25 Aug What we could squeeze into an old Lanos
Initially, I had no intentions of leaving Kherson, I thought I could survive with my son somehow in our apartment or maybe in the basement of another house. My husband had been away working in Poland since early February, so we didn’t have a car. At the time none of my close friends were thinking of leaving.
When the information about Bucha was released, I started feeling overcome with fear for myself and my child. The realization that Russian soldiers could come into our apartment at any time and do whatever they pleased became ever more present in my mind and made me seriously consider leaving the city.
It was April 1. I began following the social media groups discussing ways to leave, talking to my friends again, my classmates. I was terrified.
Around the same time, my sister, living with our parents in a nearby area, also started thinking about moving to a territory controlled by the Ukrainian forces, with her children and her husband, a policeman, who also received an order to that effect.
For a few days I felt like a fish out of water. I was irritable, tense and scared of falling asleep at night, I felt dreadfully lonely. On Friday, April 8, my sister had made up her mind to leave the town, driving their car through over 10 checkpoints to get to Kherson, and by night they were at my place. I had a day to collect my things and make all the little arrangements. We were to leave the following day at 6 a.m.
There was very little room available in the car, as my sister had taken as much stuff for the kids, herself and her husband as the old Lanos could hold. There was also a spare wheel and a gasoline canister in the boot. Consequently, our luggage contained only underwear, socks, a few T-shirts, some sports clothes, spring trousers, a pair of sneakers, all our papers, photos taken out of albums, medical records, my diary, a box with miscellaneous medicines and a nebulizer I use for my allergies and asthma. My boy wouldn’t part with his hamster, so we had to take it too.
I realized as we were leaving that we wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon…but I was hoping in a few months at least.
On the other hand, I was thinking our apartment might be bombed during the fighting and there might not be anything left of it, that we might have to start from scratch, again…. Then I had a thought that we might even die on the road, get shot, arrested, etc. I didn’t shut my eyes throughout the Friday night, I was in a terrible state of panic, scared of dying and fearing for my child. I received a late-night text from a former classmate saying: “Vika, think hard”. Meanwhile, the news said there was a car shot up with a child inside as the family was trying to reach Mykolaiv.
With all these thoughts swirling around in my head, all I wanted was to be able to doze off at least for an hour.
I didn’t fall asleep until 4 a.m. and right away I had to wake up. I asked my folks if they’d changed their minds. We decided together to risk it.
We deleted from our phones all the Ukrainian apps, photos with our symbols, Ukrainian songs, mail, etc. The hardest part was making the decision. When you’re already in a line of cars, going through the roadblocks and you see all the destruction around you, all the despair and these non-humans who just wrecked our lives and brought so much pain, you can’t help but feel anger and grief for your country and cry for all the people who died…
Story donated anonymously to the Museum of Abandonment as part of the Suitcases of Abandonment campaign. Project funded by CARE through the Sera Foundation, Care France and FONPC.
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