“In the chaos of war and displacement, where every spark of life risks being extinguished, I have learned that even in the darkest moments, a fragile yet unbreakable light can still shine. That light is midwifery — the work I have dedicated my life to, staying by women’s sides, offering what is most precious: life and dignity. “ Loti Kubuya Mielor.
In the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), decades of conflict, displacement, and instability have left millions vulnerable — especially women and children. Health systems are fragile. Access to care is often interrupted by violence, and communities rely on frontline health workers who risk their lives to help new life emerge, even in the hardest conditions. Being a midwife in DRC means embodying resilience, courage, and becoming indispensable in times of crisis.
From the beginning, Loti Kubuya Mielor felt called to midwifery. After completing his studies and a training internship, he worked at Kirotshe Hospital in Masisi territory, North Kivu, DRC. But he quickly realized the women who needed care most were displaced, isolated, living in camps with almost no health services. He decided to go to them.
“I cried. But I could not stop. Another woman was in labour, waiting for me. Every day I worried it would be my last, but I stayed because they had no one else.”
Loti Kubuya Mielor
“The conditions were extremely difficult,” Loti says. “In Rusayo, Shabindu, Kashaka, and Lushagala, we had no proper materials, no equipment. We relied only on our training, our hands, and our faith.” In April 2024, a bomb exploded in the camp where he was working, killing many, including a pregnant woman he had been supporting, and another who had given birth just weeks earlier. “I cried. But I could not stop. Another woman was in labour, waiting for me.”
Beyond the blasts of war, everyday violence persisted. Young girls gathering firewood were and are often victims of sexual assault. “We did what we could,” Loti recalls. “There were no psychologists, no specialized services. It was just us midwives and nurses, trying to heal what we could not fully repair.” They offering medical care and psychological comfort even when specialized services were nowhere to be found. As conflict intensified and humanitarian organizations withdrew, many health workers had to leave.
But Loti stayed.
For fourteen days, he worked alone — without rest, without supplies, praying each night for protection.
“Every day I worried it would be my last,” he says. “But I stayed because they had no one else.”
When authorities ordered the camps dismantled, Loti returned one last time to deliver babies for women too weak to leave. “It wasn’t safe,” he says, “but abandoning them was unthinkable.” Today, Loti works across 15 health centers and 5 hospitals in Goma, supported by UNFPA and Global Affairs Canada. Supplies are scarce, violence is constant, but midwives press on. “We continue,” he says. “Even when the world is collapsing, our presence can mean the difference between life and death.”
“No matter how fierce the storm, one truth remains,” Loti says. “Midwives are a lifeline. A beacon in the darkness. When everything else falls — the government, security, infrastructure — we stay. We show up. We protect life.” Where others flee, midwives stay — offering something even more powerful than medicine: hope.
