Portraits of Survival: Ukrainians who refuse to give up

On 20 October 2024, a Russian bomb exploded near Svitlana's house. Her voice trembles as she mentally returns to that night.

"Anastasia, my daughter, was sleeping in her room, and we were in another room. She had time to put a cushion on her head, and the ceiling fell on her. We rushed to her, but we couldn't see her. When we cleared everything, we found her unconscious," she recounts.

That night, the entire family survived, but the fear of losing them was suffocating. There was no time to think about material losses. Once she gathered herself, Svitlana set out to find support to rebuild her home. That is when she found us.

Despite her warm smile, her gaze remains full of concern. There is still much work ahead. Svitlana hurries to complete the repairs and dreams of peace and the day when her granddaughter will take her first steps in the garden. Svitlana continues to cultivate—planting tomatoes, cucumbers, berries, beans, and potatoes—because even in the darkest times, she needs this small piece of the future to hold on to.

At the start of the full-scale war, Maryna was tending to her kitchen when a Russian attack destroyed her life and home. At the age of 31, a blast damaged her spine and left her disabled. Since then, together with her mother, she has endured six more such "experiences," as they call them.

They've seen Shahed drones fly near their apartment and have had to replace their windows twice. This situation has become a constant challenge for them, but they've learned to recognise the characteristic sounds of different attacks. They follow a Telegram channel that alerts them of danger. They know that another often follows every explosion, so they rush into the hallway, the central and safest part of their apartment. On 1 November 2024, the two women were watching television on their couch when a missile struck a house in the courtyard of their building, "right next to the head of the police department's office," they say. The blast destroyed their windows. With European Union support, we helped them restore their home.

Maryna finds solace in her cat Martine and her dreams of motherhood. Her husband is a civil aviation engineer who has served in the army since the first day of the invasion. She is proud of him. But for Maryna's dream to come true, peace is a must.

Nadiia is 53 years old and lives a life marked by violent explosions that shake the region. Yet, despite these trials, she remains an optimistic woman, grateful for the help she receives from organisations such as People in Need, which provides her with heating assistance. She needs support, especially due to a hand disability that complicates her daily tasks.

Her son lives in Dnipro, far from her, but she manages with remarkable resilience. Surrounded by bees, pigs, cats, and dogs, she hopes peace will come soon "so that children can return to school," she says. Next to her house, a sled rests against the wall, symbolising both a cold winter and a time when days were more peaceful.

Lyubov, whose name means "love" in Ukrainian, is 76. She would have liked to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the house in which she was born, but the war had other plans. She lives surrounded by eight families, but every day, new people leave, fleeing the horrors of war. The latest to leave did so only four days ago, taking their children with them. But new people also come to seek refuge in this corner of the earth. Lyubov welcomes them with pastries she bakes on her stove. With European Union support, we provide her with firewood to keep her home warm.

Lyubov refuses to leave. The very thought of leaving her home and village is unbearable to her. Yet, she knows that if the Russians occupy her village, she will have no choice but to leave. She cannot imagine living under their rule, especially since she was once a Russian language teacher, a language she stopped speaking since the invasion. 

"They've done to us what the devil does," she says, her gaze filled with pain.

She still hopes for a victory, not an unconditional one, but a victory that allows for the reconstruction of a dignified future without the shadow of war.

Vira and Tania, both 68, have been friends for over fifteen years. Every day, they struggle to climb the stairs leading to Vira's son's apartment, which was destroyed by a bombing. Her son, who is in military training, was not injured by the explosion but cannot help with the reconstruction. So, the two women climb onto their stools, plaster the walls, and repair what they can.

Tania's son, died seven months ago in the war. He was 46. Vira helps her friend to keep her mind occupied. We provide they with financial assistance for the reconstruction.

"Movement is life," she says to motivate herself.

"Everything will be fine; we must keep moving and seek help to survive," adds Vira, whose name means "faith."

Borys, 76, wearing a beret, waits patiently on his cot in an old cultural centre. He fled his city of Kramatorsk after a rocket attack caused a panic attack. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, signalling that it was time to leave. A widower, he has no family but plans to go to western Ukraine.

"I thought that once I retired, I could travel, go to the sea, but Putin changed everything, and now we only have one sea," he says, referring to the Sea of Azov, de facto controlled by Russia since the annexation of Crimea in 2014.

Borys hopes one day to return home, but without certainty:

"The Russians use rockets, drones... and I feel like it's often on peaceful residences," he explains.

At the transit centre in Pavlohrad, he will have access to European Union cash assistance for his onward journey.

Ludmila, 73, fled her city of Pokrovsk, which is on the brink of collapse. On 13 February, two missiles destroyed her home. 

"I had a bad feeling. I took a shower in case I needed to go to the hospital; I tidied up and went to bed."

Around four in the morning, she was awakened by the first explosion. She rushed to the living room just before a second rocket plunged her into chaos.

"I had no kitchen, no ceiling, and there were metal pieces everywhere."

Ludmila had to flee. The Russian forces were too close, so she called the military, who took two days to come pick her up. She even tried to escape by bike without success. In the Pavlohrad transit centre, located in an old cultural centre, she waits for her daughter, who is in Italy, to come pick her up. She doesn't want to leave the country, so they will look for an apartment together; she hopes to return to her beautiful garden.