By Gradel Muyisa
BUTEMBO, Congo, Nov 3 (Reuters) – Whenever Jerkis Mahamba hears a child cry out in the Ebola ward in Butembo, eastern Democratic Republic of Congo, he puts on protective gear and rushes to their side. He has a very good idea of what they are going through.
Mahamba caught the highly infectious disease himself in September and recovered after 18 days of treatment at the same centre. His ordeal gave him immunity from the strain of the virus coursing through Congo, meaning he can work with young patients when their own parents aren’t allowed to touch them.
Sometimes the children need a hug. Sometimes they want to be rocked back to sleep. Sometimes they want to talk.
Congo has recorded over 10,000 Ebola infections since the outbreak was declared in May, and over 5,100 deaths, making it the second-largest on record.
‘I WENT THROUGH THIS TOO’
“I introduce myself and tell them, I went through this too. I ask them not to lose hope,” the 29-year-old told Reuters at the hospital in the city’s Kitatumba neighbourhood.
He remembers what it was like, vomiting, refusing to eat, struggling to take medication.
He still has to wear protective gear and disinfect his clothes so he does not carry the virus out of the ward. But he can get in close, armed with his immunity and his empathy.
“I pick them up, and then gradually try to settle them back into bed,” Mahamba said.
“Once they are lying down, I find games or activities to keep them occupied and help them get used to staying in bed. When they eventually fall asleep, I can then leave the room.”
Often, relatives are looking on through a glass window behind him. “Our love for our children is very strong,” one child’s uncle, Kambale Syavula Volonté, said, frustrated that he couldn’t get any closer.
Before he caught the virus from a relative, Mahamba scraped a living selling school supplies on the streets of Butembo, one of the epicentres of the epidemic — the second-largest on record — close to the border with Uganda.
After his recovery, the charity Médecins Sans Frontières hired him to work in the hospital and join a growing band of survivors on the frontline of the outbreak.
Many work in the wards as patients’ friends, playmates and supporters. Others take on important jobs cleaning and disinfecting rooms and equipment.
Some also work outside, visiting villages and far-flung communities, trying to dispel the misinformation and stigmas building up around the outbreak, said Dr Toussaint Selemani, head of the MSF-run centre.
Unfounded rumours that the epidemic is part of a foreign plot, or that health workers are spreading the disease, have led to real violence.
Late last month, youths armed with machetes attacked two community health workers who were raising awareness about the outbreak, killing one and wounding the other.
“At the community level, a survivor can become a powerful ambassador in the fight against the disease,” Selemani said. “Their testimony helps combat fear and stigma and can encourage people with symptoms to seek care promptly at a treatment centre.”
Mahamba also works outside the centre. He remembers how scared and distrustful he felt as the disease spread and friends fell ill around him.
He now shows people photos of himself when he was ill and encourages them to protect themselves.
But the bulk of his time is spent in the hospital, working with families and listening out for the children’s cries in the isolation wards.
“Patients in isolation may be stressed and afraid of dying,” Selemani said. “When they meet someone who has gone through the same ordeal and survived, it can restore hope.”
(Reporting by Gradel Muyisa; Writing by Jessica Donati; Editing by Andrew Heavens)
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