We hit the road bright and early to attend a church service in Dolo Town. The community was quarantined during the crisis in 2014. Thirty-six members of the congregation died of Ebola.
When we arrive, the large and majestic looking church is empty. Sunlight floods in through open windows adorned with decorative iron. Row after row of bamboo pews line the dirt floor.
We wonder whether anyone will come. “Oh they will come,” we are told, and they do.
They trickle in, all dressed in white, all smiling and waving hello to us. No one questions what we are doing or why we are there. They only welcome us.
Much like any church service, they pray, sing and play instruments. They recite a prayer in a local dialect, but I can tell it’s the Lord’s Prayer.
The church could fit hundreds but there are only 50 or 60 people here today. I’m told people are still afraid to attend after so many died. The stigma still very much exists.
The preacher tells me she lost 42 members of her family to Ebola. Forty-two people, all in one family, dead. I ask her how the church helps her. “I have no one left, but God,” she responds.
Midway through, they stop and welcome newcomers, asking each of us to stand and introduce ourselves. When cameraman, George Reeves, and I say that we are journalists from Canada and we feel blessed to be with them, sharing their story, they clap.
When we leave the church is still rocking to the beat of the African drum. The people seem hopeful, but the sheer sadness in the building is profound.
