Diary of a volunteer: On the front line of war

Part 6: A homecoming

Monday 17 June, 2024

It’s another early start if we’re to get back to Kyiv before our first meeting. We leave the hotel at 4am, around an hour before curfew lifts, but we’re in a MOAS vehicle and don’t hit the first checkpoint until 5am, so there seems to be no issue.

This time I’m with our driver Sasha, whose English is less good, but who is driving at a good pace, clearly attempting to make up time. Yesterday, he told his story to our Ukrainian colleague, and she relayed it to us at the base. Sasha is from a town just outside Kyiv. At the start of the war it was occupied by the Russians, forcing thousands to flee. Thousands still were trapped in the village, refusing to accept Russian documents, and unable to move freely. The stories he told of the abuse suffered by those left behind at the hands of the occupiers is devastating and I don’t feel it necessary to repeat them. We’ve all read enough articles about the atrocities of war to understand the kind of degrading, traumatic, violent and sadistic actions seen during those long weeks.

Roads in Ukraine are lined with evidence of war, including an old MOAS base destroyed in an airstrike

He recounted how the village was also cut off from the outside, situated in a small valley, the residents were unable to access any food or provisions, and military vehicles passing by the village on the main road above would unload any remaining ammunition into the town on their way back from a mission, indiscriminately targeting anyone or any livestock in sight. Sasha and some other men from the village who had escaped before the occupation took it upon themselves to smuggle food to those inside using underground sewage systems and drains, risking their lives, but saving many. The village is no longer occupied, but the trauma of that time is embedded into the community.

We arrive back in Kyiv at around 9:15am and I meet my colleagues for our last walk in the city. It feels very strange to be ambling through the cobbled streets, past historic buildings, just hours after leaving the heart of this nations fight for its independence. But I’m tired, and grateful for all the experiences available to me, so I decide to give in to the summer day, following colleagues around the market, posing with them for photos at panoramic viewpoints and visiting the historic Golden Gate. The roadside stalls where we mull over small trinkets to take back for family are stocked with a bizarre mix of touristy knick-knacks and dark war memorabilia.

As we leave the hotel for the last time, I embrace the team we’re leaving behind, full of gratitude and awe, and we head to the station to begin the long journey home. On the train, we toast to our colleagues and one another before collapsing on our bunks to nap before the passport checks at the border crossing.

Tuesday 18 June and Wednesday 19 June, 2024

It’s early morning and we’ve arrived in Chelm. It’s time to change trains and head to Warsaw. No one is chatty at this point, so we read and watch our programmes and listen to podcasts until Warsaw is announced as the next stop. By the time we arrive I’m dead on my feet. It’s been days since I’ve slept and, although I’m aware of the privilege of my position as compared to those we’ve left behind, I simply cannot fight the fatigue.

The MOAS 68 team bid farewell to Christina before heading back their frontline base

I’m excited to get home now, and the journey back is blissfully uneventful. When I arrive in Malta I am greeted by the most welcome sight; my dad is waiting at arrivals for me, and as I embrace him in the Maltese sun the smell of dust and heat confirms to me that I am home.

On the drive home, we talk little of Ukraine, focussing more on what’s been happening since I’ve been away, and what the plans are for the upcoming weekend. He drops me off at home, knowing I’ll want to shower and unpack before the children come home. When they get in, I’m clean and back in my normal clothes, I’ve unpacked and done the laundry, erasing all signs that I’ve been away.

Grace comes home with flowers for me, and Merlin gives me his toothy grin when he realises I’m there. I’m immediately bombarded for presents and I dish out my souvenirs as though I’m returning from a summer holiday. When I give Brian his small token, he hands me something in return – it’s a small bundle of yellow post-its. He says that every time he thought of me while I was away and wished for my safe return he wrote ‘please’ on it as a kind of manifestation. The pages are covered, front and back, with his illegible scrawl. Together, we place Kalenda’s nephew’s patch on our mantle, and stand together to wish him home safely.

Christina returns home to a relieved family in time to celebrate her daughter's KG1 graduation

Within minutes the children are fighting over a balloon, the dog is barking at a neighbour and my mother is tidying up around me. I’m home, and all is back to normal. Not so for my colleagues in Ukraine, nor for the families I met along the way. For them normal is an impossibly long way ahead, for even once the fighting is done, rebuilding their beautiful country and healing their resilient, but traumatised, communities, will surely take decades and leave scars that will not fade.

I hope to use this visit, my reflections and experiences, to bolster the support we offer to our teams on the ground and partners in the field and I hope beyond hope that if my country, my community, my family, were ever in such a vulnerable position, that teams with the compassion, expertise professionalism and capacity of the MOAS teams I’ve met this week are around to help.

I am incredibly proud of the small part I play in the work MOAS does, in Ukraine and also in our other programmes around the world. I marvel at how one medium sized Maltese NGO can be having such an impact on communities in crisis around the world.

End of the series