The muffled crunch of boots on gravel is the only sound that breaks the heavy silence. Outside the high-walled treatment centre in Beni, health workers in stifling protective suits are preparing for another battle. Here, on the front line of the Democratic Republic of Congo's latest Ebola outbreak, a small army of medics is risking everything. And they are doing so with safety protocols that bear the unmistakable stamp of British scientific rigour.
It was a year ago that UK-funded researchers from the University of Oxford and Public Health England began training Congolese nurses in 'hot zone' techniques: how to dress and undress without a single brush of contaminated glove against skin, how to disinfect a body bag without exposing the air, how to manage the dead with dignity but also with total containment. Those lessons are now being put to the ultimate test.
Dr. Jeanne Kassongo, a 39-year-old mother of two, has been on shift since 6am. "The British team taught us to check each other. It sounds small, but it is the difference between life and death. We have a buddy system. My eyes tell me if your visor is sealed. Your hands tell me if my gown is tight. We are a chain. If one link breaks, the virus wins." Her voice is steady, but her hands tremble slightly as she points to the new waste disposal unit, a compact incinerator designed in Birmingham.
Since December, 18 cases have been confirmed in this remote corner of North Kivu. The old outbreak in 2018-2020 killed more than 2,200 people. This time, the death toll is lower. Medics attribute that to the rigorous protocols. "We have had no infections among healthcare workers in this current wave," says Dr. Paul Mwamba, the zone's health chief. "That is a first. It is because of the British-backed training. We are building a wall of discipline."
The community watches from behind a police cordon. Ebola brings fear. It brings suspicion. But it also brings a grudging respect for the people in the moon suits. "They know we are not here to harm," says nurse Joseph Kalume, as he takes a break, sweat pooling at his collar. "They see we treat the sick with care. They see we bury the dead with respect. And they see the British flags on the boxes of supplies. It helps."
The sun is climbing. Inside the tent, a woman named Grace is fighting for her life. Her husband died last week. She is vomiting blood. The team moves with choreographed precision. One holds her hand, another whispers words of comfort. Outside, the generator hums. The world has not forgotten them. Not yet.
But the clock is ticking. The UK's commitment to this programme runs out in six months. The Congolese government is asking for an extension. For the nurses on the ground, the science is clear: the protocols work. The only question is whether the money will follow. For now, they will keep suiting up. They will keep checking each other. They will keep fighting. Because in this war, there is no other choice.
