Dear Africa: Stop Eating Infected Fruit Bats
A Modest Proposal From Your Mates in Europe (Who’ve Already Made This Mistake)
Right, we’re going to say it plainly, as friends do: perhaps—and hear us out—perhaps don’t consume the wildlife that’s actively haemorrhaging from multiple orifices. Controversial, we know. But the Democratic Republic of Congo’s 16th Ebola outbreak suggests the time has come for frank conversation about dietary choices and viral transmission.
As of December 2025, when authorities declared the crisis concluded, 64 total cases and 45 deaths had been recorded across Bulape Health Zone in Kasai Province. The index case was a pregnant woman admitted to hospital with high fever, bloody diarrhoea, haemorrhaging, and vomiting—precisely the sort of symptoms that ought to suggest, even to the most optimistic dinner guest, that perhaps the fruit bat in question wasn’t fit for consumption.
Jack Dee, observing human stupidity with surgical indifference, might note that we’ve somehow designed a civilisation capable of genome sequencing but incapable of the basic inference: “If it’s dying of a virus, don’t eat it.” It’s the sort of common sense that apparently requires international coordination to disseminate.
How Congo’s Wildlife Became a Biohazard Appetiser
The story, as these things go, is simultaneously straightforward and utterly baffling. Fruit bats—nature’s perfectly adequate flying rodents—harbour Ebola virus in their reservoirs without falling ill. Humans, being clever apes with opposable thumbs and portable cooking equipment, decided that handling, butchering, and consuming said bats was a sound plan. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
Genomic sequencing confirmed this particular outbreak was caused by Ebola Zaire virus, representing a fresh zoonotic spillover event. Translation: some bloke’s contact with infected wildlife triggered the whole affair. And then, as viruses do when humans create pathways for transmission, it spread through healthcare settings—where healthcare workers, bless them, caught it whilst trying to help—and funeral gatherings, those intimate moments when communities gather to mourn.
Frankie Boyle, Scotland’s finest export of caustic pessimism, would observe that the entire situation boils down to something rather basic: don’t handle sick animals, and certainly don’t eat them. Yet here we are, explaining this to the World Health Organisation at considerable expense.
Five healthcare workers contracted the disease. Three died. Not because medicine failed, but because the conditions forcing healthcare work in remote regions without proper infrastructure are themselves a systemic failure—one that no amount of bureaucratic coordination from Geneva can fix.
The International Response: Impressive Paperwork, Modest Results
To be fair to the assembled global health machinery, the response wasn’t entirely useless. 47,500 people received vaccination during the outbreak. Health authorities established a 32-bed treatment facility. The CDC deployed experts within 24 hours. WHO provided technical support. Contact tracing happened. Training occurred.
And yet—and this is the bit that doesn’t make the press releases—the fundamental conditions enabling the outbreak remained utterly unchanged. Remote populations with limited economic opportunities continue relying on wildlife hunting. Healthcare infrastructure in provincial zones remains threadbare. The incentives that led to the first spillover event remain perfectly intact for the second.
Jimmy Carr, that gleaming avatar of dark observation, would probably note the profound irony: we’ve mobilised thousands of bureaucrats, established international protocols, and deployed millions in funding to contain a crisis that could’ve been prevented by basic economic development and the phrase, “Don’t eat that.”
By May 2026—five months after declaring victory—a new cluster emerged. This time, Ebola Bundibugyo virus appeared in Ituri Province’s healthcare settings. No vaccine available. Treatment consists of supportive care and hoping the immune system wins. The WHO declared it a public health emergency of international concern for the second time in half a year.
Fifty-Three Confirmed Cases, Forty-Five Deaths, One Obvious Pattern
The epidemiology tells the tale efficiently. 53 confirmed cases, 11 probable, 45 deaths across six health areas. A case-fatality rate of 70.3%—not quite apocalyptic, but certainly sufficient to suggest that eating the local wildlife wasn’t a neutral dietary choice.
The outbreak concentrated in Dikolo and Bulape health areas, with nosocomial transmission (that’s healthcare-setting spread for those not fluent in epidemiological jargon) and high-transmission funeral gatherings driving the numbers upward. Young children suffered disproportionately. Female healthcare workers and community members handling the deceased bore heavier burdens than the general population.
The progression follows a script as old as zoonotic outbreaks themselves: contact with infected wildlife, initial hospitalisation, spread through intimate contact with bodily fluids (funerals being particularly efficient at this), healthcare workers catching it whilst providing care, and then—eventually—the virus running out of accessible hosts and fading away.
Lee Mack, that master of observational bewilderment, would probably just ask: “So nobody thought, maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason the bat is dying?” And the answer—that economic desperation, not stupidity, drives these choices—would rather undermine the entire premise of mocking people for consuming available protein.
The Prevention Conversation Nobody Wants to Have
Here’s the uncomfortable bit that international organisations dance around: preventing Ebola spillover isn’t primarily a medical problem. It’s an economic problem.
Remote populations hunt and consume wildlife not because they’re ignorant but because alternatives are scarce, expensive, or nonexistent. They lack access to refrigerated protein. Formal food markets haven’t reached their regions. Government regulation hasn’t improved—it’s merely created borders that prevent trade. Market development has been stunted by instability, poor infrastructure, and extractive governance.
The libertarian case, which British satire needn’t shy from, is reasonably straightforward: remove the regulatory barriers to rural food markets. Enable trade in preserved protein. Build infrastructure that allows communities economic choices beyond subsistence hunting. Let communities develop—not through foreign aid and bureaucratic oversight, but through the simple mechanisms of commerce and voluntary exchange.
But suggesting that to a UN committee would require admitting that the solution isn’t more regulation, better disease surveillance, or expanded international health bureaucracy. It’s the opposite: fewer barriers to economic development, which naturally reduces the conditions enabling zoonotic spillover in the first place.
Ricky Gervais, that reliably blunt observer of institutional incompetence, would probably frame it thus: “You’ve created a system where people’s only protein source is literally dying animals. Then you’re shocked—shocked, I tell you—when they get sick. Fix the system or stop lecturing them.”
The Second Outbreak: Because Conditions Haven’t Changed
The poetic justice of the situation isn’t lost on anyone paying attention. December 2025: crisis declared over. May 2026: new crisis declared. Different strain, same underlying conditions.
Ebola Bundibugyo virus emerged in northeastern Ituri Province, with 80 suspected deaths reported before official confirmation. Healthcare workers in Bunia fell ill. Contact tracing revealed cases crossing into Uganda. The World Health Organisation mobilised again. Media attention spiked. International experts deployed.
And nothing—absolutely nothing—changed about the conditions enabling it. Wildlife remains the most accessible protein source. Healthcare facilities in remote regions remain dangerously under-resourced. Economic alternatives haven’t materialised. The incentives remain what they were before the first outbreak.
Sarah Millican, that champion of understatement, would probably observe: “If you keep doing the same thing and expecting different results, that’s not a health crisis. That’s just poor planning.”
What We’re Actually Suggesting Here
When international organisations urge communities to cease consuming wildlife, they’re essentially saying: “Stop your only reliable protein source until we establish alternatives.” They’ve provided no alternative. They’ve funded no infrastructure. They’ve trained healthcare workers who remain understaffed. But the message remains: stop, or die.
A better proposal—one no government wants to contemplate—is straightforward: enable economic development. Remove barriers to rural trade. Allow food businesses to develop. Create the conditions where people have choices beyond hunting wildlife. Support market-driven protein production rather than centrally planned food security schemes.
It requires no task force. It demands no international coordination. It merely demands that governments and international bodies get out of the way and let people improve their own conditions through commerce.
But that’s not sexy. That doesn’t generate press releases. That doesn’t justify bureaucratic budgets. So instead, we’ll get another round of vaccinations, more healthcare worker training, expanded surveillance, and—almost certainly—another outbreak in eighteen months when conditions remain exactly as they were.
Milton Jones, that purveyor of clean observational humour, might note the absurdity: “We’ve spent billions on disease surveillance. We could’ve spent millions on development. But that would require admitting that markets work better than committees, and we can’t have that.”
The Democratic Republic of Congo’s 16th Ebola outbreak began in September 2025 when healthcare settings in Bulape Health Zone reported severe cases. A pregnant woman admitted on August 20 with high fever, haemorrhaging, and bloody diarrhoea became the index case. The virus, confirmed as Ebola Zaire, represented a new zoonotic spillover—meaning contact with infected wildlife, almost certainly fruit bats serving as the natural reservoir. The outbreak spread through healthcare settings and funeral gatherings, ultimately infecting 53 confirmed and 11 probable cases, with 45 deaths by the time authorities declared the crisis concluded on December 1, 2025. International response included vaccination of 47,500 people, establishment of treatment facilities, and technical support from the CDC and WHO. However, by May 2026, a second outbreak emerged in Ituri Province caused by Ebola Bundibugyo virus, with no available vaccine and a case fatality rate of 25-50%, suggesting that the underlying economic and healthcare infrastructure conditions enabling spillover remained fundamentally unchanged.
Auf Wiedersehen, amigo!
Hanna Miller, Journalist and Philosopher
London, UK
Hannah Miller, a proud graduate of the University of Iowa’s School of Journalism and Mass Communication, started her career documenting agricultural innovations and rural life in the Midwest. Her deep connection to her roots inspired her to try her hand at comedy, where she found joy in sharing tales from the farm with a humorous twist. Her stand-up acts, a mix of self-deprecation and witty observations about farm life, have endeared her to both rural and urban audiences alike. She is a four-year resident to London and the UK.
