by Ihor Tereshchenko, LHI Ukraine Country Director
The sky over Velyka Novosilka, Donetsk Oblast, Ukraine, is shrouded in the gray shade of war. It is April 2024, and this is the second year of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine. As I set foot on this war-torn land, the harsh reality of the conflict hits me in a way I could never have imagined. The people here are living on the edge of survival, but their spirit remains unbroken.
Ihor (left) stands in the village of Velyka Novosilka in Eastern Ukraine
Our mission is to deliver humanitarian aid to those who need it. I meet Svetlana, a local woman who has taken on the role of coordinator for her neighbors and friends. Despite the constant danger, she helps us distribute aid and provides a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of this new reality. While the doctor is tending to the sick, Svitlana agrees to show me her apartment, or rather what's left of it.
The entrance to the building is marked with the word "People". It is a desperate call, a message to the Russian soldiers who could break into the city any day and who often "clean up" buildings in captured cities without regard to whether there are civilians or military inside. The sign is meant to protect, but its effectiveness is questionable. However, in the face of such uncertainty, hope clings to even the smallest gestures.
Svitlana leads me to her top-floor apartment. She opens the door very carefully to prevent her cat from escaping. The cat, once a victim of cruelty, now cowers in fear of strangers. She once rescued this then kitten from a big dog, to which people had thrown it, and had abused it beforehand. The apartment is a shell of its former self. Windows shattered by relentless shelling, the balcony littered with broken glass, the wind seeping through every crack. It is no longer a home but a storage space for belongings and food.
In stark contrast, Svitlana's basement "room" tells a story of survival. It is a tiny, dark space, no larger than 2 meters by 2 meters, once a technical room now turned into her sanctuary. She has been living here for over two years, without electricity or water. Her main source of light is a makeshift lantern—a plate of sunflower oil with a smoldering string. This dim light is a ray of hope in the long, anxious nights for thousands of people like Svetlana - people for whom life ended in February 2022 and endless survival and struggle began.
Despite the dire conditions, Svitlana's resilience shines through. We step into the courtyard, and there, in the middle of the apartment building yard, where flowers once bloomed, stands a mini-farm. Svitlana grows fresh vegetables and fruits, a lifeline for the locals who have no access to fresh produce. Their only source of food is humanitarian aid brought by volunteer teams like ours. Her greatest pride is her strawberry bushes. As she shows them to me, her eyes light up. "In another month or so, we will have real strawberries. Can you imagine?" she says, her voice filled with hope.
Next to the strawberries, a broken tree stands as a reminder of the shelling the day before. The contrast is stark—while I can easily buy strawberries from a hypermarket across the street, Svitlana risks her life to grow them. Her determination to grow these little red gems in a war zone says a lot about the human spirit.
Svitlana's story is just one of many. The people of Velyka Novosilka live in constant fear, yet they find ways to adapt and survive. They have created a community of resilience, supporting each other through the darkest times. They remind me that even in the face of unimaginable hardship, the human spirit remains unbroken.
As I leave Velyka Novosilka, I carry with me a sense of awe and admiration for these people. Their strength and determination are a beacon of hope. They show me that even in the shadow of war, life goes on. And as long as there are people like Svitlana, there is hope for a brighter future.