In the conflict-torn eastern region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, a decades-long battle against Ebola has entered a new, particularly challenging phase, as deep-seated cultural beliefs, widespread misinformation, and systemic mistrust of modern medicine continue to cost lives during the country’s 17th recorded outbreak of the deadly virus.
First identified in the biodiverse Congo Basin in 1976, Ebola remains misunderstood by many communities across central Africa. For countless residents, the onset of the virus’ brutal hemorrhagic symptoms is interpreted as a spiritual curse or affliction brought by outsiders, driving them to seek healing from traditional healers and faith leaders rather than formal medical facilities. This pattern has repeated itself in the current outbreak, centered in Congo’s Ituri Province, where delayed care and unregulated gatherings of worshippers have contributed to a rising death toll that has already reached at least 181 people.
What makes this outbreak especially alarming is its cause: the Bundibugyo strain, a rare variant of Ebola for which no officially approved vaccines or antiviral treatments currently exist. The outbreak was formally confirmed on May 15, though public health experts suspect infections may have begun as early as February, when initial tests targeted a different Ebola variant, delaying detection and response. The World Health Organization quickly designated the event a Public Health Emergency of International Concern, and the U.S. government has since implemented a temporary entry ban for non-U.S. passport holders who have recently traveled to Congo, Uganda, or South Africa.
In Ituri’s epicenter town of Bunia, dangerous misinformation has further undermined response efforts. One pervasive rumor claims the virus is spread by malicious actors who plant enchanted charms wrapped in dollar bills in public pit latrines. “Some people still describe Ebola as something mysterious, spiritual, or brought by outsiders, rather than a disease that needs medical care,” explained Onesphore Bangenza, a field worker with the humanitarian organization Mercy Corps, speaking from Bunia. “When people do not trust the health system, they often go first to traditional healers, faith leaders, or people they already know. The danger is that many only reach the hospital when they are already very sick.”
Local cultural dynamics add extra layers of risk. Many communities adhere to traditional burial customs that require close physical contact with deceased loved ones, a practice that has consistently driven Ebola transmission throughout past outbreaks. Faith leaders, who often hold more social trust than outside medical workers, are expected to lay hands on the sick to pray for healing, turning religious gatherings into potential super-spreading events. To date, the outbreak’s victim list includes frontline health workers lacking proper personal protective equipment, as well as pastors and worshippers who gathered for prayer services amid active transmission.
The Bundibugyo strain has a long history of being misunderstood. The first recorded outbreak of this variant occurred in 2007 in Uganda’s Bundibugyo District, the namesake mountainous farming region home to roughly 200,000 people. That outbreak killed 36 people and left lasting community trauma, with many residents still frustrated that the rare strain bears their home district’s name. Even in that initial outbreak, cultural misunderstanding drove many sick residents to traditional healers before seeking care. Samuel Kuule, the Ugandan nurse whose blood sample confirmed the 2007 outbreak, recalled that many early patients blamed witchcraft for their symptoms. Kuule himself experienced terrifying symptoms including peeling skin, bloodshot eyes, and severe headache, but never turned from modern care, even as others around him sought spiritual solutions. “For those who are weak in faith, they may (think) that they are being bewitched. Maybe they can believe it,” he said.
Local traditional healers themselves acknowledge that many residents turn to spiritual and herbal remedies only after modern medicine fails to deliver quick results. “For us in African traditional societies, in most cases when you fall sick and you go to the hospitals and they give you some injections and there is no improvement, there and then you switch to your neighbor, or anybody, and say maybe he is the one bewitching you. Then you decide to go to the witch doctor,” said Amon Balinda, speaking for a veteran traditional healer from the 2007 outbreak region.
Public health experts emphasize that Ebola begins when the virus spills over from an infected wild animal — most commonly fruit bats — into human populations, usually through the handling or consumption of bushmeat. It spreads exclusively through close contact with the bodily fluids of infected people or corpses, making early testing, isolation, and contact tracing the most effective tools to slow spread. Even so, deep-seated beliefs continue to hinder these efforts.
Humanitarian groups have begun adapting their approach, working to enlist religious and traditional leaders as partners in public health outreach rather than sidelining them. A viral video shared widely across Ituri recently featured Deogratias Kasereka, a catechist who recovered from Ebola after finally seeking care in Mongbwalu, a high-transmission area. Kasereka admitted he nearly died after putting off hospital care to tend to his fields, crediting his children with convincing him to seek medical treatment.
Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni recently echoed public health warnings in a televised address, rebuking faith leaders who continue to physically touch sick believers during prayer. “The pastors, the pastors, the pastors. The people of God — they are the ones who touch patients. … God is not deaf. You can pray without touching,” Museveni said, noting that WHO Director-General Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus had informed him that a large share of Congo’s current victims are religious people engaging in high-risk prayer practices.
As response teams work to contain the outbreak in a remote region already destabilized by rebel violence and mass displacement, the core challenge remains changing community attitudes to encourage early care-seeking and disrupt unsafe cultural practices that fuel transmission.