War Diary “Four Months of Life”

24.02.2022. My sister called at about seven o'clock. It’s war. We heard nothing, thought nothing. I did not believe that it would be like this, that it was so serious.

It's clear that putin is crazy, but no one thought he would dare to do such a thing. His intelligence service is impressive. If he was told that in two days he was going to parade to Kyiv, then things were really bad in russia.

So. No one thought about it. However, my cousins from the Left Bank (the Left Bank in Mariupol was the first to come under fire) came to visit us.

I went to work. I work as a shoemaker. No one brought shoes, but they took them away. Two days passed like that.

26.02. It started at our place, too. We lived opposite bus station 2 at 127 Mira Avenue, a white nine-story building with a fourteen-story building next door. My wife called me at work and told me to close and go home. There was no work anyway, and I had to be at home just in case. My workshop was called “Chobitok”, one bus stop and a half from home. Fifteen minutes later, I was home. My car was not filled with gas (I'm the idiot!) The next day, no gas station was open.

***

From about the first to the sixth of March, everything was turned off: electricity, water, gas. On February 28, it was my child’s godfather's birthday, so I remember that it had happened all. I also remember this week for going down to the bomb shelter. It was a Soviet bomb shelter. It was for the whole house. In case of an atomic war, perhaps. Massive thick iron doors. Entrance from both sides, washbasins, restrooms, many rooms, but everything is very neglected. When we went down for the first time, three other people were beside us.

We tried to sleep on wooden boxes. We got tired and went to the apartment. During the shelling, we hid in the bathroom, then in the corridor.

Коли ще було світло, дізналися з інтернету, що потрібна кров на станції переливання крові. Це було від нас недалеко. І вже під звуки канонади побігли з кумом здавати кров. На станції нам сказали, що кров уже зібрали. Люди, хто поряд живе, за пів години заповнили все, що можна там заповнити. І тоді я вперше почув «Гради». Дуже близько. Скоріш за все били наші. Тому що були тільки виходи.

On the way back, we ran into a shop (it was still open). The most interesting thing was that some people were buying champagne when we were buying cereals and pasta.

Also, that week (I won't tell you the exact date) we went to the “Shchyryi Kum” supermarket at the intersection of Myra Avenue and Budivelnykiv Avenue. The queue was a hundred and fifty meters long. No pressure, everything was civilized. At the same time, I called my sister because we had no connection at the bus station.

There was no more water, but there was wet snow that melted immediately. We started collecting water from the gutters. We used this water to cook (when there was still gas), drink, and use it in the restroom.

Later, it was bombed Epicenter store. We saw it burning from the loggia. The most interesting thing was when the fire reached the pyrotechnic department. The fireworks were visible from far away. The next day, it hit the neighbouring fourteen-story building on the 13th or 14th floor. From that day on, we went down to the bomb shelter for good and settled in our unfortunate room.

Oh, and I forgot. When we were still in the apartment, we went to rob the Silpo store, which was located opposite the Epicenter. It seems that when the Epicenter burned down, the military opened the Silpo themselves because they could have flown there, too. And since no one cancelled the food crisis, everyone rushed to Silpo.

My child’s godfather and I hesitated. But when we went out to fetch water from the gutter one more time, we saw a Silpo cart in our driveway, and our doubts disappeared. What surprised you about Silpo? People were taking everything but food. They smashed shop windows, raked in gold and silver, dragged away appliances, office chairs, smashed cash registers, etc. We managed to get sugar, bread, toilet paper, some sweets, and chips.

When we approached our house with a full cart, I saw a bottle of cognac, which someone had lost. I didn't take the cognac. Not that I don't like it, but in that situation, I had to keep my head sober.

***

Life in a bomb shelter. The view from above:

We slept on two racks (popularly called “support”) that I took. One was 1.5 by 1.5 meters, the other 2 meters by 80 cm.

Our four children slept on them. My wife and I slept on chairs. We ate dry food: cheeses, sausages, some candy. A lot of people came by and treated us to food and all kinds of goodies (expropriated, most likely). But no one refused, and that was not the case.

In general, the looting continued. There was a market on the bus station 2 nearby. Immediately in the bomb shelter, we started wearing new clothes and shoes. On March 8, guys went around and gave perfume to all the women.

What did my wife and I do? My children’s godfathers were at the other end of the shelter, so I “robbed” with Svitlana. At first, we “knocked over” “Shchyryi Kum”, which was located in front of the market, opposite our house. I must say that we ran everywhere at the end of the show. But we did get some sausages, cheeses, baked yoghurt that hadn't yet turned sour, and mayonnaise.

All the trips to the market were made through Myra Avenue, with quick runs because of the arrival of mines, Grads, and who knows what else was heard very well.

The next target was the “Family Bakery”. We took some flour preparations and tartlets. Why did you use them? Because there was no more bread.

Everyone thought the war was about to end. Minsk-3, 4, 5, and so on would be invented. There would be little work at first, but we had to have something when the war ended.

We took two more boxes of margarine, 25 kg each, and one box of jam from the bakery. I understand there was a water tank on the roof of this building. We found plastic buckets, 10 of them, 3 litres each, and carried water into the apartment because it was getting tough with the drinking water. Some guys threw a bag of flour on the road. I also dragged it up to the sixth floor to the apartment.

We ate dry for a long time. We decided to make soup. There was stew, potatoes, pasta. Of course, on the fire, near the bomb shelter. When the soup was almost ready, it started to fly. A mine whistled. We fell to the ground right next to the fire.

It hit the red Youth Residential Complex apartment buildings on the 10th floor. We quickly hid. Then I ran out to get salt and fell to the ground again. Sveta was screaming at me to drop the soup. But it had been so many days without hot food. So we ate the soup.

***

March 7, we decided to spend the night in the apartment. My wife was tired of sleeping on a chair. I have to say, it's not comfortable to sleep on a chair, especially for several nights in a row. So, despite the fear, we decided to do it.

This year's spring was cold. It was +12 degrees in the apartment. We slept with our clothes on, and our mother wore a coat. It was the last night we slept in our apartment.

The military often came to visit. They brought some goodies, oranges. On March 6, two soldiers came and said they needed cars (wartime or something). I don't know who gave it to them, but I did. However, it had six litres of fuel and not diesel. I understand that diesel fuel is preferable during war.

On March 7, when we spent the night in the apartment, the military came to give us the car keys. Whether there was no gasoline or it was the wrong car, I don't know. We were away, and they said they would come tomorrow. But then no one came. God bless them; let them stay alive. I didn't worry about the keys - we had spare ones.

So, we lived until March 10. Somewhere in the middle of the day, an airplane bomb hit our yard. Everyone in the bomb shelter jumped up. I don't know if the house jumped and threw us up. It's like if you're sitting on a couch, and someone flops down next to you, and you jump up. This is to give you an idea of what it was like.

Our house is a nine-story building with four entrances, and the first two floors are large shops. And this whole stuff jumped up. I'm sure the neighbouring houses jumped up, too. These are the bombs that the russians used to raze to the ground Mariupol. They dropped bombs like this on the defenders of Azovstal and civilians.

I can't say for sure, terror magnifies objects, the size of the crater is about 10 meters by 10 meters. The depth was 1.5 people. There were three cars nearby, mine was in the middle. The car on the right was thrown up and landed on top of mine. The car on the left was thrown right onto the roof next to it.

There were several windows in the bomb shelter that were below ground level. They went into special pits under the house. These windows were also damaged. We decided to barricade these pits in case of the next arrival (naive). There were a lot of bags of construction waste on the street (some unfortunate person was doing repairs). And we, about 10 people, barricaded these pits with windows with these bags in a very fast pace.

***

On the night of March 11, I was on duty. Perhaps this saved my life.

There was a kind of curfew in the bomb shelter. It was from about 22:00 to 06:00. No walking, no smoking, no disturbing people at all. There will always be some naughty people. The doors to the street were locked, and two men were on duty for 2 hours. One guy and I (I don't remember his name; he was opposite us in the corridor) were on duty from four to six in the morning. After my shift, I came and sat on a chair in the corridor.

Phew, 110 days have passed since that day. I'm writing, and it's hard to breathe. But since I started, I'll try to continue. I've just borrowed a shot of cognac from my son-in-law. Maybe I'll calm down a bit.

So here it is. I'm sitting on a chair, Svitlana comes over. We decide to run to the apartment to make something to eat for the children. There was food in the apartment anyway. She went to our room to take some packages, bags - I don't know. And then there was a big bang. Not like the explosions you hear on the street. Apparently, the sound is different when you are in the epicentre of an explosion. It sounded like clapping my hands, but 100-1000 times louder. And it was immediately followed by the collapse of the slabs.

Everything lasted for 2-3 seconds. The room was full of fog, people screaming, panic. There was no fire. Maybe that saved us. The corridor where I was sitting survived. The eldest daughter, Nastia, was sleeping in the corridor on a large “support”. I saw her first. One was alive. The others were in the room.

The bomb (as I understand it) flew not just from above but obliquely. It landed somewhere between the first and second entrances. It hit the pillars, and nine floors collapsed and crushed the bomb shelter.

The view from the end:

Our room was about 10 meters by 15 meters. It was clean in the sense that there were no partitions or supports. It was instantly destroyed. Only along two walls, the slabs did not fall flat, but only on one side. This saved those people who were under the wall. Among them were mine.

I pulled out my son Rodion through the gap between the slabs, then my daughter Taia. When I saw Svitlana, I tried to lift the slab. I was so desperate. My wife was pinned to the rack by the stove.

Side view:

A moment later, I realized that I had to disassemble the rack. Thankfully, someone hadn't lost his cool and brought me an axe and a small crowbar. When I dismantled the rack, Svitlana was free. Next came Polina, our fourth. It was more difficult here. We had to dismantle the stones. Polina was sitting on a chair during the explosion.

The view from above:

The slab threw Polina over the second chair with one edge and pushed her against the wall.

Side view:

Her feet were covered with stones. I picked up the stones. Polina was wearing a winter jacket. To pull Polina out, I also broke a part of a chair. I pulled her out without her sneakers. Polina's misfortunes did not end there. We put her on a rack in the corridor near the door. The door was glass, broken. A piece of glass fell right into Polina's foot. And she was not wearing sneakers.

There were other alive people in the room besides mine.

The layout of the room:

Polina was covering the passage with her body. When I pulled her out, four more women came out. Then there was a girl and a boy; their legs were crushed. One threw me a big crowbar. On the way to them, I had to break a bench that stood against the wall otherwise I would not have been able to get through.

Somehow, I broke the slabs, propped them up with a big crowbar. I pulled the girl out first. She left her bathrobe there and got out of it. She was also good at pulling stones further into the corridor. Because when I was breaking the slabs, I would throw the stones out and close the passage, and she would clear it. At that time, the airplane started flying again. It was either looking at what it had done or reconnoitring, but then it became really scary. I thought: “Now it's going to drop another one to finish us off”.

Somehow, I managed to pull the guy out. Then, in the corner, a girl was screaming all the time. I yelled something to her, too: “Wait, be patient; we are going”. She was completely covered with stones. Thank God, not very big ones. But like everyone else, her legs were crushed. Interestingly, her dog was under the stones with her and barking terribly. The dog was of some kind of fighting breed. It was good that it was muzzled. The dog was the first to go. It was intact. We unhooked it from the carbine, and it ran out, but not far. It sat down about three meters away and kept barking at me.

The girl was gradually torn. I pushed it with a crowbar somewhere, and she came out. She immediately said that her mother was killed nearby. I said: “Come on, dear, let's crawl to the exit, then we will mourn because if we stay here, they will mourn us too.”

I crawled out, let's say, a little dirty. My child’s godfather poured water on me. At least I washed a little. Svitlana said that a soldier examined Polina; it looked like a pelvic fracture (it was, but there were 6 fractures, not 1). The soldiers called the Ministry of Emergency Situations and said that Polina would be taken to the Red Cross.

It was dangerous to stay in the bomb shelter. So, me, Nastya, Taia, Rodia and my children’s godparents, and my mother (Olena also ran with us; her husband and daughter, sixteen years old, died in our room) ran to the bomb shelter at the intersection of Myra Avenue and Budivelnykiv Avenue - the building of the SBU. It was just built, not yet inhabited.

Sveta stayed with Polina. They agreed to meet at the Red Cross. For some reason, they said it was in the Komsomolets Сinema.

***

The bomb shelter in the SBU building was 100 times worse than ours. It was just a big basement for the whole house. It was five meters from floor to ceiling. The rooms were big, about the size of ours, or even bigger.

I was putting up drywall (I was still in the apartments). We sat there for about an hour. We were very cold. Someone advised us to make footcloths. We cut a light blanket, and I wrapped it for all the children and myself.

Then, we saw that people started to occupy apartments. The apartments were warmer than the basement. We were so cold that we decided to go to the apartments. We took an apartment on the third floor. We have already removed a couple of doors to the floor. In general, we were settling in.

My child’s godfather said he had someone in a village somewhere in Zaporizhzhia region. We put our things in the car. We were about to get in, but the car wouldn't start. There was diesel fuel, the battery was charged, but the car would not start. It was a sign. If we had left, maybe our mom would not have survived. But more on that later.

My child’s godfather mentioned that his mother-in-law had a friend in Sloboda. But only then did I remember that I had an uncle at Sloboda. After breakfast (two canned fish and crackers), we decided to go to Slobodka. The SBU building did not look like a reliable hiding place. By the way, it remained intact. 

First, we decided to go to Komsomolets. We thought that the Red Cross and Svitlana and Polina were there. We made small runs through Myra Avenue, Bakhchivanji Street, Komsomolets, Koksokhim's building, Kuindzhi Gallery... We ran into the entrances of almost every house. Because the whistling of mines practically did not stop.

In two words, how we looked. Rodia also came out of the rubble without shoes. They found him rubber boots of the forty-fifth size for his thirty-ninth. That's how he ran. On the way, when we ran into another entrance, we decided that Nastia and Rodia would switch shoes. Nastia was wearing leather boots on a platform, like a pair of boots. Her foot size was bigger, so it was easier for Rodia to run. I was wearing sweatpants and boots. The pants were made of boots and went over the pants. Like the military wore in the First World War. That's how we looked.

We had 5 litres of water, crackers, and some mattresses, and Rodia grabbed a large soft toy, “Unicorn”, somewhere and carried it stubbornly.

We reached the Komsomolets and asked people. We realized that there was no Red Cross there. It was just a bomb shelter, even worse. Everyone was sitting in the cinema, probably thinking that the russians would not drop bombs on civilian infrastructure. The Drama Theatre also thought so.

***

Slobidka

Going to Uncle Vova's house, I was worried that they would not be home. They had two cars, and I thought they were all in Zaporizhzhia. They were Uncle Vova, Aunt Nina, their son, my brother, Serhii, his wife Ilona, and their son Bohdan. As we approached the house, we saw smoke coming from the chimney. They were at home. We welcomed them, and God bless them, long life. They met us, fed us, and gave us to drink.

Then I decided to run to Torgova Street. There used to be a Red Cross there. It was all in one day - March 11. There was no Red Cross on Torgova Street anymore. It was written that it had moved out. Where did they go? It was unknown. There were warehouses opposite. They were already bombed. So it was understandable.

On that day, Uncle Vova's uncle came to see a military man, a hospital orderly, but in uniform and with a machine gun. Aunt Nina fried them a lot of pies. So, we also gave the soldier a piece of paper with the names and initials of Sveta and Polia.

We had to sleep in the hall. On two sofas. Of course, after the wooden couches in the bomb shelter, these were royal beds. Nastia and Taia slept on the couch against the wall, I and Rodia slept by the window. But after the first “bangs”, Rodia ran to the girls, and I lay down on the floor. Away from the windows.

That's how this day, March 11, ended for us.

***

This day for Polia and Sveta

As they told me, after we left, they stayed in our bomb shelter for four hours under fire until the Ministry of Emergency Situations arrived. I am still amazed at these heroes who, so to speak, came and took people to hospitals from the front line, under bombs, mines and Grad rockets.

They took Polia and Vlad (whom I pulled out) and took them to the second hospital in the 17th microdistrict. They did not take Sveta because there was no place. They barely managed to get Polia and Vlad in.

So, Svetlana stayed in the bomb shelter until the morning. They were bombing all night. Those who stayed behind broke into the room with the food. Sveta took some cheese, sausage, and other things, but she ate very little. When there is a bombing, you don't have much of an appetite, to be honest. But you can't deceive your body, and of course it was getting weaker.

In the morning, whoever could (and there were some very old people) ran away from our house. Sveta joined a family and went with them. On the way, they went to two more houses, but they were not allowed in. That's how they ended up in the same SBU bomb shelter. Sveta looked for us, but of course we were gone.

During the explosion, when Sveta was pressed by the stove to the table, apparently, a crack appeared in her chest. It was hard for her to breathe. But she had to get settled somehow. She also dragged drywall with Lera to have something to sleep on. She slept wrapped in a blanket she found in our bomb shelter.

She ate a couple of slices of cheese in the morning and a couple in the evening. No one knew how long one would have to stay there. On the second day, she drank 50 grams of water. There were problems with water. There was also a quick run to the ATB-store. Someone said that there was clean drinking water there, and people started walking. Sveta could barely run because she hadn't eaten much, but she had to run. There was no water there, but someone slipped her a new (expropriated) phone, but without a battery. It never worked; we threw it away somewhere.

The bomb shelter was completely dark. Here and there, someone passed with a flashlight. One old lady on the left went crazy. On the right, a man had an epileptic seizure. russia has been bombing for 24 hours. After our collapse, you expect a collapse every second. Apocalypse. Mentally, Sveta was saying goodbye to her life.

***

We

We spent the next 12-13 days like this: with Uncle Vova and Serhii we cut down a thick acacia tree, cut it into stumps and chopped it into small firewood at home, and went to the spring to fetch water. The line was short, but everyone had 10-20 litre jars. We stood for three hours. On Sunday, Uncle Vova flooded the bathhouse, and we took a bath. We washed stones and dust out of our hair.

There was no news from the military. He came again. He brought a lot of baked yogurt and kefir, but he did not get news about our family members. I don't think I ever could.

On Monday, I could not stand it and went to look for Sveta and Polia. I got to Kazantseva Street, where our city executive committee is. I went to see my child’s godfather and his mother. Everyone was alive and well. Then I went to our 3rd hospital. Maybe my family is there. The nurse on duty and I looked through the list of arrivals twice. No.

On the way to Levanevsky Street, I ran to my goddaughter Sofia, her mother, grandmother, grandfather, and my aunt and uncle were there. I left my coordinates just in case and moved on.

Next was the SBU bomb shelter. I got there. It was dark in the shelter. Someone had flashlights shining. I walked in the dark and called out for Svitlana Velychko. There were other Velychkos, but not Svitlana. And then I heard something. I don't remember what, like, “I'm here!” The meeting was in complete darkness. By touch. Hugs, kisses.

I asked where Polia was. Polia is in the 17th district, in the hospital. We decided to follow Polia. Sveta said goodbye to the family that supported her. She gave them some of her food. We started walking.

The closer we got, the more we heard the battle. We fell to the ground twice. We saw a couple of corpses, civilians on the road, covered with something. We were one house short of the Cascade on Mytropolytska Street. We ran into a nine-story building.

Sveta was in a bad condition. She ate little, plus she was afraid. We could already hear the machine gun fire. Later we learned that around these days, on the evening of the 12th, the russian soldiers (rashists) occupied the hospital in the 17th district.

In the entrance, the good people from this house gave Svitlana “valerian drops”. Looking at her, I realized that we would not go any further. An automatic battle was already underway. I wouldn't go myself. The chances of passing are almost zero. As we left the entrance, we saw two of our soldiers. We asked if we could go back. And we ran. Little by little, we reached Vova's uncle.

***

These days for Polia

After Polia was brought in, she was examined by 4 traumatologists. There was no electricity, so no one took an X-ray. Since the probable fractures were closed, they just put her on the second floor. They put her alone in the ward, but the nurses persuaded the doctors to move her to a ward with people so that she would not be scared. During the whole day, Polia ate a tangerine in the morning, slept in the hospital until the evening, and had a candy in the evening.

The next day in the evening she was fed again. It was a plastic cup of boiling water. Inside was a piece of cabbage and half a potato. For the whole day.

The fact is that on the 12th, the separatists entered the hospital. They had, as they said, some kind of a field kitchen. They fed or allowed to cook in their kitchen.

There were also our wounded guys in the hospital. They automatically became prisoners of war.

Denys Sinkin from Nikopol was in the ward with Polina. When the separatists came in, he took off his military uniform and stayed in the civilian clothes he had on underneath. But it did not help.

On the morning of March 13-14, a shell hit the hospital on the fourth floor. People died in the ward it hit. Maybe our people were shot. But to be fair, I must say that the separatists were shooting from somewhere in the hospital yard.

After the explosion, Polia got up (she has pelvic fractures, so she can't walk, even if she has to) and hopped barefoot on one leg to the exit of the ward. Denys asked if he could help. She refused. In the corridor, some man put her on a couch, and an hour later, she was moved to the third floor to a couch with a mattress in the corridor. Polia was also filmed on a phone. They posted on the Internet that she was looking for her family.

Food. A cup of soup, DPR candies, once someone brought ice cream, corn sticks.

She stayed like that for 18 days.

***

We stayed with Uncle Vova until Sunday. All week we chopped firewood, fetched water, and prayed when an airplane flew overhead. An airplane “dog” would come in from the sea. It would drop and turn around. We could tell by the trail. "Azovstal” was bombed around the clock.

Around March 17, our policemen came to Slobidka and said there would be a corridor. Ilona, Bohdan and Serhii left. I went to the Railway Station, where people were hiding in the bomb shelter and where the police came. I wanted to ask them about the second hospital where Polia was hospitalized. The police never came again.

It started shelling closer and closer. The window in the garage had already fallen out. We put it back in. Uncle Vova also had a generator. Every day it was turned on for an hour or two. We could refreeze the refrigerator, charge cell phones (sometimes we could catch Kyivstar or Vodafone), recharge flashlights. We also had a satellite dish and watched TV. We were at least a little aware of the events.

Around Friday or Saturday, Uncle Vova and I were sawing another acacia tree. Then, some men came by carrying something. It turned out that the warehouses near Azovstal had been bombed, and people started to "bomb" these warehouses. We decided to join in. Mines and Grad rockets were flying, a corpse was lying on the road, and we were going to the warehouse.

As I said, we came everywhere at the end of the performance. There was tea, crackers and seeds left. There was a lot of equipment, a lot of coffee, but not fate. As it turned out, the tea and crackers were not very useful to us later. Freebies are never free. I had two checked suitcases, and my uncle had a fishing backpack (who doesn't know, the size is almost from the floor to the head). At first, they only took Greenfield black tea. Then, there was a lot of black tea, and we started to collect everything. With cherries, barberries, chocolate, etc.

***

But we had to look for Polia. And I was going about to go in the 17th district again. 

On the night of Saturday to Sunday, in a half-asleep state, I decided to go to the hospital to get Polia. In the morning, shells started flying. We ran out into the corridor. The windows in the hall and the bedroom were shattered. And I realized that we were all leaving. I helped Uncle Vova somehow board up the windows, thanked Uncle Vova and Aunt Nina for saving us from starvation and cold death, and left.

Three days later, their house burned down. They survived, thank God.

On March 20, we ran out to the 17th microdistrict to the explosions along Primorsky Boulevard. We fell to the ground twice to escape the mines. Behind the “Oba-na” restaurant, we turned upstairs and went to the consumer services home, where I worked for 8 years. “consumer services home” burned to the ground.

Then we went through Lavytskoho Street. We didn't go through the Bakhchyk because we could hear machine gun fire there. We reached Hromova Street. People there said that they also tried to get to the hospital but could not. We decided to go to the village of Pokrovske, also known as Shliakh. It was my wife's small homeland.

We walked to Shliakh along Kirovka through the streets. A small white dog came along with us. The children began to give him different nicknames, but it disappeared in the Primoria area. There were a lot of people standing near Primoria. They were trying to get a signal. You could still catch it, in some places. A Kozak combat vehicle with our guys was turning around right there.

The Primoria supermarket was smashed to pieces. But then, when I saw it later, it turned out that there was more to it. Next was the border area, which was bombed. Many craters, many stray dogs.

On the road, on the border between the 'Shliakh' store and the city, a dead DNR soldier was sitting on a chair. He guarded the mine 80th, the tail of which was sticking out of the asphalt.

***

We went to the “Shliakh” to the wife's native home. No one is at home. The roof is broken. As we found out later, it was bombed on March 8. In general, “Shliakh" was bombed heavily on the 8th, 9th and 10th. Vania, the wife's younger brother, and several other people were in the house at that time. They were in the basement. All are alive. Soon, Vania went to the West of Ukraine. Sveta's uncle and aunt remained in the village.

Many thanks to Roman Mamontov, who found us a home. People left there. And we settled in. It was Yatsenyuk Vadim’s house.

There was no oven in the house - this is a minus. Spring was frosty. The temperature in the house was +2.5. But there were a lot of blankets. In general, there was everything for life. A lot of dishes - all kinds of different things. There is a lot of conservation left. The refrigerator, of course, leaked. But there was lard, herring, even mushrooms. Everything did not have time to disappear. People gave us: some a leg, some bread, some tulka, they even fried flounder.

They cooked outside in a barbecue. There was enough firewood. I found both an axe and a saw. We went to the well for water - for washing and cooking. Vadim kept a small shop right in the yard. A huge tank was left in the shop, half full of drinking water.

Two dogs and two cats strayed to us. We fed as much as we could. There were many books. Rodia and Nastia read. Taia found a picture by numbers and painted it. The owners' second car and three sport bikes remained in the garage. So, the children also rode bicycles.

We must not forget that all the time, the bombs were flying to the village of Moriakiv and further through us. From time to time, houses were burned there. We also hid in the basement several times. The owner arranged deckchairs and seats before there.

Around March 22, I was going about to break through again at 17 mkr. This time on a bicycle. Arrived at “Marvey” company. Ours were there. They said that it was impossible to drive through Flotska Street. I would be caught in the crossfire. You can try through the port, “Slobidka” and further, and further up. I said “thank you”. I had just ran away from there. I turned around and went home.

In general, during the week and a half, from March 21 to 31, that we lived in Vadim’s, we did not stop trying to find or learn something about Polia.

Then they went to the other end of the village. There were separatists. We were told that there is a commandant there - he has a connection. It was all rumours. They knew nothing, there was no connection with the hospital. Although they already knew for sure that 17 mkr is taken by rashists.

I write all attempts in order. There are no exact dates.

***

Mykola (Sveta's uncle) and I decided to go to Mangush. To buy something and maybe learn something. I forgot to say that my ID card was lost under the rubble of our house, but I still had my foreign passport. So I went with it. A mother with her daughter and granddaughter, who was a few months old, also left with us. Therefore, we were not detained much at the checkpoints.

They drove through Shiroka Balka. Then, to the Mangush highway. The “executioners of Mariupol" were seen in the fields - these are rows of artillery aimed at the city.

In Mangush, Mykola went to refuel the car, and I went to the district hospital. There were rumours that the wounded began to be brought from Mariupol to Mangush. He searched the entire hospital, reviewed all the lists with the nurses. There is none.

Then I went to the reception point for refugees. It was in kindergarten. I looked over the lists of arrivals there. No. We bought bread, 5 liters of oil for UAH 250, and went home.

There was another attempt together with Svitlana through “Kirovka” to  Hromova Street at 17 mkr. We went. Soon, a pastor of a local church drove up to us in a car. I don't know what it's called. Offered a ride to Cheriomushki.

At Marvey, at our checkpoint, they found out that Sveta had forgotten her passport. The guard said he would let her, but on the others blockposts he was doubted. We went back. However, they found out that the cars of this church were taking people to Zaporizhzhia. Free. These are not Orthodox. They went to this church, left the coordinates of Polina's possible whereabouts. Maybe they will learn something.

Then Sveta (already without me) went to the booths with two women, maybe they had a connection. By the way, there were four burnt-out BMPs with the letter Z. Ours clearly covered them. It was nice to see. The Separatists said that there was some kind of leadership in the village of Chervony. We packed up and left.

We went on foot. Soon, we were picked up. A husband, wife and child were leaving. We reached the checkpoint. In my opinion, there were already russians at the checkpoint, some of them had an accent. They checked the documents. The driver and I were ordered to strip to the waist. They looked at tattoos and on the shoulders. There should be some marks on the shoulders, if a military man.

The man was questioned because of his car. In order to leave, the man bought Zhiguli from some old man. Of course, it was not legalized. The war. And in russia, you need a power of attorney or something else. But they let us through.

People were going nowhere and, on the way, they decided where to go. At the checkpoint, we were told that there is no one in Chervony, but there is someone in Melekin. This family decided to go to Mangush, and we left halfway. A man drove us to Melekine. He is from Cheriomushek. I asked how it was there. We said there is a batter in Cheriomushek.

There were a lot of people in Melekine like in the best beach seasons. Crowds. Only it’s March. A man drove us straight to “administration”. The first time I saw these tricolor rags with a black and white stripe. Disgust on a physical level.

A woman sat in the “administration” with two computers. There was no internet or connection. She was engaged in receiving new arrivals and distributing them to boarding houses, etc. A negative result is also a result.

We were also driven back to the checkpoint. There, they told us that there was an order not to let anyone into the city. Like another act of assault. Sveta began to panic. There are children in there. Several cars and people were walking into the city. One even went to feed the dog on a bicycle.

Twenty minutes later, the cars drove to the city. The rashists began to let, as they said, each under his own responsibility. Ours has already left. We went again on foot. On the way, I asked the people I met what it was like in the city. They replied that it was quiet so far.

We were still picked up for the city. They were four people in “Lanos”. They stopped anyway. I took Sveta in my arms, and that's how we drove. Everything was okay that day. We were not bombed.

It was still possible to get to 17 mkr via Volodarsk. There was a war in Mariupol. It is not known whether we would be allowed to go there or not. The city is now closed, then opened. But one should always hope. We drove through Volodarsk (we went crazy). We went with Mykola (wife's uncle).

We went to the hospital in Volodarsk. No information there. There were people in the hospital, only from Mariupol, who said that the city was once again closed. It was there that they advised me to go to the Ministry of Emergency Affairs of DNR. They checked the databases there, and nothing either. We found a phone number for the “DNR hotline” or something. There was no connection between DNR. By chance, Sveta found a woman with a “phoenix” connection. After half an hour or an hour, I could reach it. No effect.

We drove home again through Shyroka Balka. Behind the village, there was a DNR checkpoint in some granaries. We were not allowed into the city again. Order again. Another attack again. Kolia had the best man in Shyroka Balka; he went there to park the car. And Sveta and I again, under “our own responsibility," went on foot to the “Shliakh." From this checkpoint, mines were flying through us towards the city.

At the last checkpoint, in front of Mariupol, there were some hungry people. It was obvious that they had been dragged out of some green building in the DNR. The size 52 shape on their size 48 shoulders looked very funny. And for some reason, unevenly shaved faces caught my eye.

Maybe because they were unprofessional soldiers, we talked to them normally. They said that the russians came in the morning and completely mined the road in case ours broke through. The DNR soldiers laid mines at night, and in the morning, they removed them so that the cars could pass. And now the russians forbade cleaning and also threw their own. Therefore, cars were not allowed, and we would not have passed on foot.

A local man worked at the checkpoint. He came to the checkpoint on his Volga and told us how to get through. It turned out that there was a small detour. We walked clearly along the track. Who knows where else mines were thrown. Thank God, we got it.

***

Back in “Shliakh”, there was a case with an old woman. She came, it seems, from Cheriomushek and fell not far from our yard. Her legs could no longer carry her. My wife and I put her in a wheelbarrow and took her to the address she said. Kombaynerska Street and the names of the people to whom she went. It is good that on the way we asked people where such people live. It turned out that it was not on Kombaynerska. And then we would drive the old lady around the whole village. We delivered to the address, we found it somehow.

Here the old lady takes out four five hundred bills and gives us for delivery. Two thousand hryvnias! For driving a wheelbarrow around the village! Like all those who run out of the city under bombs, she was not herself. I took UAH 500. So, what? We didn't have much money. We delivered her. You can say with comfort. The wheelbarrow is good. A blanket was laid. But Sveta made a scandal. I had to give it away. And I was slapped on my back

***

From everyday life, I remembered how the girls washed the cat. Vadym even had shampoo for cats.

They went to bed early as it was getting dark. I took solar lanterns from the garden and put them in the house. This was the emergency lighting. They went to bed dressed, even in hats. I covered everyone with two blankets, rolled up foot cloths, and Taia even put warm socks on her hands.

On March 25, we reached my sister Natalia. More precisely, to my brother-in-law Vitalik. The only number we had. My sister had a birthday on the twenty-fifth. They did not know where we were, what we were and so on. We greeted her and told her where we were, and that was it. Because the connection was getting worse and worse.

My wife's birthday was March 27th, but we even forgot about it because of all the worries. There were no calendars, no telephones, no electricity either. Sveta has an acquaintance - Angela. She also lives in “Shliakh”. Angela was in Yalta that day. In Yalta at that time there was light and some connection. The Internet accidentally worked for her, so she saw a reminder that it was Sveta's birthday.

So, she and her husband Oleksandr invited us to visit them on Svetyn's birthday. They had an oven in the house - this was a huge plus at the time. In addition, we were also fed deliciously, and we warmed up. You could even take off the sweater - it's fantastic.

I also found a gas cylinder in Vadim's garage, and Sasha gave me a two-burner gas stove. Civilization in general.

Once Sasha and Angela called our family to wash properly. Also, from a bucket, but in the heat. We went shopping. We come home, and we have been robbed. But a little later I found everything behind the fence. Apparently, they left and ran away, they didn't have time. And they tried to steal a bicycle, a gas stove with a cylinder and two bags of firewood. These are the things that people needed at that time.

And so, from the thirtieth to the thirty-first one started dropping or shooting incendiary or phosphorus bombs. They glowed like fireworks. Some people's houses and outbuildings caught fire. We urgently evacuated to the cellar. In general, I had to sleep in a semi-doze all the time to be alert. As in the fairy tale: “One eye sleeps, the other sees.”

***

On the afternoon of the 31st, they started bombing us. We are in the cellar. There, we heard the first arrival to the house. The cellar was two meters by two meters. But even there, we got lost in a corner. 

The first flight was to the bathroom, I understood this by the sound, the second was somewhere in the hall, and I understood that if there was a third, then it would be us. I automatically covered everyone with my body, although, of course, it wouldn't help. Sveta constantly read prayers. The third flew to us. The cellar survived.

The ceiling of the cellar consisted of three rails, and between them, there was probably reinforcement and concrete.

Realizing that the people who built the house are most likely no longer with us, I mentally thanked them for the well-made cellar.

Everything fell silent. After two or three minutes, I crawled to scout. When I opened the lid of the cellar, I saw the sky. There was practically no roof. Realizing that delay is like death, I gave the order to quickly leave this house. Since everyone was already dressed because of the cold spring, there was no need to get dressed.

It's good that at least we found the Jump bag with documents. I shouted for them to take at least some bread. Rodia took the bread, I took the water, and we ran. When we ran out, the house was already on fire.

After running twenty or thirty meters, I remembered that I had left my foreign passport in another jacket. But I did not run back. I was afraid of new shelling. As it turned out later, there were at least two more arrivals.

Our closest acquaintances were my wife's uncle and aunt. We had to run two hundred meters to them.

A new shelling began. The first was the uncle's house. We called for, shouted - no one. We ran to the aunt. No one again. I jumped over the fence. The gate was tied with some kind of wire. There was no time to untie it, I just threw it up. We ran to the aunt’s cellar.

Then it turned out that we had lost the folder with the documents. I decided to run back. I ran clearly on our path, the way we had ran then. I ran clearly along the route. Nothing. I asked the people I met. Nothing. When I came back, it turned out that the folder with documents simply fell under the bed.

Aunt Vera fed soup. Three children slept on an iron bed. I'm kind of on the side. Uncle Kolia, aunt Vera, and Sveta are on chairs.

The next day I decided to go look at the house. I looked. There are only walls. No roof, no windows, iron twisted doors. By the way, our driver's license and technical passport for “Lanos” were burned. My foreign passport and Polina's glasses burned. The yard, garage and shop remained intact. Even the pilaf survived on the barbecue. On the bench are some of Rodina's things. I took pilaf and other things. I went back.

When I left the yard, I saw separatists in full ammunition near the Holy House. I thought: “Now they will shoot like a marauder”. But they probably didn't care about me. They cleaned the street after the shelling.

Arriving at Aunt Vera's, I joked: “Pilaf with home delivery”. Like this. Uncle added fried nutria meat to the pilaf. He is holding a nutria.

For the two days we were there, a rashist tank or self-propelled gun (I don't know) fired at the edge of the village. But I had the impression that it was standing near the house, very close.

***

On the second of April, in the morning, Sveta and I ran for milk. There is such an aunt Liuba who gave milk for free. At a time when others were selling for 100 hryvnias per bottle. We did not have time to drink the milk. Around noon, a flight came to Kolia's house. Behind the house, in the cherry tree. Half of the wall and the roof in the kitchen collapsed. Of course, the gas pipes, the boiler - everything was destroyed.

We decided to go. Where? Doesn’t matter. For example, you can walk to Mangush. We ran across the village in short runs. We caught up with one woman. She walked all in rags, probably got out of a broken house. I don't know where she was going. We didn't know where we were running.

We ran to Angela. They offered us to spend the night with them, and then we would see. “We saw” for a week and a half.

They moved us in with neighbours. The neighbours left and left the keys. At that time, they were not going to return. The neighbours are “sailors”. The house is good, but without an oven. There were still frosts in April. But they had a bathhouse. The bathhouse, so to speak, with European renovation plus. It also had a cellar equipped with a bench, chairs and blankets. We hid in it a couple more times.

As I already said, Angela and Sasha are golden people. All this time we were fully provided for by them. And we were five people and four of them. They have two sons. And nine people at a large round table had breakfast, lunch and dinner. We tried to help in any way. Sveta in the kitchen with the girls. I am collecting firewood. Well, that's it.

At four o'clock I began to heat the bathhouse. I opened the steam room door, and the heat spread to the entire room. Two large benches were moved together; the girls were sleeping on them. Rodion slept on a large table. Svetlana and I are in the steam room. In general, in a royal way.

Mines flew over us all the time. The separatists stood on the last street of the village. When they were asked where they were shooting, they answered that they did not know. They were given a command - 3.8 km. And that's all.

We also saw how the separatists gave a car to a drunkard, and he flew into the manhole. And here they were, crawling drunk with automatic weapons, pulling out this car.

In general, there was a lot of talk about the thefts and robberies of the DNR soldiers. And people who did not have pro-Ukrainian views told. Money, gold, phones, tablets. They even rudely told the owner to enter the password from the tablet. But how will they use it? If the person left, but the car remained, that's all. There will be no car. They took “an air gun” from some people (probably, they were scared), but they forgot the “pipe” (grenade launcher). They must have been drunk.

One day, Sasha (Angela's younger brother) came. He took his family to Yalta, because when “Shliakh” was bombed, he was the first who was bombed. There was practically no roof in his house. So, his wife saw Polia on the Internet (in Yalta at that time there was sometimes the Internet). Someone said that the girl was looking for her parents. For some reason, on the Left Bank in the fourth hospital. This was the first message about Polia in almost a month.

***

There were separatists outside the village, and Sasha and Sveta and I went to them to find out how to call the Left Bank Hospital. But, of course, ordinary soldiers had no connection with them. They did not even know where it was – “Left One” in Mariupol.

And at that time, there was also an active search for Polia in the Internet. My sister, niece, Sveta's brothers and sisters, just caring people - everyone was looking for everyone. It just amazes you how many strangers there are who mistake your pain for their own. I was just amazed.

Angela and Sasha went to Mangush on business, and Sveta went with them. We went to various military command posts with Angela. But they did not know anything. The soldiers really need to find out or do something for some girl in the hospital on “Left Bank”. They have the “special operation”.

Angela has another brother Serhiy. He agreed to help Sveta go to the hospital in Mariupol. Try to find Paula.

In peacetime, 20-30 minutes by car across the city to “Left Bank”. And now we went around. Mangush, Volodarsk, then approximately Donske, Novoazovsk, Bezymenne, Mariupol. They went.

They arrived. There was a roadblock in the Eastern neighbourhood. They didn't let them through. They went to the sea in the village of Vynogradne. It is necessary to issue a pass for the car, for entering the city. The pass was received without a queue. In connection with our case, people let them go first.

They drove through the "Pozhivaniv" church (it was bombed also). It turned out that it was possible to enter the city without a permit. One would be allowed to let easier with the pass at the checkpoints. The city has not yet been captured, and the russian stupid bureaucracy has already begun to be applied.

Sveta and Serhii somehow got to the intersection of May 1 and Pashkovsky. Everything is broken. And then Sveta went on foot.

The hospital was destroyed. But people said that the sick and wounded were allegedly taken to Novoazovsk. They went back. In Bezymennoy, one said that there were lists in Novoazovsk and that people used those lists to find relatives. No one was found in the lists. But they found a nurse from russia. He had the number of Donetsk Central Traumatology. He gave Sveta to call. She couldn't get through.

Then they stopped to buy something at a store, and Sveta asked a woman to call her on the phone because it was a big problem to get a call from “Shlyakh”. She reached this phone. But when a nurse (or someone I don't know yet) found out who they were looking for, she said: “Wait, I'll give her the phone now”. I do not know how Sveta did not fall. I'd probably hit the asphalt.

Then Sveta heard on the phone instead of: “Mom, I'm so glad to hear from you, I'm alive, in Donetsk!!!”, she heard: “Yes, Mom, hello”. Our girl is serious. Sveta cried something in response. She promised that we would come soon.

They drove back the same way.

***

At the same time, Sasha's wife (Angela's brother) in Yalta again found an ad on the Internet in “Shliakh” that Polya is in Donetsk, and Aunt Nadia's friend is looking after her. I don't remember exactly anymore; maybe Sasha's wife posted his number. And that's why another guardian angel of our family called us - Nina Oleksandrivna. Polia was under her complete care. Nina Oleksandrivna fed her, washed her, combed her hair and so on. Polia was lying down all this time.

On Monday, April 11, our whole family went to Mangush and then to Donetsk. Sasha and Angela took us. We immediately went to the kindergarten, where there was a reception point for refugees. Evacuation buses seemed to be going from there.

There, we learned that there is some kind of “filtration” and that you cannot go anywhere without it. We went to the local police. People stood there and signed up for filtration. We signed up 4880!!! Considering that there are 30 people per day, I don't even want to count when we would have passed. We went back to the “Shliakh”

Nina Oleksandrivna called Shliakh and said that she would agree or had already agreed that on April 13 we would be admitted to this “nonsense” without a queue, because Polina should have been put on crutches on Monday. No one will be able to put a person next to her to be with her all the time. That is why parents or at least one person is needed.

***

On the morning of April thirteenth, it started to rain. It was necessary to leave the village on dirt roads. We were desperate. Sveta, Sasha and Angela decided to drive along the road to see. Sasha said that it is possible to “break through”. We quickly put all the belongings to the car, jumped in and went forward.

We reached the most dangerous area. There was an embankment in the middle of the road, and it was necessary to drive around the field. We got out of the car and ran to the left of the embankment along the forest lane. And Sasha drove the car very quickly through the wet field.

***

We arrived in Mangush at about eight o'clock. Filtration began at ten o'clock in the morning. We quickly said goodbye to Angela and Sasha (they still had to go home in the rain) and began to wait. And the downpour did not end. Shops were closed in Mangush. There is nowhere to hide. Temperature +5 (no more). We stood under the same canopy for a while. Then we found another, better covering from the downpour. At nine o'clock, it was already snowing and raining. It's April thirteenth for a second.

Closer to ten o'clock, we already went to the police. Police officers came out there and called people according to the list. We told a policeman our last name. He was indeed called from Donetsk but allegedly told about only one person. But we were definitely not going to break up the family. In those realities, you could say goodbye forever.

They let us in all. Filtration took place from the age of fourteen. Therefore, Nastia and Taia also fell under the category, although at checkpoints from the age of eighteen. An ordinary russian mess. Some questionnaires were distributed. The questions were like: “Who? Where did you live? Where did you study? Where did you get married? Did you help the Armed Forces of Ukraine? etc.”

Afterward, we stood in the corridor and waited directly for the filtering. We stood for a long time, forty minutes. There was a TV in the corridor. rashists showed there “The Irony of Fate”, “Ivan Vasyliovych Changes Profession”, and the like. They had fun. No one waiting for the filter even smiled. People have come out of shelling and bombing, people are going to unknown places, people may have nothing left, maybe someone has died - and, of course, the rashists are having fun.

What’s more, while we were standing, there was such a situation. They were looking for car keys and license. Because a person who was with the police yesterday came, and for some reason they were taken it from her (maybe also some kind of check). In the morning, she found the car in another place. But that's okay. The keys and license have disappeared from the police station, where everyone walks around with assault rifles, and no one is allowed in without a pass. And it was clear that they themselves did not know where all the russian sleight of hand was.

During filtration, we were photographed in front and profile. Fingerprints and palm prints were taken twice. Something else was recorded, and this policeman signed us a filtration paper. Like a mountain fell from the shoulders. First, they make people feel bad, and then a little relaxation, and people: “Hurra! It became easier for us!” Classic.

After filtering, we ran to the kindergarten to catch a bus to Donetsk. We thought we would sit down and go. Forget it! First, they make lists (who has filtration paper). As the required number is collected, buses will be ordered. They said at least two days. Two days in Mangush. And most importantly - two nights. We don't know anyone in Mangush. There are no places in the kindergarten. Without proper filtration, people cannot leave, and new ones keep arriving.

Mine stayed in the kindergarten, in the corridor. Taia and I went to buy bread. We found a kiosk in the centre and began to wait. The kiosk was at lunch. A girl took our turn behind us. Well, she took it and took it. I don't know her. She must have recognized Taia. She spoke to us. It turned out to be Angela, the godmother of Sveta's father. And Sveta is her mother's goddaughter. We talked, she promised to help with our overnight stay. We agreed to meet at the hospital.

We found a barely familiar person in the whole of Mangush just when there was nowhere to spend the night. It's something.

Angela came to the hospital with her husband by car and they took us to spend the night.

A woman with a child also from Mariupol lived in the house where they brought us. The man went to the city for things. The godmother brought macaroni. We had canned food. Normally. And most importantly, we were thoroughly wet, especially our feet.

There was electricity in Mangush. Civilization. An electric ventolator was put on for the night. And we dried all the shoes and socks.

There was also a small cat, Murka. Like all small, playful. She licked everyone, climbed into everyone. When we were eating, she tried to climb onto the table and grab something. I slept on the chair-bed. In the morning, when I was collecting the chair-bed, Murka somehow climbed up, and I pinched her head. If Taia hadn't seen it, Murka would have been killed.

In the morning, dry and cheerful, we went back to kindergarten. The good news is that the buses have been ordered. Bad is that it’s for tomorrow. One more night. We did not go back. Inconveniently. Sveta met acquaintances in the bomb shelter. I met my former colleague - Serhii. He was with his parents. They were going to Rostov, and it is unknown there.

By the way, three times more people went to Rostov than Donetsk. Serhii told about his brother, who is married to Sveta's cousin. They are in Georgia. Everything is okay. We learned that another cousin is in Krasnodar. In short, Mangush. At least some kind of civilization. Little by little, we began to learn about relatives and acquaintances.

Sveta's acquaintances suggested that we could overnight in the hospital. We went to the hospital. We sat down on chairs along the wall. So, we sat. We ate moscow’s cold canned food. Stew with buckwheat. I noticed the buckwheat, but did not see anything about the stew. There was also a bottle of milk, a loaf of bread and goat's cheese. That's how the day passed. We slept on chairs half of the night - not very comfortable.

***

In the middle of the night, wounded people were taken to Donetsk. Zhenya from “Shliakh” was driven past us. The bomb flew to the well. It killed one man and broke his legs. This is such a night meeting. We envied him, in a good way, that he would be in Donetsk in two hours. I also joked that there aren't five free seats in the “ambulance”? We didn't know when we would be there.

Then, it seems, Taia saw the glass wool folded not far away. We spread it on the floor and lay like kings.

In the morning, we went back to kindergarten. And we waited. Waiting and catching up is worst of all. It was hard to believe that it was possible to go somewhere where there was no bombing.

The buses have arrived. Thank God! Two as “Pazik” for Donetsk, two large ones for Rostov. We drove through Volodarsk, Volnovakha. Volnovaha was badly broken. And roadblocks, roadblocks, roadblocks. We arrived. Everything is unusual, incomprehensible. Buses run, trolleybuses run, people walk calmly, shops - in general, peace.

We didn't have any rubles, so we had to go by trolleybus. In some shops, hryvnias were accepted, and the rest was given in rubles. At the bus station across the street stood the so-called “first national”, simply taken away ATB-shop. Sveta bought something, and we had rubles. Then quickly on the trolleybus - 2. 

In general, with the beginning of the war, we somehow stopped just walking, always running. I have lost 10 kg so far.

It must be said that public transport in Donetsk is very bad. But Nina Oleksandrivna asked an acquaintance to pick us up by car. We were picked up. We arrived. We went up to the third floor. Nina Oleksandrivna entered the ward first and filmed on her phone.

How do you describe happiness when you find your child? I write and see nothing, tears in my eyes.

Then long conversations. What? But how? Polia said that on March 28 they decided to take her to Donetsk. As I understand it, there was no light and it was impossible to do a CT scan. At 5 p.m., she was loaded into an ambulance and taken away. Several more “ambulance” vehicles were travelling with them.

In Donetsk, Polia was examined by doctors and immediately sent for a CT scan. Then to the ward.

The next day, all kinds of volunteers, official and unofficial persons, started coming. They asked: How did it happen? Where are the parents’ telephones, etc. Among them was Nina Oleksandrivna. She, as it were, took over Polina. She fed me homemade food, washed her hair, etc. She posted on the Internet that Polia is in Donetsk. That's how our relatives found Polia.

A week later, Ksenia found a way to transfer the money, and Polia was bought a phone. Many more doctors came in and took pictures on camera - for example, children were injured and so on. All kinds of military personnel also came, filmed, gave some bunnies, etc. One came from the “investigative committee of russia”. When Polia told them that we had been bombed from the plane, they were very surprised.

This is how her days passed before our arrival.

Sveta and I were going to arrive in the morning. And further on the situation. Until 2014, my wife's aunt and uncle lived in Donetsk. Now they live in Kyiv and allowed us to live at their place. In addition, they paid all the utility bills themselves and also sent us money.

In the evening of that day, we met uncle Vasyl (a relative who had the keys to the apartment). And we quickly walked from the hospital to the apartment again. Transport in Donetsk was not good. Especially in the evening.

There was complete civilization in the apartment. Light, gas, water. The Donetsk period of our wanderings began.

***

Sveta and I stood in as for work. In the morning to Polina's, in the afternoon at home to cook something so that it was hot and again to Polina's. Several times we literally got on the last trolleybus at eight o'clock in the evening.

And on Monday, April 18, Polina got up on crutches for the first time. She stood for 5 minutes and that was it. And so slowly, step by step, she began to walk.

About money. We had money. Everyone who could sent. My sister with my son-in-law, aunt Nadia with uncle Oleksii, cousin Oksana with her husband Ihor. I don't know how we would survive without them.

We received one box of humanitarian aid from the DNR volunteers - that's all. On Sveta's passport. I didn't have a passport. I was at Nastia’s, but there was no “Extract with registration”. The fact that there are four children does not concern them. Then die. Everything, literally everything, was taken away and died.

Donetsk was remembered for the absence of people. Of those who were, a large part of the military. Many minibuses. Trams and trolleybuses run very poorly. In general, it seemed that time had stopped here. Got into a scoop. There are telephone booths on the streets. And I saw people talking on the phone. My eyes crawled into my forehead.

By the way, I have also seen booths in Kyiv and Germany. However, I did not see someone would be talking in it. I understand to what extent Mariupol was an advanced city (if Kyiv and Germany remained in this regard even in the 20th century). Lots of people with push-button phones. One local vatnik proudly told us, Mariupol residents, how in russia you can put your phone at the cash register, and you will be charged for the goods. And our woman from Mariupol says: “I lived like that just one month ago”. You would see the vatnik's face (by the way, I haven't seen anyone pay from the phone in a month in Germany).

70% of shops were closed. And judging by their condition, it's been a long time, since about the year fourteen. Skyscrapers are unfinished. Buildings are frozen, already overgrown with forest. There are many billboards “Happy New Year!” in the month of May. Prices for food and manufactured goods are twice as high as they were in Mariupol before the war. Only vodka is the same price for some reason. And yes, it’s horror.

And people somehow live, somehow buying such a life. As one local woman said (she has already left): “Retired people and those who serve them remain. Shops, pharmacies, hairdressers”.

What caught my eye were the flags. At every street, shops, banks, buses, hospitals, balconies, etc. There was no shortage of flags. We have to learn.

We lived next to Shcherbakov Park. A wonderful park. The huge water park is not working. The water park still has signs in Ukrainian. Behind the park, the Donetsk circus is falling apart. But all in flags. And there are some slogans on it. Look children at the slogans instead of the circus.

Polina began to walk little by little. And after two weeks they allowed to take her home. It became a little easier for us. There was no need to go to the hospital twice a day.

Children were also enrolled in school. At least they remembered something. At school, they also collected a food package for us and gave us 1,000 rubles. “People as people” - as Woland said. Only the Separatist's questions spoiled them.

Textbooks were issued. There is no Ukrainian language. It's us 'fascists' who are 'oppressing' russian speakers by learning russian in schools. And in the “big” people's republics there is not a word about the Ukrainian language.

I cannot forget the ninth of May. There were no parades, nothing. And only in the evening, we heard a cannonade with shooting. Like real Mariupol people, we grabbed the documents and rushed into the corridor. Polina is hysterical. How she will run on crutches. Sveta had something on the stove, and I crawled over to turn off the gas so that there would be no more trouble if it flew over. Then - stop. They still celebrate this crap. I looked out the window - for sure! Salutes

We went fishing with Rodion. 5 minutes to Shcherbakov pond. Nothing was caught. But the fishermen who were nearby did not catch anything either. Such a day.

***

On May 30th, they went to the hospital for a routine check-up. I thought I was going home without crutches. But no. They didn't even do a CT scan. The doctor allowed me to walk only around the apartment without crutches. Sit down a little. CT was scheduled for June 30. But it was not destined. It was already starting to arrive.

I went to Nina Oleksandrivna several times. I helped her husband change the sewer in the yard. All the time, Nina Oleksandrivna was pushing some gifts, some money. Although, if she had to, I would dig a sewer to the central one. And most importantly, she once gave me a bottle of samogon. 

All this time in Donetsk, we tried to make a passport for me, either DNR or russian. To leave this happy land as soon as Polina is cured. In Donetsk, they made a “Resolution” for me, that I lost my passport in Donetsk, and not under the rubble in Mariupol. Then this " Resolution" helped to cross the front line.

With a DNR passport, we could go to russia, and get a russian passport there. From scratch, we were thinking of going to Estonia (we have good friends there), and from there to Ukraine. We thought so. But it turned out a little easier.

Even the Donetsk cops said that it is possible to go to Mariupol. DNR passports are already issued there. I didn't go because they said that they might not let me back. Sveta left. Again, Nina Oleksandrivna found a man who was going to Mariupol.

***

Sveta visited her sister Olha in the city. She brought them some money, spent the night, and in the morning went to our house at Myra 127 to meet Angela and Sasha there.

I must say that our apartment survived, well, almost. Of course, someone has been there. All phones, two laptops, three suede jackets … it’s a joke. Everything is upside down. Apparently, they were looking for money, gold - I don't know. But in vain. Millionaires lived on some other floors. But the big equipment remained. Refrigerator, washing machine, dishwasher, microwave, sewing machines - three. Not a joke. Overlock, coverlet - I don't understand them. In general, everything that was earned by hard work - everything remained. 

All this was taken away by Angela and Sasha at our persistent request. No to ourselves, so give it to people. Someone in Mariupol will need it. Although Angela said: “When you will return, you will take it away”. Oh. Well, they will liberate Mariupol. Our house is 100% ready for demolition. So, we have crossed Mariupol out of our immediate plans for now.

She went to the DPR police. Regarding the passport. What passport? No light, no internet. There is a watchman with a rifle and that's it. He could not say anything. That's roughly what we thought.

In the evening, she came back to Donetsk with DPR volunteers. Nina Oleksandrivna again. Apparently, at that time, our captive boys were being taken out of Azovstal. Sveta saw many buses to Donetsk along the route.

Two words about the so-called “phoenix” connection of the DNR. As communication is very bad, even in Donetsk. The card can only be bought with a passport (as in Germany). Not what we have, almost in every kiosk. But you can buy it once a day, every day. Where is the logic? The “phoenix” office, as it seemed to me, is one for the whole city. It was still possible to purchase at the post office.

At the expense of people from the occupied territories, a line formed to this office. At first, they took it for themselves, then for relatives, friends, acquaintances. And locals came to top-up the account. This is serious. To top-up the account, they came to the central office - nonsense. To top up in a separate queue. And they were admitted on a general basis. There were minor skirmishes between refugees and locals.

Sveta also bought medicine and delivered it to Mariupol. Even the starter for the generator (a very important thing in the occupation) was bought and handed over.

We went to the local OVIR about the passport. They said that I needed to get an identity card because I didn't have any data. Again, a lot of documents, photos, and all this work have been done for at least two months.

All the time we were in Donetsk, we heard “bangs”, but somewhere far away. Only single or “grads” were noted. Arrivals or departures. And about a month and a half later, the arrivals became more frequent. And then more and more.

I already went to work. In a boot. Under the “black flag”, as one says. Without employment. I never had a passport. We worked until 2 p.m. But one great day after work, I managed to move 700 meters away from the house where our boot was. At about ten minutes to three, it flew. To the crossroads and to the house where we worked. What is interesting is that it flew clearly from the eastern side. Thank God, no one was hurt.

There were also moments when we were walking down the street during the day, and in the evening on the Internet in “typical Donetsk”, you could see what had flown there. We lived in the Voroshilov district - this is the centre. It has already started to fly there as well.

On June 13, it started to bang very close. The door was already open. We squeezed into the corridor, like the cellar in “Shliakh." In the breaks between bangs, Sveta started looking for carriers on the phone. We decided to go back to Mariupol.

That is, we decided a long time ago. Vanya (Sveta's brother) called and said that it is possible to drive through Berdyansk - Melitopol - Zaporizhzhia. Olha (Sveta's sister) has already travelled this route. I was always worried about my papers. I only had a photocopy of my passport. Until June 13, we thought. But on this day, the doubts disappeared.

The carriers were from Mariupol. Two cars. We wouldn't get into one. They agreed on the next day in the morning. And in order to survive until morning, they ran to the nearby five-story building to the bomb shelter.

Rodia had already run into the bomb shelter several times recently when he was playing with the boys in the yard, so we knew where to run. We sat there for, I don't remember, an hour or two. Little by little, it calmed down.

Sveta left first, it was necessary to collect things. Then Nastia and Taia help. Then Rodia. Polia and I were the last to leave, not only from our family, but also from the entire bomb shelter. Polina is still on crutches. Somehow.

***

In the morning, I went to our distant relative Olha to get money to pay the carriers. The fact is that earlier Sveta asked our child’s godmother Nadia for money. Because there was no money to travel to Mariupol. The journey cost: one car - 8,000 rubbles, and we need two cars. And Olha's husband had a russian bank card, and money could be transferred quickly.

Also, interesting. rashka captured these territories. Disconnected people from Ukrainian banks, but did not connect them to theirs. And yes, you can send money. From Donetsk all the way to Makiivka and back. Circus.

We also called Natalia and Vitalik and asked for money on the card. This is on the road from Melitopol to Zaporizhzhia.

In general, I went for money. I saw a bombed-out DPR military unit on Shchorsa Street. My heart warmed.

The carriers have arrived. We dived in and drove off. For some reason, through Novoazovsk. Maybe the road is better, maybe there are fewer roadblocks. There were really no roadblocks. Only in front of the city there were two. We drove normally. Polina was on crutches. We lied - we are going to the sea for rehabilitation.

We saw Mariupol. Not on the internet anymore. Apparently, Stalingrad was like that. A difficult sight.

We got to “Shliakh”, stopped at Angela's, spent the night at Kolia's. We arrived on the 14th, agreed with the carrier on the 16th. He couldn't before. On the 15th I decided to go to the city. Look at our house and my shoe repair store.

I usually walked along Flotska. In the private sector. Two out of three houses were bombed. This is the village of Seamen. I didn't go to Cheryomushki, but what you can see from Flotska is terrifying! The black nine-story residential boxes can be seen through.

Burned out completely.

 Then “fire station”. There is a tent near it and I don't know how many outlets there are. Apparently, new firefighters earn money, maybe not.

At the end of the private sector, there is a service station, and a queue goes straight to it. There are three cars. As I was told, on such roads as now in Mariupol, balancing and everything connected with it are frequent repairs.

The auto market is broken. All enterprises on the side of the car market are broken. Garbage from the road is simply rolled to the side. There are a lot of automatic cartridges, shell fragments, etc., on the roadside. Near the lumberyard, some creature with a russian accent in a jeep asked how to get somewhere. The greenhouses with flowers are also broken, but they work. Maybe they hope to earn money for windows or film before the cold weather.

There was a roadblock near the “Epicenter” at the turn. But I saw a path past the roadblock. Asshole resting face and along the path. I passed. Approaching our house, I saw a working service station again.

The house did not make a big upheaval. On the Internet, the house and everything around it has already been rewatched a hundred and fifty times. But some things have not changed. Our drunkards were sitting in the yard near the third entrance, just like before the war, and drinking.

I met Pasha. Also, from our house. His mother died in our bomb shelter. Pasha led me to the bomb shelter rather than to the place where you can crawl. And I started looking. In the corridor, in the room where we were. What were you looking for? I do not know. Probably a passport. I did not find the passport. I found only documents: a pension certificate and something else belonging to Halina Vasylivna. She was in our room and got out after the collapse.

The documents lay quietly in a folder on the floor. These shitty russian Ministry of Emergency Situations don't give a damn about documents. No one was looking for anything. And if they found it, they threw it out into the street, and there, either looters or homeless women raked it in the hope of finding money. The Ministry of Emergency Situations would only hide the corpses and take them away. In our room alone, they lost 9 people. Although we know for sure: half past seven in the morning approximately. Two families with small children - everyone was sleeping...

I went up to our apartment. Nothing new either. Angela took photos of everything and sent them over the phone. I rummaged around, took some trinkets and left.

Then, to the workshop. It was, of course, robbed. The door is locked, but you can enter through the window. Everything was upside down. They took a sharpening machine, a hair dryer, a screwdriver, a nail burner, some hammers... I rummaged around, took some small thing again and went to my child’s godfather Manoilo.

Approaching the entrance, I heard someone calling. The child’s godfather and our friend Laptev were sitting on the bench. They drank beer. Like I said, some things don't change. I had some beer with them and left. Rather, I went. A bus ran around the city. I don't know from where, but I got on the Nakhimova to the port, there on the “storks”, along Haharin, Ushakova, ending at the village of Sailors. Free. These are the “improvements” brought by the rashists to the city.

***

The carrier arrived at five in the morning. I, Sveta, Polia and Rodia went with him. Nastia and Taia went with Serhii (Angela's brother) because we couldn't get into the same car.

Due to the fact that we left early, there were no soldiers at some checkpoints yet. Probably a change.

We reached Berdyansk without any problems. To the bus station. At the station there was an announcement that a bus to Zaporizhzhia would leave tomorrow, June 17 at 6 o'clock, from some car park.

I stayed with my belongings, the children and Sveta went to find out where this car park is and for products.

Our child’s godmother, Lena’s brother, runs a boarding house in Berdyansk. We stayed the night at their boarding house. Lena came to pick us up by car. We rested before the long road across the front line. How will it be - nobody knew. Rodia still had time to swim in the sea.

Petro (Lena's brother) has a friend who was already in Germany at that time. And he wanted to help someone, some refugees who suffered. And here we are. Petro gave him our bank card number, and this person sent us money twice. His name is Pavel. It so happened that Peter and Paul helped us in this situation. I have some associations, something familiar...

On the morning of the 17th, Lena took us to the bus. The bus is small. But the seats are comfortable, high and even some reclined. About 25 people and one dog were traveling. There were free seats. Therefore, the back of the bus was filled with things.

The road Berdyansk - Melitopol is simply terrible. There was only pothole. There are a very large number of roadblocks. Someone counted more than twenty, this is only in the occupied territory and our four. They checked in different ways: somewhere they simply entered, somewhere they were let through immediately, somewhere they checked the men's documents.

Near Vasylivka, the occupiers formed so-called “columns”. Ten vehicles in one column. Ten convoys were let through per day. We were at fourteenth. That is, there was no light on this day.

They started to let us in at 05 p.m. Until now, we were still hoping. We had Polina. It was difficult for her anyway. And the night in the field, in the bus, sitting - it is difficult for a healthy person. At the pass, there were apparently Abkhazians, not Katsaps for sure. They asked them: how about us? It was said that Polina would have no problems with one escort. But we clearly decided that we would not break up the family.

We fidgeted, fidgeted, and one girl, may God give her health and everything, advised us to approach the elder. I took the discharge from the hospital, where it was about fractures, about everything, and Polina and I went to the elder. The elder is also not a katsap, he is kind of narrow-eyed. I do not know why the elder was not from Abkhaz. Perhaps they were diluted a little so they would not “go rogue”.

The elder turned out to be normal (there are also people there). He told them to stand in the seventh column. In general, he let a lot people to go. If there were with breasts, etc. The Abkhaz did not like it. Maybe they thought he was being rude, and I heard them cursing. But everything passed.

What surprised me? More than three months of war. I thought we would be leaving alone. But we have Polia. It happened. But more than one hundred and eighty vehicles. At least five people in a car, and also minibuses and buses, like ours. There were a couple of Zhiguli, which were against traffic. And then I think that these are local. Because one is behind the wheel. And here is the real picture: how many want to live in the russian world, how many do not.

After the last rashist checkpoint, the bridge was blown up, and everyone drove on the dirt road to detour. Good thing it didn't rain. If it had rained, we would not have passed. Such breaks that even the bus was clinging somewhere with its belly. Then serpentine. Not mountains, of course, but if they fell over, it would be almost impossible to put it back. Well done, driver.

At our first checkpoint, women were crying. Everyone shouted, “Glory to Ukraine!” The old man in the front seat began to hug the boy who came in to check his documents. Honestly, I couldn't believe it.

The thing that was unpleasantly surprising. At our first checkpoint there were quite young guys, eighteen years old. On the last Moskalsky there were men between the ages of thirty and thirty-five.

We called Ksyusha and asked to transfer money to the driver for the driveway. Since it was already very late and there was nowhere to withdraw from the card.

***

We arrived in Zaporizhzhia at about 10 p.m. with something. In the area of the local “Epicenter”. We were checked our documents, took pictures, gave us a coupon and sent us to the big tent. There was food in the tent (first, second, tea, coffee, sweets, cookies). Volunteers sat there - gave advice, provided temporary accommodation, issued free phone cards to those who needed them (we took). There was a table for searching for people. There was also a table of the “Mariupol City Council”. But it was late, and they were not working.

The volunteer Natalia (unfortunately, I don't know her last name) helped us with the settlement. Another golden person is on our way. A bus ran from the “Epicenter”, taking those who were homeless to kindergartens to spend the night. When Natalia found out how many of us there were, she decided to put us up in a hostel in the church. I don't even know which one. But not in the Orthodox, of course. The Orthodox can only pray and decorate baths with gold. And helping people is the Western churches – “spiritless”.

Volunteer drivers worked with Natalia. Somehow, we all fit into Lanos. But it was already around 12 o'clock. No one saw us.

So, in this church there was a big house where refugees were received for a day or two - like a transfer. There was everything: a bed, bed linen, a shower, they fed very well.

The next day, without belongings, we went back to the reception point for refugees. At the table of the Mariupol City Council, financial aid was issued. The “Diia” was installed and the documents for “compensation of destroyed property” were drawn up in it.

Natalia, the volunteer, drew us some perspectives. Western Ukraine, Spain, Austria. We looked in the West. There are some dormitories or a house on the edge of the village. If you and I and we are with you - it is still possible. But we have a big family + Polina. Something more thorough is needed.

The phone numbers of various volunteer centres were on the table. I called the first phone in Khmelnytskyi. The girl said that there were no more places. In general. As for the cabin on the edge of the village, I didn't call.

Spain and Austria remained. We thought. Natalia said that the Spanish are more like us, more open in general. And I realized that we are going to Austria. This “in general” kind of stressed me out. I realized that there is enough mess, just like ours. And I wanted at least a little order.

The children were upset at first. At least something has been heard about Spain - the sea, the sun, etc. Austria - cold and “white bears”. But we watched all kinds of YouTube. We calmed down.

The bus to Austria left the next day. And Svetlana and I went to restore our old phone cards. “Phoenix” of the DNR cards, of course, did not work. To restore the number, you need to give the three numbers that have been called the most. The women restored the number quickly because the press secretary in our family is my mother. Everything turned out to be more difficult with my number. I am not a very public person. Somehow, two numbers, Sveta and Nastia, passed. The third - well, no way. It rained like a bucket and there were simply no visitors. And the guy who gave us numbers had nothing to do and started trying different options to help us. The guy turned out to be a real hacker in the good sense of the word. And luckily for us, he succeeded.

I still thought about the shower. If we hadn't slipped past the front line yesterday, we wouldn't have driven through the washed-out ground today.

***

The next morning, June 19, after breakfast at the hostel, these kind people took us to the refugee reception point on their bus. The bus to Lviv must come there first.

And here we are told that Austria is cancelling. A bit of a shock. I have already started calling the child’s godfather Ihor in Kharkiv. His colleague left for Norway. We began to learn about Norway. In the meantime, we will find out what Austria will be. Natalia's partner, Serhii, called someone about the bus or something, but it worked out.

At twelve o'clock we loaded. On the way, we were also given grocery sets and two packs of water. Many thanks to all volunteers, all volunteer organizations. Some sponsors must have paid for these buses and such.

We arrived in Lviv early in the morning. We were again taken by volunteers. We were accommodated at the bus station on the third floor. Free food again. Large mattresses, bedding. We ate. The children fell asleep. Two policemen guarded the third floor. Probably from fake refugees. Enough people are willing to eat and sleep for free.

In Lviv, we met with the children’s godfather, Voloshin, who lived with us at the beginning of the war. At that time, they lived in Lviv.

We walked around Lviv. Well, what can I say? Better to see it once. I still can't describe it. Come. We ran to look at the theatre. It seems that a large banner of “Azovstal” in the shape of a heart hangs on the city hall. And one thinks: what a big country we are - from Lviv to Mariupol. We also took pictures for the “newspaper”. It's such a joke: they take pictures on the street, then quickly print them as if you were in a newspaper. In short, we bought.

We left Lviv on the evening of June 21. They drove through the Carpathians. Very nice. At the stops, photos were taken against the background of the mountains.

We arrived at Chop late at night. I didn't have a passport; I never had one. All the volunteers from Zaporizhzhia to Lviv said that a photocopy of a refugee, especially one with many children, would let them run away. They said that the Hungarians could create problems, and we would cross our border without looking. But whether some law came out, or the change fell on the bastard (by the way, people insisted on the second when they learned about this case) - they did not let us out. I don't even know how many roadblocks there are across the front line, across the entire “DNR”. And here! As in the classic – “I am hurt for my country”. The DNR soldiers did not break up the family, but ours did. In short, when they said: “Go out with your belongings”, I didn't believe it. I thought the guys got crazy. But yes: “You are in Ukraine, baby,” as they say.

As I was in shorts and a T-shirt, I said goodbye to my friends, took a backpack with my missing documents and went back at two o'clock in the morning. I reached the hotel “Europe”. Took number “13”. Apparently, no one wanted to book it, but it fit me.

In the morning, I took a minibus to Uzhhorod to get my passport.

In Uzhhorod, they do not make passports at the Center for the Provision of Administrative Services. But where? How is that where? At the passport desk! And there they said that a “Birth Certificate” is needed. But even so, you have to wait for a passport for three months.

In the evening, I called my niece Ksiusha. At that time, she and her husband Anton lived in Uzhhorod. I lived with them for two days.

During this time, I called everyone I knew, everyone who I thought would be able to help me get the documents done as soon as possible.

In two days, I looked Uzhhorod. Very nice city. Of course, I was in the castle. I did not like the fact that there was only a museum there. I did not feel the spirit of the times. It would be interesting to make a wing or several halls in the spirit of that time. But it's all about money, I understand. There was one room, but a flag hung on the door, and nothing could be seen of that person.

I didn't like also some iron monsters outside. Taking into account the fact that children go there. I didn't even want to look at them.

I really liked the wooden houses. But again, the rooms are barred and unlit. The middle is not visible. I understand: they are afraid that something will be stolen, and the finances probably do not allow to put a guard in every room.

During these two days, it became clear that no one would help me with my passport. I decided to go to Kyiv. I thought that if they would start publishing first, it would be in the capital. On June 24, I boarded a train to Kyiv.

In Kyiv, I passed through the police border on “Diia”. It was Saturday. But one Center for the Provision of Administrative Services worked, and I handed in my documents there. I walked around Kyiv. Khreschatyk, Independence Square. I travelled through the cities of battles. Memorial signs where the heroes died. Eternal memory.

I went to the volunteer center “I am Mariupol”. Tai's friend's mother works there. In this center, good people gave a humanitarian and the address of a hostel where I can spend the night. I settled in a hostel. And somehow, I realized that at this moment, when I'm waiting for my passport, I have nothing to do, nowhere to run.

With the beginning of the war, everything went smoothly, all kinds of obstacles were overcome. All running. Center for the Provision of Administrative Services said to wait at least two weeks. And in Uzhgorod, Anton told me: “Your family has such a history that it is better to write it down while it is remembered.” I replied that, “You need flair and all that”. Well, we talked, and that's it. And now I think, maybe this is a sign that I was not allowed to cross the border. If I hadn't stayed, I 100% wouldn't have started writing these notes.

And now, on June 25, 2022, in a hostel in Kyiv, I am starting to write the history of our family from the beginning of the Ukrainian-russian war...

But not finished!!!

13.07.2022