Stories that you confided to us
In Mariupol actress Mariya Boyko had the occupation she really loved and she could not imagine her life without the theatre. The war deprived her of everything. Their housing was destroyed and some people she knew died, her math teacher among them.
For some time, the girl and her family hid from shelling in one of the city’s hospitals, until she realized that she had to leave not to go mad.
I was an actress at Teatromania folk theatre and gave lessons there. We did various projects together with colleagues. We had a big team and even travelled to various cities across Europe. When I woke up on 24 February, my mother woke me up with the words that she could not keep us in safety and that the war began again.
It was a whole day of absolute chaos, because people were constantly on the run in order to get something. Some of them ran for water, others ran to ATMs, but everyone was super agitated. I remember I stood in a queue to the ATM. The queue was huge, as one person could only get UAH 3,000 at a time. So many people stood there and continued to withdraw cash several times. As a result, the queue did not move. Then we heard the first explosions from the left bank. That is, I lived on the right bank, and this was heard from the left bank. I just looked at people then. Some of them began to squat down, some just stood and waited for their turn to the ATM, but I think that no one fully believed that all this could snowball that much.
It was scary later, when we left the area. We stayed there until 19 March, trying to adapt to the situation. It sounds strange, but we didn’t even have time to think, just think it over.
On the first days, I somehow tried to do some volunteering activities, to help in our theatre. This was the Palace of Culture (community centre), and there were large basements in the building. That is, huge ground level corridors. We even staged some plays there. I came there with my family to help people adapt, because IDPs from the left bank, from Skhidnyi micro-district, had already begun to come there, and we tried to somehow organize things...
The next day I went to look for some pet food because many people came with their dogs, and there was absolutely nothing for them to eat. Many people were coming from Skhidnyi micro-district when bombing started. The first strikes came there. And there was one family...
Well, one woman came and she had 11 children with her. It turned out that an orphanage was hit by shellfire and they simply had nowhere to stay.
They stayed in some building for one day, but then they were kicked out of there... It was just an abandoned building. So they found us. They found out that people were accepted here and came to us. They were without anything. They were all the time in the clothes they came in. When I brought them a kettle, there was still electricity in that place. I brought them a kettle and said, “Here, take it.” I think they were so happy... It was possible to get some “social” water then. We went to collect water for them, so that people would have something to drink.
I had not eaten meat for four years, and this was my position. I did not want to. And I got used to the fact that I can’t eat it, even if it is just one piece... And when the power supply was cut off, the fridges didn’t work, and everything that people had in their freezers was going to get spoiled. So it had to be cooked. And then I tried meat for the first time. I remember I was sitting and crying. And it’s like it is a decision you have to make yourself. I want to eat one thing, but I can’t, as I simply have no choice. If you want it to be of use, for you to be able to remain functional.
We were in some kind of stupor all the time. Constantly in queues for humanitarian water, for some aid. When you are standing in a queue, it starts at 6 o’clock in the morning, and it can be so that you get this aid only at 16:00 o’clock. I had many acquaintances who were in the theatre building at that moment. It is noteworthy that this was a huge structure and it was made for all purposes. There was a scene shop, there were some sewing departments, there were many dressing rooms and a lot of people.
When people realized that they [the enemy] really want to wipe us off the face of the earth, all the people went there. Well, mostly those who were nearby, they went to the Drama Theatre. We did not go there just because it was quite a long walking distance to it, although we thought about going there. Well, how can people shoot at a drama theatre? And it was not the case where it was hit just accidentally. It is located right in the square. Here is the square, next to the park, and the road goes around it. And my friend from the theatre, she came there at that moment, literally an hour before the bomb was dropped. She said that it was literally impossible to get there, inside the building, as everything was already occupied. Her mother and she came there and they could not find any free space inside. Basically, this saved them, because they stayed there only for an hour. An explosion happened and they ran off.
Our house was hit by an airstrike too. Two sections with apartments were destroyed and, roughly speaking, the neighbours who lived with us, their apartment collapsed and was covered with the rubble. We pulled them out through the balcony. We broke through to get them out.
And I thought, “Well, and what if it was a different trajectory? Literally by half a meter. It would have been our apartment, my parents and I...” And when we counted, we learned that about 10 people from our house were killed.
At some point, the Russian military evacuated us from the house, and we lived with them for several days. That is, most of those people who were with us were soldiers from the so-called DPR (Donetsk People’s Republic). At that time, they mourned very much, as, if I remember correctly, a Tochka “U” rocket hit the library in Donetsk. So they mourned for the victims very much. They said there were 25 victims, while around them were people who had nothing...
In the hospital, where we were taken (the municipal hospital), there was a Chechen soldier. His call sign was Ossetian, and I was probably afraid of him more than of anyone or anything else. Even more than of the fact that something could fly in and hit us. We were accommodated in the hallway, and there was a big dog there. It was very frightened. It lost weight and it was stressed. It was like a Staffordshire Terrier. That is, a fairly big dog. And when someone from the military passed by, it gave mouth. But it did not bark, but rather whined. And then the Ossetian heard this and took the woman with the dog out. When she came back, the dog’s muzzle was just bandaged with tape so that it could not do it again.
He did some wild things. It was simply not normal for him that people were walking in the hallway. He said that he didn’t like it that they were walking there, and simply opened fire on the ceiling from a machine gun. People obeyed and ran away.
I am thankful to God that all my family members are alive, because there were people nearby who simply lost everyone. Someone was walking and, just out of the blue, stepped on a mine – the end of the game. Those people are gone, and we just remember them.
My math teacher was very demanding with me because I didn’t want to study. She had a private house and she had many dogs. She was a dog breeder. She loved dogs. And when it all started, another teacher came to her, and they stayed together as two families, with husbands and with children. There were 11 of them. One day, she and her husband came out of the basement to make tea and cook some food, and at that moment, a shell flew into their house and just smashed them. And the people who were in the basement, they remained alive. I saw them in the hospital. They looked like ghosts. One day, I think it was on 18 March, I was left alone with the dog to keep an eye on our places, and my parents went to see what was with the house, and if anything could be done there.
I was sitting and waiting for them and did not know if they would come back at all.
And I remember that it was the peak of despair. I thought that if someone comes up to me, it doesn’t matter if it’s a military man, a commander with a weapon, I will tell him everything that I think about him, and then, what will be, will be.
If there is a choice between dying for nothing and dying for at least something, I would go for the second option. And when they [my parents] came back, I said, “I can’t be here, I’ll just go crazy.” But I could not go home either, because there was just a hole instead of a balcony, there were just openings instead of windows there, and there was nothing more. It’s clear that my parents are grown up people and it was difficult for them to make a decision to move somewhere. Besides, we were in some kind of vacuum. We didn’t know if there were any evacuation buses, if there was anything and how the “green corridor” works, and whether we could be shot at on the way or not. I don’t know how I managed to convince them. We decided to do it.
And so, on the last day, 18 March, we saw our apartment for the last time. We packed up everything that we could carry ourselves. We collected everything. I travelled in three pairs of socks, warm tights, jeans, five sweaters, a coat and a down jacket – it was cold.
And I think that this [cold weather] saved Mariupol, because otherwise everything would have started to rot and spoil earlier, but the cold saved us.
So, we went on foot like that. We reached Staryi Krym – 20 kilometres in the direction of Berdyansk. Dad went to the road to hitch a lift. We were picked up by a man on a truck. There were 16 people, dogs, cats, old women, children and little babies in the back of the truck. He took us to Berdyansk. We realized and heard that it could still be quiet around us, and saw the houses that were intact. It was the happiest moment in my life.
One woman, an old lady, sheltered us and allowed us to have a bath three weeks later. Well, then we were able to leave. We boarded a crowded bus. Twelve hours. At night, we reached Zaporizhzhia. And I think that the whole bus was praying so that we would get to Zaporizhzhia, and we would not be left somewhere to spend the night in Vasylivka or just outside in the field.
I am involved in volunteering in Dnipro now. There is a centre for contemporary art, and I gave a masterclass in acting there for IDP’s children. It was very difficult. You want to do it, you want to go back there, do something with children, but you don’t have the strength you used to have. However, I think that I can get some part-time job, but I will not give up my theatre acting, because it is impossible.
We have gone through all this not to forget it. I know many people who left Mariupol and do not read the news intentionally. They abstract themselves from their acquaintances, they want calmness, silence and not to think about it. Just not to stir up the past. But I do the opposite.
I understand, “Who, if not me?” Through art, I can convey to people my position, my emotions and feelings that we had. So I continue to do this.
After the war, I want to reconnect with the theatre, and it can be at any place. It will no longer be the way it was. The plays will be different, the roles will be different, and the stage will be different. We will not have our costumes and we will start everything from scratch. But I have a hope that we will be able to re-unite, re-integrate somehow. For now, I only dream about it.
When quoting a story, a reference to the source – the Museum of Civilian Voices of the Rinat Akhmetov Foundation – is mandatory, as follows:
The Museum of Civilian Voices of the Rinat Akhmetov Foundation https://civilvoicesmuseum.org/
Other stories
