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On the front lines of trust: a day with Julienne Aniko, our community engagement officer against Ebola in the DRC
June 17, 2026
Long before the first field teams depart for the affected communities in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Julienne Anoko, in charge of risk communication and community engagement (CREC) at WHO, is already consulting the night's updates: alerts, suspected cases, rumors, security concerns and signs of resistance.
The day begins at 5:30 a.m. By 6:30 a.m., Julienne is already preparing the messages that will determine whether a family reports symptoms, whether a household agrees to disinfection, or whether a community accepts a dignified and safe burial. "My typical day starts early with preparation and coordination," she explains.
At 7:30 a.m., Julienne attends the WHO morning meeting, where the various pillars of the Ebola response come together: surveillance, infection prevention and control, laboratory teams, coordination, protection against sexual exploitation and abuse, psychosocial support, human resources, and case management. Her role is to bring the voices of the communities into the room—by sharing information from the field, such as misinformation, resistance, or concerns—and to adapt mobilization strategies to the latest data on the epidemic. This ensures that the messages are both accurate and relevant to the realities of the communities.
During an Ebola outbreak, a technically correct message is not always enough. It must also be trustworthy.
“My role is essentially to serve as a bridge between communities and response teams,” she says, “ensuring that interventions are not only technically sound, but also socially accepted and trustworthy.”
By mid-morning, the work shifts from the coordination rooms to the health zones and family compounds. Before entering an affected community, the first concern is security. In high-risk areas, she requests authorization from the WHO security teams. Only then can the visit take place, usually accompanied by the health zone doctor, a community health worker, and a local leader.
This order is important. Julienne does not arrive as a stranger bearing instructions, but through people whom the community already knows.
Upon arrival, the community health worker or local leader introduces her and explains the purpose of the visit. She observes carefully: how people greet each other, who speaks first, whether the family is grieving, and whether prayers are said before the discussion begins.
If a family has lost someone, she asks for the person's name and uses it during the conversation.
In this job, empathy is not a secondary skill. It is operational.
“When I arrive in a community, I always let the community health worker or leader introduce me,” she explains. “I demonstrate empathy at all times and actively listen to the family.”
Julienne's day is based on two-way communication. From 8:30 a.m. until mid-afternoon, her work may include community dialogues, meetings with youth groups, home visits, support for contact tracers, or support for burial teams when families are fearful or reluctant.
Sometimes she trains national counterparts and partners in risk communication and community engagement. Sometimes she receives urgent calls from teams facing unexpected resistance.
Some days, she goes to the Ebola treatment center to help families accept the painful need for dignified and safe burials.
Fears are rarely simple. In this epidemic, she explains, some communities initially believed the disease was caused by poisoning, witchcraft, or mystical forces. Some thought Ebola was a fabrication. Others suspected foreign interests, particularly Western countries or mining companies, of using the disease to control local resources. One rumor spoke of a "magic coffin" traveling through communities and attacking people.
Behind this rumor lay a reality marked by successive losses. According to Julienne, a woman from the Mongbwalu health zone in Ituri died in Uganda, and her body was repatriated in a damaged coffin.
The family changed the coffin and burned the old one. Soon after, family members began to fall ill and die. In the community's perception, these deaths were linked to the coffin.
It took two weeks of intensive social mobilization for attitudes to begin to change. People started to accept that Ebola was real and that practical measures—washing hands, reporting symptoms early, and avoiding unsafe burials—could protect families.
One particular case continues to influence Julienne's approach today, although it dates back to a previous Ebola outbreak in North Kivu in 2019.
A woman who was nine months pregnant had died. According to local custom, the fetus was to be removed from the mother's body and buried separately. But for the Ebola response team, this procedure posed significant biosecurity risks. The family refused the proposed safe burial and asked to have the body returned to the village to perform the ritual themselves.
Their fear was very real: they believed that if the custom was not respected, other pregnant women in the community could die under the wrath of the ancestors.
Julienne spent three days negotiating between the family and the response team. Drawing on her knowledge of the socio-cultural context and her experience as an anthropologist, she helped identify an alternative ritual that allowed the family and the community to honor their beliefs without exposing others to the risk of infection.
The family agreed. The WHO supported the ritual, and a dignified and safe burial was carried out. Afterwards, the response team and the community participated together in the ritual.
For Julienne, the lesson of North Kivu remains essential to the current response: communities do not abandon deeply held beliefs simply because interveners arrive with technical instructions. Trust is built when public health measures are explained, negotiated, and adapted in a way that protects life while respecting mourning, culture, and dignity.
Such work requires more than public health messages. It demands a translation between different systems of meaning: biomedical risk, ancestral obligations, mourning, dignity, fear, and survival.
To explain how an Ebola treatment center works, contact tracing, or safe burial procedures, Julienne always starts by gathering information from the technical teams.
What care is provided? Is it free? What food is provided? Do the doctors speak local languages? Can families visit patients? What does contact tracing involve? When does it end?
She then prepares answers to the most likely questions, sometimes even before they are asked. The goal is to show that their concerns have already been heard.
"The family understands that I share their concerns, and they trust me," she explains. "Most of the time, they ask for my phone number to continue asking questions."
The emotional burden is heavy. The most difficult moments occur when she offers her condolences and the families begin to cry. The deaths of pregnant women, babies, and children are particularly distressing.
"A pregnant woman should not lose her life giving life," she said. "It is not natural for parents to bury their children."
Yet she tries not to cry in front of the families. “I think they’re suffering more than I am,” she says. “I’m simply supporting them in their grief.” There are also times when a single conversation can change the course of the response.
On June 5, Julienne visited a family whose daughter had died on May 28, classified as a probable case of Ebola. While awaiting lab results, the team needed the family to agree to the disinfection of their home, the investigation, identification, and contact tracing. The family refused, demanding proof of lab results first.
She listened for over an hour. Then she explained why early prevention measures were important. Psychological support was offered.
Finally, the family agreed to disinfection and psychosocial support. When the results confirmed the infection, they returned with a psychologist.
The family then accepted all public health measures and designated a member as the focal point for contact tracing and early symptom detection.
At 3:30 p.m., the fieldwork gives way to documentation. Julienne compiles community feedback, rumors, concerns, and behavioral trends to guide the next day's priorities. From 5:00 p.m. to 7:30 p.m., a national strategic coordination meeting reviews the dynamics of the response and plans risk communication and community engagement interventions.
The day doesn't end there. Between 8 p.m. and 10:30 p.m., she writes the daily report, compiling updates from the three affected provinces for the WHO's surveillance and data management teams.
The pace is relentless: listening, explaining, negotiating, documenting, coordinating, starting all over again. But when asked what remains after a long day, she doesn't first mention fatigue. "What remains is the feeling of a job well done," says Julienne. "What remains is that I am useful and that I am contributing to saving lives."
During an Ebola outbreak, some vital actions take place in laboratories, ambulances, and treatment centers. Others unfold on a doorstep, where a frightened family decides whether or not to open their door.
For Julienne, that's where the day begins—and it's there, before dawn, that it will begin again.
https://www.afro.who.int/fr/countri...c-julienne-aniko-notre-chargee-de-lengagement