Crying out for peace

Our correspondent in our Companion Diocese of Bukavu, in the Democratic Republic of Congo, considers the trauma of war and the implications of the UNAIDS 2025 report

Here in Bukavu, the capital of South Kivu, people wake up each morning feeling a combination of anxiety and fragile hope. The war has displaced entire communities, disrupted livelihoods, and pushed thousands into despair. Days seem normal, but nights bring fear and no one knows what tomorrow will bring.

In several health zones, people face a multidimensional crisis: lack of formal banking, fragile security, poor healthcare services, shortage of medicines, and the interruption of development programmes that were sustaining rural communities. This combination of challenges creates a high risk that pandemics, such as HIV/AIDS, could emerge or worsen, endangering many lives.

And yet, this crisis is not only Congolese. Global funding cuts are hitting at the worst possible time. UNAIDS new report warns of a historic financial crisis in the global HIV response putting millions of lives at risk if the world steps back.

In Mozambique hospitals, 30,000 health workers have been laid off. In Nigeria, access to pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP) has collapsed from 40,000 to only 6,000 per month. If the US-supported HIV programmes were to be totally withdrawn, UNAIDS estimates six million new infections and four million additional deaths between now and 2029.

But in southern Africa, we see something else happening: mobilisation, reinvestment, resilience. Seven countries have reached UNAIDS targets; new long-acting injectable PrEP exists. Transformation is still possible with commitment on all sides.

And here in Bukavu, in August alone, 1,000 homes burned in one night, leaving more than 9,000 people homeless. Days later, over 31,000 were hit by floods in rural South Kivu. Cholera, Mpox and Measles are spreading under the gunsmoke; hunger is increasing; the cost of survival is rising faster than income. The streets feel tense and unpredictable.

And yet…schools have re-opened; churches fill every Sunday; youth groups still meet; women gather to pray, share and hold each other. Faith may not stop bullets, but it keeps hearts from breaking. And as I write these lines, I see how ordinary people refuse to surrender to despair – they do small acts of defiance every day. Hope here is not naïve. It is stronger than fear and it is resistance. It is the belief that dignity cannot be erased by war or by the world’s indifference.

And this Christmas, as the world celebrates peace, Bukavu cries out a simple message: do not look away.

We need the world to hear and act. Now. Because peace here, although somewhat elusive, is possible.