Ebola survivors comfort the sick and frightened during the Congo epidemic

BENI, Democratic Republic of Congo (Reuters) – Jeanine Masika, wearing a disposable gown and protective gloves, cradles a 2-year-old Ebola patient with a teaspoonful of brown soup.

Most health care workers require a surgical mask, goggles, a hooded suit, an apron, rubber boots and two pairs of gloves to avoid to catch the virus that usually kills about half of the infections.

The outfits are hot and, given the sweltering tropical temperatures of the eastern Democratic Republic of Congo, this limits the time they can spend with patients who are fighting for their lives in battlefield units. 39; isolation.

But Masika has antibodies in her system after winning her own battle against Ebola last year and is now immune.

The 33-year-old mother of six can spend days with patients at a treatment center in the city of Beni, North Kivu, offering a comforting presence among a host of faceless characters whose names are written to the marker.

Masika is one of the dozens of survivors who provide care – and vital human contact – to some of the smallest victims of the second-worst epidemic of Ebola ever recorded.

According to figures from the World Health Organization, 28% of the more than 1,260 confirmed and probable cases of Ebola are children. More than 800 people, including at least 248 under the age of 18, have died since the beginning of the epidemic in August.

The epidemic was only surpassed by one in West Africa in 2013-2016, which reportedly killed more than 11,000 people.

DEFENDING

Masika lost 10 members of his family because of the virus; four of the infected people in his family survived.

"It was as if Ebola had chosen my family," she said.

She was admitted to the same treatment center where she now works in September and stayed there for 21 days with horrible symptoms.

"It's like having all the diseases of the Congo at the same time," she said. "I felt bad all over my body: headache, stomach ache, diarrhea, vomiting, fatigue."

Masika's experience has inspired her to join the fight against the Ebola virus, relieving sick and frightened children who must be isolated from their family and their familiar environment to avoid infecting others. She is one of at least 23 former patients who worked in central Beni, which is run by the Alliance for International Medical Action (ALIMA).

When Reuters visited at the end of March, Masika spent most of her time in a transparent plastic insulation cube. She rocked and stoked Furaha, a little girl who rarely moves or cries. The cubes allow patients to see their loved ones during treatment, but through thick plastic walls.

When the intravenous drip needle of Furaha had to be replaced, Masika gently lifted the girl up and took her to the back of the cube so that a doctor in full protective gear could find a new vein. Furaha put a thin arm around Masika's neck and leaned her head against the woman to support her.

"My goal is to make her happy," Masika said of her small load, the youngest of five family members treated at the center. "I treat the child as if she were mine, so she is comfortable even when she is away from her parents."

A few cubes lower, the body of a 2-year-old boy who died in the night was lying on a bed, his thin frame barely making a dent under the flowery sheet that had been placed on his face.

"KEEP THE LIVING LOVE"

Children are particularly vulnerable to the virus because their bodies are less able to withstand the extreme loss of fluid caused by diarrhea, vomiting, fever and bleeding, doctors said.

According to WHO figures, more than two out of every three sick children with this epidemic have died. Others became orphaned or remained alone when their parents started treatment.

Claudine Kitsa, 40, had to place a child while she was being treated for Ebola in the nearby Butembo shopping center. She now works in a crèche run by UNICEF, a United Nations agency for children, and sleeps in turn with other survivors to sleep next to the cribs on mosquito beds.

A recent morning, she walked around a dirt floor, in which Christie, 7 months old, rocked in her arms. Baby clothes were hung to dry on the fence of the one-story complex, freshly decorated with cartoon murals.

Christvie's mother had recently died from the Ebola virus and staff were watching the baby closely to see if she would get sick.

For Kitsa, volunteering at the center is a "way to keep love alive," at a time when Ebola is depriving families of the ability to care for their loved ones.

Health care workers say that people like her play an invaluable role.

"We can not take care of children all the time because you can not wear PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) for more than an hour at a time. And that would be scary … to children, "said Trish Newport, Ebola representative of Doctors Without Borders (Médecins sans frontières) in Goma, eastern Congo.

"So having survivors who can wear light protection, being with children and connecting with them is huge for us. We could not do without it. "

She thinks the survivors also benefit from the experience.

"The community stigmatizes them tremendously," she said. But in the treatment centers, they are treated like heroes.

Survivors also serve as educators and advocates for community centers.

AFTER LOOKING FOR HELP

This is the tenth Ebola epidemic in Congo, but it is the first in the densely forested provinces of the volcanic hills of North Kivu and Ituri.

Many are afraid to ask the help of experts. Some believe that the disease is part of a conspiracy of foreign aid agencies to make money, others that the former government of Congo was trying to kill opposition supporters before the December elections.

This is one of the reasons this epidemic has been so difficult to contain, as well as the militia violence that has driven patients to flee to other areas. Twenty new cases were reported on Thursday and again on Saturday, which is the highest daily toll since the beginning of the epidemic.

In the midst of tragedy and fear, reuniting children with their parents is a rare plus point.

Godalive Kabuo, 30, smiled while returning to Butembo's daycare to look for her six-month-old daughter, Hortense, a gigantic baby with a yellow knit hat. Kabuo had just been released from the nearby treatment center after a negative Ebola test result.

"Since they take care of 100% babies, I say thank you," she says.

Back in Beni, Masika said goodbye to Furaha at the end of her shift and handed her over to another caregiver. She then left the cube to disinfect with a chlorine solution and get back into ordinary clothes.

But the day was not over.

Leaving the center deliberately, she said that she was heading to a hospital. One of his own children was suffering from malaria and needed his care.