Small Ordinary Heroes

Tetyana Struck, a translator who lives in Lviv, Ukraine, took the time to speak to me after a long day settling female refugees who had come by train from the bombarded city of Kharkiv to stay with Tetyana’s family before making their way to the Polish border. Tetyana’s 53-year-old husband, a military veteran, was preparing to leave for the Army. Tetyana is dreading the moment that her sons, 26 and 24, will have to join too; she won’t leave Ukraine until that moment comes. Her 23-year-old daughter refuses to leave, in spite of Tetyana’s pleas. 

Here is some of what Tetyana said:

We started receiving guests from Kyiv since the second day of the war and today from Kharkiv – mothers of my friends, old women mostly, who managed to escape . . . from hell. It is hell there. These women are in deep shock. They are traumatized. They could hardly manage to get onto the train, because on these trains are pregnant women, women with newborns . . . older women are not a priority, of course. But still they managed. 

They’re crazy from the anxiety. They were not, absolutely not, at their age ready to leave their homes with one suitcase. And I was not ready yet to see what I saw and hear what I heard. For days, they were being bombed. They could not leave their houses, even if they needed medicine because you have to stay in a long line at the drugstore, risking your life.

For 24 years, I have been in the translating business, and we have a girl, an employee of my company, Olga, who left Lugansk in 2014 when the Russians invaded and she was a young girl. We took Olga in to live with us because of course now she is very scared. Eight years have passed, and still I see in her the results of the trauma that she had when she was a girl.

I think for Olga it’s really impossible that she experiences this for a second time. In Lugansk, her mother was offered to take a green corridor out, but it’s too dangerous because they’re killing people when they cross with those corridors. 

Here at my house, Olga is giving us a crash course on what to do. She tells us of horrible things. 

What to do next – these were my thoughts during the whole night. More and more people are leaving Ukraine. And we still are here. I actually had a terrible dispute with my daughter, asking her to leave the city. But she refuses.

My husband volunteered to go to the army. Though he was not supposed to because he has a medical condition. But he is a former military man from the Soviet times. So he has skill and knowledge. He wants to be with the country. Tonight, we are packing his things. 

I hope that it will end soon, that it won’t touch my sons. One is an IT guy, and the other is a designer. So what are the chances that they . . .  I don’t want to think about this. I decided that I’ll stay with my boys until they have to go to army. My daughter also just refused to leave. All night, I am wondering whether we are making a mistake or not. I don’t have a solution. 

When the time comes, I’ll probably go to the Polish border because it’s really not far from us. Probably we’ll have time to run. But I don’t want to leave Ukraine. So many people who left Ukraine are suffering from that feeling of guilt. Friends of my daughter – she’s messaging with them every day – and they all say, “we really feel guilty that we are not with you.” 

Last night, when I was not sleeping, I worried that very soon, all of this bad news, all this coverage, all of this intention to help Ukraine . . . will just disappear. It will be covered with some other news. How could we face that? 

Here in Lviv, we see so many things that people are doing. The restaurants are cooking and giving free food to refugees, and volunteers are taking people from other regions into their homes. People they even don’t know. There are many small ordinary heroes.

I’m really proud to belong to this country. I hope that there won’t be a necessity to leave. It is my home.

But I really want to say a huge thank you for the support we’re already getting – not just money and equipment, but even I personally have dozens of people who check in with me daily, asking whether I am okay. Sometimes, these are people I hardly know – someone I spoke to 20 years ago at a conference. It gives me strength. 

It gives us some hope that we are seen not only as a country, but as individual people with their lives, with their families. I know that many countries are doing a lot for refugees – supporting them.

Lviv is such a beautiful city. It has ancient and unique architecture, a real combination of architecture. And we have great restaurants. And all these old Ukrainian traditions, kept even until now. I just want – when it’s all over, when it’s all good – to invite everyone, to invite you, to enjoy our city – our food and our architecture and our traditions. And to have a glass of wine . . . or a coffee. This is what I want for the future. I want everyone to come.

And I am sure that, eventually, we will win. Because the truth is on our side.