I Buried My Parents One Day: Grief Amid Ebola Outbreaks
I buried my parents one day after – “I buried my parents one day after the other,” says Joel Lonza Makumbu, a resident of Bunia, Democratic Republic of Congo. In this city at the heart of an active Ebola outbreak, the Nyamurongo cemetery has become a site of both mourning and precaution. The virus has claimed over 200 lives in Ituri province in recent months, and families are learning to navigate grief while adhering to strict safety measures. Makumbu’s personal tragedy—losing his father and mother within days—reflects the emotional and logistical challenges faced by communities adapting to the pandemic’s demands.
Traditional Practices Meet Modern Protocols
Before the Ebola outbreak, funerals in Bunia were vibrant celebrations, with families gathering to honor the deceased through song, dance, and elaborate rituals. Now, the process is transformed by the need to prevent transmission. Bodies are dressed in simple, disposable clothing and placed in leak-proof bags immediately after death. The coffin, designed with transparent panels, allows mourners to view the body while maintaining physical barriers. Julienne Anoko, a WHO anthropologist, explains the shift: “Ebola is real, and our traditions must evolve to protect everyone. Women still adorn themselves in wedding gowns and makeup, but the focus is on keeping the virus at bay rather than celebrating the transition to the ancestral world.”
“The emotional impact is profound,” Anoko adds. “People who once spent days mourning are now required to complete the process in minutes, often with strangers handling the body. It’s a balance between respecting cultural heritage and ensuring public health.”
A Day in the Life of Ebola Grief
During a visit to Bunia’s treatment center, I witnessed the meticulous process of preparing a body for burial. Families gathered at the roadside, their faces etched with sorrow, as an IFRC team in full personal protective equipment retrieved the remains. One mother wept uncontrollably as she prepared to lay her child to rest, her grief palpable despite the clinical setting. In a tent outside the facility, health workers carefully sealed the body bag into a coffin, ensuring no viral particles could escape. The path to the cemetery was disinfected, and the family of the 34-year-old mother, who had lost her four children, watched from a distance, their anguish tempered by the urgency of the task.
The burial itself was a blur of efficiency and emotion. As the volunteers decontaminated the truck and prepared for the next body, the weight of loss lingered. For families like Makumbu’s, the process of “I buried my parents one day” has become a daily reality, with no time to grieve in the traditional way. The shortened rituals, though practical, leave many feeling disconnected from their cultural roots, highlighting the tension between survival and sentimentality in the face of the epidemic.
Emotional Toll and Cultural Adaptation
While the protocols have saved lives, they have also introduced new layers of grief. Families who once had the luxury of communal mourning now face isolation, with relatives required to keep their distance. Maria Munoz-Bertrand, IFRC public health coordinator, notes the importance of community support: “We work closely with families to explain the necessity of these changes. ‘I buried my parents one day’ is no longer a personal story—it’s a shared experience that reshapes how people connect with loss.”
“The fear of spreading the virus has made funerals feel like a transaction,” Munoz-Bertrand says. “Yet, communities are finding ways to adapt. Some incorporate symbolic gestures, like lighting candles or sharing stories, to maintain a sense of ritual. Others use technology, such as video calls, to honor the dead remotely.”
Despite these adaptations, the psychological impact remains significant. Mourners in Bunia describe a sense of limbo, where the deceased are neither fully remembered nor completely forgotten. The rapidity of the burial process—often completed in under ten minutes—leaves little room for reflection. For Makumbu, who has lost five loved ones to the virus, the phrase “I buried my parents one day” has taken on a new meaning: a reminder of the fragility of life and the resilience of those who carry on.
Global Lessons from Local Grief
The experiences in Bunia underscore the broader challenges of managing grief in public health crises. As the world grapples with the Ebola outbreak, the emotional and cultural dimensions of the disease are often overlooked in favor of statistics. However, the stories of those who “buried my parents one day” reveal the human cost of rapid response measures. Local leaders and health workers are now tasked with not only controlling the virus but also preserving the dignity of the grieving process.
With the Bundibugyo strain of Ebola continuing to spread, the balance between safety and tradition becomes increasingly critical. Communities in Bunia are finding creative ways to blend their cultural practices with new protocols, such as holding small, symbolic vigils or using sanitized environments for mourning. These efforts reflect a collective determination to honor the dead while safeguarding the living, ensuring that the phrase “I buried my parents one day” remains a poignant symbol of resilience in the face of tragedy.
