“I didn’t tell my mother where we were going at first,” Lilia said.  “I didn’t want to upset her. I felt like I was watching a film about World War II. So many people and pets crammed the station. Once we boarded, a man with a gun walked through ordering Ukrainian men out of our train; they needed to stay behind to fight.  Our darkened compartment held eight people, including three ‘grannies’ plus three cats.  My Mushia spent much of the ten-hour journey to Lviv looking out the window as we crossed Ukraine.”

Lilia’s evacuation train left Kyiv on February 25, 2022, the day after Russia invaded Ukraine.  She made the 540-kilometer journey to Lviv before boarding a second train to Poland.  She was accompanied by Galina, her 83-year-old mother, and Mushia, her fluffy brown cat.  Lilia hurriedly packed documents, sandwiches, and a few articles of clothing, including one unmatched sock.  She left behind her country, her city, her job, her apartment, her plants, her friends, and family members who decided to remain in the besieged city.

The chaos, stress and sadness of the mass evacuations triggered traumatic memories of World War II for Lilia’s mother.  Galina recounted a story Lilia heard many times since her childhood.  Galina, as a five-year-old, witnessed a German aerial bomb make a direct hit on her family’s home in Semyduby, a village near Odessa  Her father and grandmother, who were inside, were killed instantly.  Galina helped her pregnant mother dig a grave together to bury the remains.  Galina remembers seeing her sobbing mother lay atop her husband’s grave.  Lilia tried to distract her mother, reminding her that they were going to Poland to see her granddaughter, Anastasia, who immigrated to Poland several years ago.

“When I looked at the sad, weary faces, it struck me that there were so many women and children with their dogs and cats,” Lilia said.  “There were also elderly people and foreign students.  Our men stayed behind.  I worry about who will return to Ukraine.  Our men are dying.  Our cities are being bombed.  Will all these Ukrainian women and children return?  Putin is trying to destroy the future of our country.”

“Ten hours into our train ride, a baby began crying and would not stop,” Lilia said.  “The mother was doing everything she could to calm her child. People began covering their ears. The crying continued, adding stress to an already stressful situation of people fleeing war in an over packed train.  An African university student* offered to hold the baby for the distraught mother.  The student cradled the baby, smiled, cooed and the crying ceased.  People applauded.  Smiles emerged on faces.  That student held the child for one-and-a-half hours, as he stood with his luggage.”

Lilia, Galina and Mushia arrived in Lviv amid a rush of refugees.  They boarded a second train to make the ninety-seven-kilometer trip to Przemyśl, Poland.  This supposed shorter journey was lengthened by sixteen unexpected hours of the train idling on the tracks, likely encumbered by the mass of evacuation trains heading west to the Polish border.  

“We were stuck in a field, with no water or toilets,” Lilia said.

This train had wooden seats.  Compartments were packed with ten people each and a menagerie of children, babies and pets.  Travelers were weary from long journeys and worry for loved ones—-husbands, fathers, and sons fighting the invaders.  Many also left behind family members who chose to wait out the war at home, despite bombing, sniper fire and attacks on infrastructure, leaving thousands without electricity or easy access to water.

“We crossed the Polish border at 3 a.m. on February 27th,” Lilia said,  “Volunteers were waiting with food, water and warm drinks at the train station in Przemysl.  All pets had to be vaccinated.  The line was very long.  We waited for three or four hours for Mushia to get her shots.  People asked us, ‘Where are you going?  Krakow?  Warsaw?  Someplace else?  Aleksander, a volunteer, drove us in his private car to my daughter’s home in Krakow.  Mushia was so stressed; she did not eat or pee at all during our journey.”  

Lilia misses her apartment in Ukraine.  She misses attending theater in Kyiv.  She misses her friends and extended family.  Her sister, who chose to remain in Kyiv, stops by Lilia’s apartment to water her plants.

Nine months into her stay in Krakow, Lilia teaches in a program serving Ukrainian elementary students, ages six and seven, relocated due to the war.  Her love of teaching is evident in her fun, spunky interactions with the little ones.  She wrote a recent Halloween-themed play about Caspar the Ghost.  Lilia donned a pointy witch’s hat and cape as she narrated the story designed to teach her charges about this new, unfamiliar holiday.  Lilia stays up late into the night to work on a children’s book of fairy tales she is writing—with her beloved Mushia at her side, purring and nudging her for attention.  

“This experience has taught me that I am brave and very strong,” Lilia said.  “I am learning from this experience.  I’ve met a lot of new people.  It’s interesting to meet a new culture here in Poland.  I have gratitude for these new lessons.  I now know what I need to do.  I need to teach my students about Ukrainian culture and our history and encourage love for their country.”

Time will tell when Putin’s war ends.  Lilia and her students have found a way forward where learning intermingles with laughter despite the difficulty of this time.

About Lilia:  Lilia was born November 13, 1968, in Kyiv when Ukraine was a republic within the (former) U.S.S.R.  Her father, a builder, was a member of the Communist Party.  He chose party membership to spare his family the significant burdens and risks of non-membership in a totalitarian state.  Lilia’s mother secretly arranged for her baptism by a Ukrainian Orthodox priest—in their kitchen sink. Lilia was outwardly raised to be a “good communist”, as a red-scarved Pioneer and Komsomol graduate.  She earned a Master’s Degree in English at Kyiv National Linguistic University.  She has taught for over thirty years, including an appointment at a school for visually impaired students.  She studied belly-dancing and is known to do a superb imitation of Marilyn Monroe in Karaoke.  She currently lives in Krakow with her mother and cat Mushia.

*Lilia heard reports of Black university students being removed from trains.  This was not her experience.  She witnessed Ukrainian women, children, elderly and foreign nationals (including students of color) allowed to leave on evacuation trains. 

I invite you to follow my blog at https://presenttime.blog.

“Russia has invaded.  School is canceled.”

Tonia*, a 41-year-old teacher and single mother, received this message from her school’s director on the morning of February 24, 2022, the day Russia invaded Ukraine.  She was required to call the parents of her students to tell them school was canceled that day.  Who knew—and who knows—how long this war will last?

“I started to cry,” Tonia remembers.  “My colleagues and I were all crying.  We were in shock and felt this immediate sadness. We feared for our children and loved ones.  We realized that a lot of families’ sons would suddenly be mobilized to defend Ukraine from Russia’s unprovoked assault.  I trembled with fear.  It was hard to believe this was actually happening.  I telephoned my friend and learned that her husband was already activated.  As Ukrainians, we became united in that moment, in our fear and in our grief.”

A deep, emotional chasm formed, delineating Tonia’s life before and after the start of war.  Tonia grew up in a Ukrainian Orthodox family in southwestern Ukraine, near Odessa, in a town along the Danube River.  She graduated from university with a degree in elementary education and worked as a teacher.  She is the primary caregiver for her bright, seven-year-old daughter, Liza* with auburn braids and a love of drawing.  Liza’s artwork is the featured image in this story.

“Thanks to God, there were no bombings in our town that first day,” Tonia said.  “There were rocket attacks on military installations several miles aways.  We could hear the explosions and feel the tremors which increased our fear.  We scrambled to find windowless areas to hide in our flats and homes—-interior rooms and corridors felt safer.”

Tonia’s decision to leave Ukraine after the Russian invasion was exacerbated by personal factors.  She is fiercely protective of her daughter Liza, committed to ensuring her well-being.  Tonia ended her marriage after her husband engaged in psychological abuse and child manipulation, common tactics of controlling partners. Tonia and Liza left home on June 27, 2022, four months after the war started.

“I packed documents, a backpack of everyday necessities including an umbrella, toys for Liza and her sketchbook,” Tonia said.  “Liza brought her favorite stuffed animal, a kitten she calls ‘Koshenya’ (Ukrainian for “Kitten”).  She still sleeps with ‘Koshenya.’”

They journeyed over 700 miles, over several days, in a bus overflowing with refugees, to arrive in Krakow.  It was long.  It was tiring. 

“We waited for 12 hours at the Ukrainian-Polish border,” Tonia said.  “I remember seeing all these evergreens through the window, planted in rows, lining the roadway.  I lived for years in southern Ukraine, near the Black Sea, where there aren’t so many fir trees.  This was different…and beautiful.”

Tonia and Liza disembarked at Krakow Glowny, the city’s central bus and railway station on July 2, 2022, after a five-day busride.  They were totally worn out.  They were dazed by the hum of activity as the area swarmed with refugees and volunteers offering assistance.

“I remember standing at the railway with Liza, with our few belongings,” Tonia said.  “I was afraid to move. I didn’t speak the language and Liza needed to go to the bathroom.  I was feeling vulnerable, tired and scared.  I’d barely slept on the bus and was deeply exhausted. I wondered at that moment if it would have been better for us to have not left Ukraine.  I RECOGNIZED I NEEDED TO BE STRONG FOR MY DAUGHTER.  My daughter had no one else at that moment to help her.  I gathered my thoughts.  I realized I could be brave.”

“Volunteers gave Liza and me a real helping hand,” Tonia said.  “They opened their hearts and genuinely cared about us.  They connected me to people who could help us settle in.  We received a level of assistance I never truly felt before.”

Tonia mentioned a surprising and highly valued technology providing key assistance:  a free, online chat service for refugees, staffed by Poles and available via Telegram 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  Tonia established contact with “Martynka” on June 27th—the day she left Ukraine–and “Martynka” began acting as a virtual case manager helping with immediate and longer term needs.  Tonia continues to reach out to “Martynka” as needed AND “Martynka” proactively initiates check-ins as they acclimate and plan next steps.

Once in Poland, “Martynka” connected Tonia and Liza with a lifeline of free support. Tonia was referred to Salam Lab (www.SalamLab.pl), an all-encompassing migrant assistance program in Krakow.  Connecting with this organization allowed Tonia to secure free housing–for one year–plus free access to childcare, healthcare (e.g., physical and psychological), legal counsel, translation services and assistance with navigating the vagaries of a new culture and a new bureaucracy.  

“Monika, the Director of the help center, was amazing,” Tonia said.  “She was really kind and attentive to our needs.  She helped in so many ways and connected us with a special program that offered a full year of support. I was finally able to calm down.  I now realize all the possibilities for Liza and me to recover some sense of normalcy.  I feel safe. I no longer worry that Liza and I might end up homeless, on the street.”

I asked Tonia, if she were able to speak to Vladimir Putin directly, what would she say to him.  Her response reflects the unreality of a sovereign nation being invaded, unprovoked and unjustifiably.

“It is so hard to imagine what I would say in this unimaginable circumstance,” Tonia said.  “I think I would tell him, ‘We never invited you to our home.  We lived peacefully, with happiness and stability before your invasion.  We never invited you to our home.’”

“I think it’s important for Americans to know how much we appreciate their support, in the war effort and in refugee relief (e.g., financial support from the help center),” Tonia said.  “I want Americans to know only the TRUTH about this war.  Ukrainians want and deserve to feel ‘at home’ in their country.  Ukrainians want to feel safe.  Ukrainians want to be with their families, celebrating holidays in their homeland.  Ukrainians don’t want to have to bury their loved ones because of this senseless war.  It is unfair that Russia chose to invade Ukraine, breaking 21st century rules of respecting established borders while unleashing deadly attacks and forcing so many people to suffer.”

“I hope the American people will see that Ukrainianas are strong, kind, generous, hospitable and open-minded people,” Tonia said.  “We do things with big hearts.  This war, after so many agonizing days and months into this tragedy, has united us in our grief, in our suffering and in our little victories. Ukrainian citizens at home are doing what they can to support our young boys who are soldiers—from baking bread to preparing food for them amid shortages, little money and mangled infrastructure. We want to be independent and able to support our people.  This is very important for people to understand:  Ukraine never asked for any ‘help’ from Russia.”

“I am really, really grateful to people who helped my daughter and me feel safe,” Tonia said.  “I genuinely appreciate the non-Ukrainians who have taken time to understand our plight and chose to help us, with open hearts, without expecting anything in return.  It is important for me to be USEFUL, to work and contribute.  It is my way to express gratitude for the help Liza and I are receiving.

SPECIAL THANKS TO Maryna for her wonderful translation assistance!

I invite you to follow my blog at https://presenttime.blog.

*Pseudonym

Veronika crossed the border into Poland, as a refugee, on March 4th, 2022—eight days after the Russian invasion.  Today, she works three jobs as an educational administrator, a cleaner, and holds a grant-funded, part-time role as a playback theater trainer.  She also organizes theater activities and is a member of a refugee writing circle in Krakow.

Veronika, 26, was born in Kharkiv, Ukraine, in northeast Ukraine.  Kharkiv, founded in 1654 as a fortress, expanded its industrial base over the centuries and is now Ukraine’s second largest city.  Vladimir Putin’s assault on Ukraine has deeply impacted this city where intense shelling forced many residents to flee.

Veronika earned a BA in Art History at Kharkiv State Academy of Design and Art.  She is a professional practitioner of Playback Theater.  She was a member of a Playback Theater troupe in Kharkiv.  Playback Theater is a branch of improvisational theater where audience members tell stories from life experiences and watch them re-enacted, in the moment.  Playback theater offers both entertainment and therapeutic value.  

Russia began assembling forces at the Ukrainian border in March 2021.  They enacted a partial withdrawal in June 2021 followed by a menacing surge to an estimated 100,000 soldiers by December 2021.

“When Russians soldiers first started gathering at the border, we thought, maybe, nothing would happen,” Veronika said.  “As the build-up continued, particularly in December and January, we were warned that something was going to happen.  Many Ukrainians with resources began renting homes in western Ukraine or left the country.  I lived with my mother and grandmother in an apartment building.  I wondered if there was something I should do.”

“I spoke with my cousin in Poland on February 23rd via Telegram and he asked if everything was OK,” Veronika said.  “On February 24th, I was awakened by the sounds of artillery fire at 4:00 a.m.  We had close family in Debica, Poland (near Krakow) who moved there five years ago.  They told us, ‘If something happens, you can come to us; you can always return to Ukraine.’  I understood, from this moment, that I had to do something.”

“We decided to leave for Poland and began assembling our personal documents,” Veronika said.  “My grandmother was hesitant to leave; she said, ‘Everything will be OK.’  My mother, like many Ukrainians, had already packed a “To Go” bag containing food, documents, flashlights, medicine, etc.  We had little information on what to do.  I called my father, a truck driver, who was in Dnipro.  He said, ‘Everything will be OK; just wait.’  Still, we decided the safest course was to leave.”

Veronika’s family gathered in their apartment for departure—her mother, her grandmother, her godmother, and her godmother’s husband who owned a car.  They ate their final meal in the apartment—potatoes, meat, and vegetables.  Veronika, weighing the importance of the moment, took a photo of that last supper.  They sensed danger closing in.  They left the apartment, abandoning dishes in the sink. 

“We left in haste, not knowing what we would experience on the roads,” Veronika said.  “We didn’t know if we would encounter mines or tanks.  I was afraid.  I grabbed my cat and my belongings and we left in my godfather’s car.  It was very cold; roads were covered in ice and snow. We drove to a village about 100 km away where my mother’s godparents live.  It was still early in the war.  What we saw en route appeared surprisingly ‘normal’—people were outside, walking, seemingly running errands in the bitter cold.”

Looking back, Veronika remembered a sense of relief that they chose to leave.  She feared that, had they stayed, a rocket might fall on their home.  A lot of her friends, including those from her theater group, chose to stay in those early days of the war.  Some chose to leave a few weeks later.  Meeting online, her friends spoke of the terror unleashed by Russian planes and rockets.  When air road sirens went off, people only had seconds to react.  This is why many chose to live in the Kharkiv Metro or in basements.  People lived in the dark, dank and cold, without bathrooms, emerging to go to their apartments to get food.  Homes were devastated by aerial bombing. Some of  Veronika’s friends lived this way for two to three months. People who left later were often subjected to visual carnage on their journeys west.

Kharkiv Mayor, Ihor Oleksandrovych Terekhov (elected November 11, 2021), arranged evacuations for residents to a sanatorium in a safer region. Buses were organized. A major volunteer effort was launched to help move people, particularly the elderly. Some elderly, due to limited mobility or personal choice, had remained in upper floor apartments.  Stranded, without water, volunteers had been carrying water to them.

“Our journey to Poland was very difficult,” Veronika said.  “My godmother, with whom we traveled by car from Kharkiv, decided she would not escape to Poland; she did not want to leave family behind.  I needed to arrange for my mother, grandmother and myself to leave Ukraine.  Ours was a complicated path.  We waited for hours in a shelter in Poltava, guarded by soldiers,  for an evacuation train to Tarnopol.  There were so many people—elderly and infirmed people, mothers with children and so many pets.  Trains were packed very tightly.  In our case, we were forced to leave personal belongings behind.  Although some refugees managed to escape with suitcases, our particular train was so full that each passenger was only allowed to carry ONE backpack.  It was stressful and scary as we waited and began boarding a train where all seats were taken.  Adults, children and animals were sitting on floors and between doors.  The train traveled slowly; we stood for thirteen hours.  All the while, I feared an attack could happen.”

Arriving in Tarnopol, Veronika and her family were taken in by one of her mother’s colleagues.  She describes them as very kind people who welcomed them at 3:00 a.m. in a city under curfew.  They fed them and allowed them to bathe and rest before they undertook the remainder of their journey.

“Our final trek to the Polish border involved four different cars,” Veronika said, “three driven by volunteers and one very expensive taxi.  We kept in touch via phone with my aunt in Debica so they could meet us at the border.  It was very stressful on the Ukrainian side.  The Ukrainian border guards were under pressure and could be gruff as exhausted people asked, ‘Why must we wait so long?’  That was the worst.  I saw very old people, small children who were crying, and pregnant women with nowhere to sit.  We stood for eight hours in line before entering Poland.  It was very cold but, at least, it wasn’t snowing or raining.”

“We crossed into Poland on foot in the middle of the night on March 4th,” Veronika said.  “I suddenly realized that I understood Polish!  The mood was very different on the Polish side.  There were so many volunteers offering warm drinks, food and clothing.  There were tents set up to access services.  We were too tired to eat.  Oleksander, my uncle, was already there with his car.  He had waited for us for seven hours.  We were smelly, dirty and exhausted as we piled into his car for the three-hour drive to Debica.  He had food in his car for us and used his iPhone to navigate as we drove in darkness.  I remembered it was snowing and thinking it was pretty.”  

Oleksander and his family lived in a small apartment building in Debica.  He would make five trips, overall, to the border to pick up family and friends fleeing the invasion.  Their small apartment became a haven with people arriving at different times of the day and night, with many stopping to rest and bathe before moving further west.

“I watched my aunt and realized she was so very tired,” Veronika said.  “I felt I needed to decide quickly whether to leave or stay in Poland.  We spent two weeks living with our family.  We were nervous about living in a new place and having to learn a new language.  My mother worked as a nurse for a large medical firm and they arranged housing for us for six months in Krakow.   My mother’s workplace in Kharkiv was destroyed; she now works as a housekeeper.  She submitted all of her nursing credentials for review to Warsaw and hopes to resume practicing as a nurse in Poland.  It’s been taking time; we await the outcome.”

When asked about what she brought with her, Veronika paused.  She explained she is not a person who places great value on material things.  She sees herself as being a “practical” person.  She didn’t have a lot of money and was not one drawn to expensive items..  She brought food, warm clothes (e.g., socks), documents, her laptop and a small light in case she got stuck in a poorly lit shelter.  Friends in Ukraine would, later, mail photos, her camera and some handmade jewelry, pieces of immense sentimental—not monetary–-value.

“I have learned many things about myself from this experience,” Veronika said.  “I thought the war would change me, but it did not.  Even with the stress of being a refugee, I continue to do the things I loved doing at home.  When not working, I take photos and enjoy walks.  I visit libraries and museums.  My mother and I share a very small studio apartment; my grandmother lives in Debica.  I wish I could earn enough money to live independently.  My playback theater troupe remains very important to me.  We are doing things online and have performed in Poland and Lithuania since the war started.”

Veronika is grateful to be in Poland.  She feels welcomed and very comfortable.  The language and culture feel familiar.  Krakow reminds her of Kharkiv. She misses certain people in Kharkiv, but not the city specifically.  She does not plan to return to Ukraine.  

“I lived in the same apartment my whole life.,” Veronika said.  “My dream is to see the larger world.  This is my opportunity.  My city is devastated; my home was bombed.  Many of my theater friends left Ukraine and are scattered across different countries.  I don’t have concrete plans, but I have dreamed of doing theater in England, Ireland or Scotland.  Being farther away, geographically, from Ukraine feels safer but it’s not really clear what place is truly safe.  I met with a psychologist as I adapted to life in Poland.  I was crying a lot.  I’ve been away from Ukraine for eight months.   This war has left its mark on me.  Rebuilding Ukraine will take a lot of time.  It’s not just the buildings and infrastructure.  People lost the businesses and schools around which communities were built.  People lost family members.”

Veronika wants readers to understand that Ukrainians are strong, hard-working, creative people.  Many are volunteering—inside and outside of Ukraine—to help soldiers and vulnerable residents unable to leave their country amid Russian occupation.  Most Ukrainians in Poland work two “jobs”, one to earn money to live and the other to support the war effort against Putin’s invasion.

“One of my goals is to further develop playback theater,” Veronika said.  “Playback was a very vibrant art form in Ukraine with multiple troupes and theaters.  Playback helps people connect and feel better together.  So many of us who came to Poland (as refugees) lost our careers, our homes, our communities—which were part of our identities.”

Veronika explained that many of the Ukrainian women want to be able to work in their careers once their housing is stable and their children settle into school.  Language and credentialing requirements present barriers.  

“Everyone lives in a certain moment,” Veronika said.  “A neighbor, a  fellow refugee, from Lviv, arrived a few months after me with her four children.  My story is, perhaps, ‘lighter’ than others.  Most Ukrainian refugees recognize the generosity they’ve received.  I hope to use my skills and talents to  perform humanitarian work that is good for me and also good for my neighbors.”  

I invite you to follow Present Time at https://presenttime.blog