In the heart of eastern Congo, where the Ebola virus has claimed thousands of lives, a new tragedy is unfolding. Those who have lost parents to the disease are being taught how to grieve without spreading the infection. It is a brutal lesson in the cost of love in a time of plague.
Aid workers from the World Health Organisation and local charities have launched a programme to instruct mourners on safe burial practices. Traditional rites, which involve washing and embracing the dead, have been suspended to prevent transmission. Instead, families are given sealed body bags and instructed to keep their distance. The psychological toll is immense.
‘You cannot hold your mother’s hand as she is lowered into the ground,’ said Marie-Claire, a nurse in Beni. ‘We tell them it is for the best, but they look at you with empty eyes.’ The outbreak, now in its second year, has killed over 2,000 people. The response has been hampered by community mistrust and militia violence. Health workers have been attacked, some killed.
In a makeshift centre on the outskirts of the city, a group of women sit in a circle. They have all lost a parent in the past week. A social worker demonstrates how to scrub hands with chlorinated water without recoiling. She hands out leaflets with pictures of masked figures lowering a wrapped corpse into a grave. The women nod, but their faces are masks of grief.
‘I want to cry, but I am not allowed to touch my eyes,’ said a widow, her voice cracked. ‘My husband died three days ago. I have two children. They ask me when he is coming back. What do I tell them?’
The programme is a vital public health measure. But it highlights a deeper crisis. The virus preys on the most human of instincts: to hold onto the ones we love. For those left behind, the rules of mourning become a second bereavement. They are robbed not only of their parents but of the rituals that make loss bearable.
‘We are fighting a virus, but we are also fighting fear and sorrow,’ said Dr. Jean-Pierre, a Congolese epidemiologist. ‘We need to show people that we respect their traditions even as we break them.’ The response has had some success. The number of new cases is dropping. But the emotional scars will last for generations.
Outside the centre, the sun is starting to set. The women file out, clutching the leaflets. They walk back to homes where the absence of a parent is a hole that cannot be filled. Tomorrow, they will attend another session. They will learn how to wash their hands without thinking of skin. They will learn to say goodbye from a distance. They will learn to grieve in a world that has forgotten how.
