By Ihor Tereshchenko, LHI Ukraine Country Director
Ihor with Stas, LHI Lviv Shelter manager and evacuation coordinator from NGO I Am Not Alone, at the entrance to Zaporizhzhia city.
Our evacuation trip to Zaporizhzhia and Pavlohrad was not only long and exhausting, but also emotionally draining. We covered over 2500 kilometers (1600 miles) in three days, navigating dangerous, war-torn regions with little to no rest. From Lviv, we made our way to Zaporizhzhia, where we picked up a group of civilians displaced from the frontlines. They were silent and withdrawn, weighed down by loss and uncertainty. Most were elderly individuals or mothers with children, their eyes hollow from the constant strain of living through war.
In Pavlohrad, we were supposed to pick up a second group of evacuees from Pokrovsk, a city now largely reduced to ruins. But fate had other plans. After surviving the destruction of Pokrovsk, the group found themselves bombarded once again in Pavlohrad. The emotional and physical toll was too much. Physically and emotionally exhausted, they made the difficult decision to stay in Dnipro for a few days to recover and plan their next steps.
One of our evacuees, Oleh, a retired teacher from Orikhiv, shared his story with us. His hometown, just 8 kilometers from the front line, was reduced to rubble. The only remnant of his old life was a refrigerator, somehow untouched amidst the ruins. "We have nothing left," he said, "except memories and the hope that this war will one day end." For now, Oleh and his wife are heading to Denmark, where they will start over in a foreign land, completely uncertain of the future.
Then there was Andriy (name changed), a quiet, dignified man with noble gray hair. As the miles passed, he shared his own story. A priest and chaplain from a small town in Donetsk, Andriy was in western Ukraine when the war began. His mother, bedridden and elderly, was left behind in the occupied town. Despite numerous attempts to reach her, Andriy never succeeded. He spent months volunteering and helping civilians until he injured his arm during a recent shelling. His injury forced him to join our evacuation. He planned to reunite with his son in Vinnytsia for treatment and to figure out how to rescue his mother from the occupation.
We dropped Andriy off on a dark, deserted highway near Vinnytsia. All that remained of his past life fit into a small backpack. His eyes reflected his emotional scars and worry for his mother. Yet, his last words to us were filled with hope and faith: "God bless you. Help yourself and your loved ones. And believe in a near victory."
People boarding our bus in Zaporizhzhia for further evacuation.
As we completed the long journey back to Lviv, leaving behind the ruins, chaos, and heavy silence, it was impossible not to feel the weight of these stories. Each person we helped was carrying the loss of a home, a family, a sense of security that would likely never return. Yet, even in the face of devastation, hope persists. It’s found in the quiet resolve of Oleh, holding onto memories as their only connection to the life they once knew. It’s in the strength of Andriy, who, despite being torn away from his mother and his past, offered us words of faith and encouragement.
This trip reminded me that the road to safety and stability is long, and for many, it’s still uncertain. But with every kilometer covered, every person helped, and every story shared, we see that resilience remains. These are the people we serve—their courage inspires us to fight for their future. This is why we do what we do, even when the path is long and the road is hard. Because for these people, it’s a journey not just of survival, but of finding hope again.
