attention to a crisis that has increasingly slipped from the world’s focus. But Celestine’s shoulders stopped me in my tracks. I thought: What if it were my mother in this cube, alone and scared?
The Heavy Toll of a Relentless Outbreak
Dr. Etienne told me that patients in unstable condition like Celestine may need dialysis. But there are not enough funds for that. In a gentle way, he told me that she was in a very complicated situation. Someone else might have said: She is dying.
The Ebola fatality rate in the eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) stands at 47 per cent. Nearly half of the people who have contracted the virus have died since the beginning of the outbreak in May. But numbers do not really convey the reality of this disease.
If you are lucky enough to come to the hospital early, you have an 80 per cent chance of surviving. But if you arrive too late, you may face an 80 per cent chance of dying.
I don’t know Celestine’s story. I just wonder: What if she had received advanced medical care, or if she had come earlier? Would she still be here, or is she dying today?
The non-governmental organization ALIMA, which runs the treatment centre here in Rwampara—located half an hour from Bunia, the capital of Ituri Province—is doing everything it can to save people like Celestine.
Innovation on the Front Lines
ALIMA invented the cube, a specialized treatment system that allows medical staff to assist patients through transparent plastic walls, equipped with built-in gloves and tools. Through this design, relatives can see their loved ones up close, and doctors can monitor patients easily.
In Rwampara, the cube is used for the most serious cases and for pregnant women who may need to deliver their babies while suffering from Ebola. In those situations, it is very difficult for a doctor to remain in full protective equipment throughout an entire delivery. The cube helps bridge that gap, offering a vital layer of safety and connection.
ALIMA is one of the key humanitarian partners running Ebola treatment centres across the eastern DRC. I have so much appreciation for the doctors, nurses, and medical staff working there under intense pressure. The environment is relentlessly stressful.
I met Danny, a nurse, who told me how hard it is to see so many people dying—people from his own community.
He is doing the best he can, alongside thousands of other health workers. But they are also at great risk. More than 40 health workers have died since the beginning of the outbreak. In total, more than 3,000 people have died from Ebola across the region.
A Crisis Outpacing the Response
This is now the largest Ebola outbreak the country has ever faced. It threatens to surpass the devastating 2014-2016 Ebola outbreak in West Africa, where more than 10,000 lives were lost.
Under other circumstances, this outbreak could have been stopped. If the health system had been robust enough. If the disease had been identified early enough.
But that is not what happened. The virus is outpacing our capacity to respond. More people like Celestine may die.
The Government—from the leadership of the Ministry of Health to community health workers—is truly doing the best they can. The international community has stepped in to support these efforts. Hundreds of aid workers and experts are working around the clock to deploy the best response possible against this deadly virus.
Yet, the virus remains indifferent. It is silent. It is deadly. It is unforgiving.
It takes human life in the most horrible way. Those who are most vulnerable to this disease are older people, children, and pregnant women. It is profoundly unfair.
Today, standing in front of Celestine, I started crying. I thought about my mother. I wished I could have held Celestine’s hand and told her not to be scared, just as I did with my mother. But I was scared myself.
As I finish this piece, I have just learned that Celestine passed away on August 25, 2026. Hundreds of people are still receiving care at Ebola treatment centres across the eastern DRC. They need all our attention and support.
