The roads to many of the six mining sites (Burera, Rubavu, Rwamagana, Rulindo, Rutsiro and Muhanga districts) were long, many times winding through hills that seemed to hold secrets beneath their soil. As I approached, the hum of activity grew louder—metal striking rock, voices calling out, the rhythm of work that sustains thousands of families.
But beneath that rhythm, I was there for a different reason.
I alongside the Rwanda Extractive Industry Worker's Union (REWU) came to talk about Marburg Virus Disease (MVD).
What people knew—and what they didn’t
As I walked from one group of miners to another, I started with a simple question: “Have you heard about Marburg?” Almost everyone nodded in affirmation.
Some had heard about it on the radio. Others told me, quite confidently, that it came from bats “especially in mines like these,” one miner added, pointing toward a dark tunnel behind him.
That moment gave me hope.
But, as I continued to probe, I realized they still needed to learn a lot.
Some believed MVD was airborne, something you could catch just by being near someone. Others thought it only affected foreigners or people who traveled across borders. A few quietly shared that in their communities, people believed it was a curse—or related to spirits.
And then, there was silence when I asked about survivors.
“Can someone who had contacted Marburg, come back and live normally in the community?” I asked.
A few hesitant glances. A shake of the head. It was clear: awareness existed, but understanding was not uniform.
Why the mines matter
Standing at the edge of the site, watching workers disappear into narrow shafts, I couldn’t ignore reality.
These are some of the highest-risk environments for diseases like MVD.
The MVD virus is linked to fruit bats that live in caves and mines. And here, every day, miners work in close proximity to those environments, at times with inadequate protective equipment, and without complete information about prevention and protection.
Rwanda experienced its first MVD outbreak in September 2024, with 15 lives lost and communities shaken. Even though the outbreak was contained, the risk had not disappeared.
And here, in the mines, that risk felt very real.
Conversations that stayed with me
One miner told me, “We thought you only need protection if someone looks sick.”
Another added, “If someone had it, people would avoid them forever.”
These weren’t just misconceptions; they were barriers.
Barriers to early reporting.
Barriers to seek medical help.
Barriers to compassion.
But what struck me most was not misinformation; it was the willingness to learn.
People were keen to learn more during discussions. They asked questions. They debated among themselves. They wanted clarity.
A moment of change
Later that day, we gathered a group under a simple shelter. Posters about the protection and prevention measures were pinned up. Demonstrations began—how the virus spreads, how to protect yourself, what symptoms to watch for, etc.
We talked about something simple but powerful: early action saves lives.
We explained that MVD is not airborne; survivors could safely reintegrate into their communities, and that protection matters even before symptoms appear.
I watched as understanding began to shift—slowly, but visibly.
By the end of the session, one miner stood up and said, “Now I can explain this to others.”
That moment stayed with me.
Reaching more than just one site
What I saw that day was part of something much bigger.
Across Rwanda, awareness efforts have directly reached over 12,000 miners, caregivers, and community members. Radio programmes, posters, and training have extended the message far beyond individual sites into homes, marketplaces, and conversations like the ones I had.
These efforts have been made possible through strong partnerships, including the support of the Mastercard Foundation, whose contribution has helped expand the reach of life-saving information to communities that need it most.
Why this work matters
It would be easy to measure success by numbers alone—how many people were trained; how many materials were distributed.
But for me, the impact felt more personal.
It was in shift from fear to understanding, an awakening.
From myths to facts.
From silence to a conversation.
Without these efforts, many of the miners that I met previously relied on incomplete or incorrect information. Delays in seeking care could cost lives. Stigma could isolate families.
Instead, there is now a growing sense of awareness and responsibility.
Leaving the mine
As I left the site, the sun began to dip behind the hills. The same sounds echoed, tools, voices, movement, but something deep inside me felt different.
I kept thinking about the miner who said he would teach others.
That’s how change begins.
Not just through information, but through people who carry it forward.
And in places like these, deep in the mines, where risks are high and access is limited, that kind of change matters more than ever.
