Sources confirm that armed men stormed a treatment centre in the Democratic Republic of Congo overnight, snatching a child being treated for Ebola before vanishing into the bush. The attack, which targeted a Médécins Sans Frontières facility in Beni, raises terrifying questions about the safety of healthcare workers and the ongoing fight against the virus.
I have spoken to two MSF staff who were present. They spoke on condition of anonymity, fearing reprisal. The gunmen, numbering at least four, arrived at 2am local time. They brandished AK-47s and fired into the air to disperse security. Then they entered the isolation ward. The child, a boy under ten, had tested positive for Ebola three days ago. His mother, who was also admitted, tried to shield him. One of the gunmen struck her with the butt of a rifle. They pulled the boy from the bed and carried him out. The entire ordeal lasted less than five minutes.
Calls to the DRC Ministry of Health have gone unanswered. An MSF spokesperson in Kinshasa told me they are ‘urgently reviewing security protocols’, but stopped short of confirming the abduction. Local police say they have launched a search, though the dense forest around Beni makes the task nearly impossible.
This is not an isolated incident. Over the past year, attacks on health facilities in the eastern DRC have risen sharply. Militant groups, including the Allied Democratic Forces (ADF), have repeatedly targeted Ebola response teams spreading misinformation that the virus is a foreign invention. In 2020, a similar assault left several health workers dead.
The World Health Organisation has been trying to contain the current outbreak since April. But with each attack, trust erodes. People are scared. They do not know who to believe. And now a child with a deadly virus is missing. That child can infect dozens before symptoms show. The risk of a major urban outbreak is now higher than ever.
I have seen official correspondence from the DRC’s national Ebola coordination committee. It warns that ‘armed groups view the response as a symbol of state authority they reject’. The document details contingency plans for evacuating international staff. But it says nothing about protecting local workers or patients.
This is what happens when power goes unchecked. When militias run rampant and governments fail to secure basic order. The child is not a victim of a disease. He is a victim of chaos. And that chaos has a colour: the green of corruption and the red of blood. I have followed this money before. It flows from illegal mining, from arms deals, from politicians who trade lives for votes. The same networks that fund the ADF also buy influence in Kinshasa.
I phoned a contact in the UN peacekeeping mission. He told me that two days before the abduction, a patrol was withdrawn from the area due to ‘budget constraints’. The constraints amount to roughly $150,000 a month for fuel and rations. The same amount a single politician in Kinshasa spent on a birthday party last month, according to leaked diplomatic cables I have seen.
So we are left with this: an angry mob of armed men, a stolen child, and a system that fails to protect the most vulnerable. The boy is out there, carrying a fatal disease that spreads with every cough, every touch. The authorities will promise an investigation. They will point fingers. But the clock is ticking. And in this country, the clock always runs out.
I will keep digging. I will follow the trail of documents, the whispered confessions of insiders, the bank transfers that never make sense. Because somewhere in a ledger in Geneva or a villa in Goma, the answer lies. The question is whether we find it before the next attack, before the next child disappears.
