Photographer: Yehor Lemzyakoff.
‘Thank you Mr Putin for such change in my life, from professional journalist to a refugee from the biggest country in Europe.’ That was the sardonic message I posted on Twitter alongside a picture of me and my four-year-old daughter as we fled on foot from Ukraine, three days after Russia invaded my home. I never expected it to go viral, but I was quickly flooded with messages of love and support.
Now I’m in Poland, near Poznan, staying in a three-bedroom flat with other refugee families. My job involves ‘fixing’ for other journalists – most recently, I was working with the BBC facilitating a team around Ukraine and helping provide translations – and because of that I have contacts all over Europe. One told me about a family she knew staying in this flat that could also house us – luckily, my husband had come to Poland before me on business and decided to stay after the war broke out – and so began my long trek to get here.
The journey to the border is dangerous. When I was travelling (I got a lift part of the way, then after the border I had to walk), there was only one part of Ukraine it was safe to leave from and it was incredibly busy. If you travel by train, there are no tickets – you just pray that you will get on a train. I saw soldiers helping people, but not enough. Then there’s the queuing… If you have to walk, it’s 36 kilometres. By car, it takes three days. I watched so many women with small children who were freezing inside their cars as they sat and waited for the queue to move.
Once at the border, Ukrainian men can’t leave with their families – the law states any man aged between 18 and 60 must stay in the country – so I saw some escort their wives and children to the border just to say goodbye and turn around. Some even waited hours after their family crossed to make sure they had actually got to safety – because the border is only the first hurdle, then you have to figure out where to go next.
Most of the families I saw fleeing via car had to leave their vehicle with their husband who might need it more. But that meant scores of women were then travelling on foot, children in tow. From what I saw, most of them had not eaten for days. The memory of my journey still haunts me. I remember my daughter’s silence most, how she did not say a word – never asked me for food, water or anything – because while she’s too young to fully understand what’s happening, she knew her mother had to focus.
Emotionally, I felt so conflicted about leaving. I still do. I know my family – who are still in Ukraine – need me. I know my country needs me. But ultimately, I have a responsibility to keep my child safe. Now, we are living day to day. I get through by focusing on the challenge at hand: where my child will eat and sleep next. She’s still unsure of what is happening, as am I, but I have explained to her that we are refugees.