by Shannon Ashton, LHI Board Member
Flags bearing the names of fallen Ukranian soldiers in Independence Square, Kyiv.
February 12, 2024
Chisinau, Moldova
I’m on a bus from Moldova to Ukraine in support of crisis relief in the ongoing war in Ukraine. We’ll cross the border in just a little while. I’ll be all over the country documenting relief efforts and capturing stories from the front lines. This trip doesn’t come without risks so prayers for our team are gratefully accepted.
February 15, 2024
Odesa, Ukraine
We could hear a soft voice floating through the misty, cold night air in Odesa. A few people scattered on mostly empty benches. An attempt at normal life. Barbed wires and hedgehogs stand guard and nearby prized monuments are covered and sandbagged. We stop and listen. The music glides through the foggy night as a brave act of hope.
February 16, 2024
Odesa, Ukraine
Vadim’s Odesa flat was destroyed by a drone attack two weeks ago. When he heard the siren he ushered his mother out of their first floor flat down to safety in a more secure spot on the ground floor of the building. That move surely saved their lives. Vadim, a young twenty-something, is a member of the LHI team working in Ukraine. He carries on—going to work and helping others. He quietly shared the news of his flat, and generously offered to allow us to visit, with permission to share. The trauma is fresh. No roof. Rubble covers everything, and what remains stands still in time. His neighbour across the hall was saved only because she was in the shower, literally the only space in her flat not completely destroyed. Vadim’s resilience and strength is incredibly inspiring. He even manages to crack a few smiles. I honestly don’t know how. He is in a temporary shelter as he awaits an assessment to know if his building will be condemned, like so many countless others. This happened just two weeks ago. The war is not over.
February 18, 2024
Kyiv, Ukraine
People here are trying to live their lives as best they can, but signs of war are everywhere. Very few spaces in Kyiv are without some reminder of war. Whether it’s blown out windows, pitted building walls, the darkened streets at night (curfews run across the country), minefield warnings, air raid sirens, sandbagged statues, sounds of explosions, the evidence of war goes on and on. Mostly it’s the long look of war on the faces of the people we meet. We chat to a few, they are curious about our American accents and why we’re here (no one is coming here). We’re met with warmth and gratitude for our support, but the trauma of war is written all over their faces. The men cannot leave the country. Many of age are already fighting. Those who aren’t wait for their call. Or maybe conscription will get to them first. We enjoy a nice meal; restaurants are open. The main courses come with a side of air raid sirens. War is relentless. And this is life in Kyiv, currently better off than what is going on in eastern Ukraine, where we go next.
February 19, 2024
Kharkiv, Ukraine
During our two days in Kharkiv the sirens were nearly nonstop. I’m so rattled by this experience. A missile struck the city while we were visiting program centers in nearby villages. There is no knowing when or where the strikes will come. We heard mines go off; every piece of earth is a minefield now. And with all this, your nervous system begins an internal battle. And in these eastern frontline locations the missile defense system is almost nonexistent. There is no time for detection or deployment as it’s too close to the source, Russia mere kilometres away. I was overcome with worry and anxiety as we settled into our accommodations for the night. The doubt and fear that creeps in when the sirens ring out. Where to go. What to do. This all layered on top of sleep deprivation. It’s psychological warfare. And I only have to deal with it for one week here. For those living in Ukraine it’s become a way of life. Reminders of war are everywhere as destruction lies in the dark wake of war. There is a resolute determination I find uniquely Ukrainian that completely overwhelms me. I feel so fragile here.
A local artist gifted a heartbreaking painting to LHI. It represents the horrors of this war. Two years and still no end in sight.
To find out more about LHI’s programs in Ukraine, or to donate to keep those programs running, visit the Ukraine page on our website.