How I lived through Russian occupation with my mentally challenged son
I am one of those people who believed that in the 21st century, a full-scale invasion would never happen. But on February 24, I woke up at 5 am from powerful explosions from Melitopol. We spent two months under Russian occupation. I want to tell you what it is like to live in a “quiet” occupation, being the mother of a child with intellectual disabilities, and how much our lives have changed.
There was no fighting in our village of Zaporizhia region. We were besieged by Russian soldiers who entered Melitopol and Tokmak. Subsequently, they began to control all entrances and exits from towns and villages of the region at checkpoints.
Till the last moment, it was not believed that this was a war. I remember the same day we arrived in Tokmak to withdraw cash. People stood in endless queues at pharmacies and ATMs, no one understood what had happened. Locals joked: Tokmak is a depressed city, you cannot be afraid of missile strikes, everything has been destroyed for a long time. Nobody planned to leave, and where? Everyone was waiting for information about what would happen next. For example, in case of aggravation in Donbass, I was ready to shelter migrants in my house.
On February 25 it became known that the occupiers are already in Melitopol. I believed that they would not pass further, that the land of Melitopol would become a grave for the enemy. However, on February 26, enemy vehicles entered our village. In the morning my son Bogdan and I were guests, suddenly someone said: “ Russian tanks are there.” I didn’t believe it; people say a lot in general… We were going home, Bogdan, who was running ahead, stopped, pointing his finger on the road: “Mom, tanks?”. Traces of tank tracks could be seen on the asphalt. “Maybe these are our tanks,” I thought hopefully. A few hours later, another column of vehicles with the letter Z passed through the village, only then did I realize — “THIS IS WAR.”
The war came to our house
In the evening something was bombed somewhere nearby. Electricity, water and cellular network disappeared in the village. The first night we slept in the basement. The most difficult thing was to explain to my son what was happening, because Bohdan had intellectual disabilities and hyperdynamic syndrome. He has a stereotypical limited behavior, so it requires strict adherence to established rituals, reacting sharply to any changes. Living with such a child requires the same sequence of actions every day: he eats only from certain dishes, eats only certain foods, walks the same path, etc. Any deviation from the usual ritual is accompanied by hysteria and aggression.
I cried and scolded myself for the fact that recently, due to a pandemic, I moved Bohdan from the Dnipro (ed. City in eastern Ukraine) to the village, because own housing is a considerable advantage over a rented apartment. Less than a year later, I made repairs, created space for Bohdan and for myself. Only one day and we already became uncontrolled territory of Ukraine.
We were lucky, the power line was repaired the next day, then water appeared. To call, we went outside the village to the hill, where sometimes you could catch a mobile network. It was always windy, fingers were shaking, the whole body was frozen, however, it was the only way to tell relatives and friends that we were alive.
In a few days, the stores ran out of food. There was a lack of food. I was constantly reminded of the Holodomor of 32–33 years. Will the bitter history of the Ukrainian people be repeated again? I calculated how many cookies I could give my son a day, divided the apples in half, cut one half for the baby, and hid the other for later. Usually, all my products were more focused on the tastes of Bogdan, he is very selective in nutrition. I ate mostly vegetables: beets, carrots, potatoes, cabbage, cooked vinaigrette and other salads.
Another problem is medicals, or rather their absence. When I got sick, and then Bogdan, I also divided the flu pills (there were a limited number of them) in half, just like apples. I gave the pills to the baby, although I was treated with viburnum berries. It was scary to die due to lack of medicine and inability to get the necessary medical care. That’s how my relative died, whose disease worsened. I brought her food, there was nothing I could do to help. Eventually, she lay down, unable to bypass herself. There were no diapers or absorbent diapers, nothing to care for the bedridden patient. All that remained was to pray that God would accept her as soon as possible. She died a week later. That day, to reduce stress, I drank a bottle of wine alone.
When mobile communication resumed, I began looking for evacuation options. Another problem arose — lack of fuel. Leaving Tokmak or Melitopol with someone was more realistic without your own car. It was not difficult to find a person who can drive you to the city, but how to fill the car? Without my son, I would have walked or cycled… What about the child? Over time, gasoline went on sale at a price of 80 UAH (approximately $ 2.7) per liter. In one of the shops they began to bring food and necessities, but everything was 2–3 times more expensive than before.
It is difficult to withdraw cash in the occupied territories, card payments are almost never accepted. There are many ads on social networks that offer services for transferring funds on cards in cash at a substantial interest rate. Most often, speculators charge 25% of the amount for their services, you can find “more democratic” proposals: 10, even 7%. It did not occur to me — there is food, but not everyone can buy them at such crazy prices, many people have lost their jobs. Pay ingcrazy interest for withdrawing one’s own money, in my opinion, is robbery. During a war, this way of profiting from people is no different from looting.
The occupiers are deliberately aggravating the situation by blocking any humanitarian aid from the territories controlled by Ukraine. Their desire is to bring people to exhausted obedience, to the readiness to sell their house for a piece of bread.
“Silent” occupation is when they do not bomb or shoot, but have power over everyone: they terrorize, destroy your freedom, degrade your dignity. You can’t influence the situation, you can’t change anything — this is the hardest thing in the occupation.
We did not enjoy mobile communication for long. The occupiers jammed communications, the Internet and television. The Russian military, which had previously seized the TV tower, began broadcasting Russian TV channels. It is good that people periodically have a wired Internet, very slow, but still the Internet. I went to the neighbors, asked them for Wi-Fi. It was scary to be in an information vacuum. Helplessness exhausts many times more than any exhausting work.
When the wired internet disappeared, my heart foretold something bad. For several days in a row, there were warnings in various chat rooms about raids by the occupiers. I was convinced that the Internet was “cut down” by enemies so that we would not warn each other.
The russists (ed. so are often called russian occupants in Ukraine, in analogy to fascists) reached our village as well. Several groups of occupiers walked around the yards, conducted searches, checked basements. I stood by the window and looked out through the blinds at the street. I looked at the armed russists around, my soul froze with fear.
In Dnipro, I was engaged in various patriotic and volunteer activities. An anti-fascist wrote about me on the website, calling me a “local maidaner” (ed. “Maidaner” — a participant in the 2014 revolution of dignity against pro-Russian President Viktor Yanukovych). Once a friend of mine joked: at first you went to rallies with a portrait of Oleg Sentsov (ed. Ukrainian film director, screenwriter and writer from the Crimea), and if you are taken prisoner, Oleg Sentsov will go to rallies for your freedom with your portrait. Then we laughed, and when the participants of the anti-terrorist operation / environmental protection, patriots, activists and other conscious people began to disappear, and the enemy with a weapon was standing near my house, it was not funny — I was shaking, as if in a trance. In addition, at the end of January this year, I became one of the winners of the International Photo Contest of The Day. The photo I sent to the competition was presented at the photo biennial in the capital’s Ukrainian House. It was the marriage of a soldier with his beloved in the intensive care unit of the hospital of Mechnikova. I took this photo when I lived in Dnipro and worked as a correspondent for a local newspaper. All local mass media wrote about my victory (fortunately, the occupiers did not read newspapers).
I did not know how the russists visit would end, but when the doorbell rang, I went to open it. If I hadn’t opened the door, they would have shot them. Three armed occupiers stood outside the door. One of them said that they should inspect my apartment to see if I was hiding anyone. At that moment, my neighbor came out into the yard, then the russists split up: two went to him, one to me. Maybe that’s what saved me. Three occupiers with machine guns and one woman with a child… It is difficult to say what could happen. I led the enemy through the rooms, mentally wishing him to be in hell. He hastily inspected everything and left — everything happened so fast that Bogdan did not have time to get scared. I calmed down because I realized that the occupiers knew nothing about me or my affairs. After moving to the village, I created another profile on Facebook, purely for locals, so as not to be too different from them. There I mostly posted Bohdan, cats and bicycle rides. That’s how the desire to be like everyone else “played into my hand.”
In the first month of the occupation, it was difficult to comprehend the full extent of what had happened. I panicked but hoped for a quick end to the war. After two months, there was a feeling that we were forgotten. I had a tantrum, I wanted to die. I did not feel safe in my own home, in my homeland…
Evacuation
The most difficult thing was to dare to evacuate, because not everyone reaches their destination. The racist occupiers are fighting against the civilian population. Evacuation is a “Russian” roulette, even in the official humanitarian corridor. It is advantageous for the enemy that people do not leave the occupied territories to use civilians as human shields. Russists violate agreements, fire on evacuation vehicles and gathering places, take civilians hostage, and evacuate to the territory of the aggressor country.
It is necessary to pass many Russian checkpoints where search, check documents and phones, collect all information on passengers. A huge queue of cars immediately lined up near the checkpoint. How to evacuate with a child who cannot stand the queues and expectations? I have a few melatonin pills left. I thought that if the occupiers took us hostage, we would give Bohdan the sleep hormone so that he would sleep, and not worry so as not to provoke setbacks in his development.
I agreed with my acquaintances that I would come with my son to Tokmak, we would live in their apartment for a while to look for ways to evacuate. In Tokmak, the occupiers met at every turn. Bogdan and I almost never went outside. If they went for groceries, I took a button phone with me (so as not to be taken away), dressed in black and tried not to attract attention. Although it is difficult not to attract attention with a child, who is constantly screaming and running somewhere.
I monitored Tokmak groups on Facebook, watching the messages in the telegram to see if anyone would take a woman with a child with them. A few days later I was lucky enough to book two seats in a car. The first attempt to evacuate failed — the occupiers detained a convoy of cars at a checkpoint in the town of Polohy and ordered to go back. Someone went on a detour and was able to get to Zaporozhye, and someone exploded on a mine. We returned to Tokmak through the same checkpoints. Again searches, checks of documents, phones.
Friends shared the contacts of tested drivers who evacuated for a reward. It didn’t matter, for money or not, I wanted to be in a free territory sooner. Exit from Zaporozhye was closed, drivers could not return. It seemed that all my attempts to leave were doomed to failure.
We lived in an apartment where russians had previously come with searches. At the suggestion of one of the local occupiers, they broke down the door, but did not find anyone — the owner of the apartment left on time. Then they turned everything upside down and left, grabbing some things. I was afraid that they might return because they would notice that someone lived in the apartment. Therefore, when it got dark, I did not turn on the light, and the windows were always curtained. Thoughts of constant threat killed me, I felt doomed — we will never get out of here.
One evening I saw a message in a telegram: there are places in the minibus for women, children and the elderly. Incredible luck! During the occupation, I learned to really pray and asked God to get us to Zaporizhia safe and untouched. I was scared to remain incapacitated, to lose my arms or legs, because caring for a child with special needs requires an incredible amount of energy and strength, and if something happens to me, who will take care of both of us? …
The next day, at 6.30, an evacuation convoy of cars left Tokmak, the brain refused to believe in the surrounding reality. The alien invaders will decide our fate — they will release, or return, detain, or let the bullet catch up. At each checkpoint, Russian soldiers took something. The greatest value for them were cigarettes, bottled water, toilet paper, bread and alcohol. The occupiers are hungry, skinned, with a persistent smell of onions and fumes — soldiers of the “Second Army of the World”.
When we got to the first Ukrainian checkpoint, there were doubts. Suddenly, this is a pseudo-Ukrainian checkpoint — a provocation of the enemy. Doubts were dispelled by the military man, who spoke in a melodic singing language… I could not hold back my tears. I wanted to hug the soldier and all the other Ukrainian soldiers we met in the territory controlled by Ukraine.
April 22, when we escaped the occupation, I consider the second day of our birth.
Being the mother of a special child
There are many recommendations on the Internet for immigrants. Where to sit, how to be silent, to be grateful and to silently take what was given to us.
Nobody owes us anything, but what are we guilty of? You must run to protect your children! We are not beggars, but people who have escaped from hell. I wanted to live at home hoping for a quick deoccupation of our region and other occupied territories. I left because I understood perfectly well: russists can take me prisoner, rape me, mock me, kill me in front of my son. Why did I stay in Dnipro and do not feel the ability to go to European countries? Due to intellectual disabilities and hyperdynamic syndrome, Bogdan is emotionally unstable, too fast and noisy, wakes up at 5 am and cannot calm down until 10 pm.
Lack of classes, a change in the usual rhythm of life, moving, a new situation, constant force majeure due to the inability to plan something in wartime — it affected the behavior of my son.
Immature emotions, outbursts of anger, imbalance, lack of endurance, hysteria, aggression — when I get scolded from him, autoaggression — when he bruises himself. I don’t want to be suspected of beating my child.
Mothers of children with mental disorders are experiencing another hell from which to escape… They have their own endless war. Most often, such families do not want to be evacuated due to lack of resources. I barely mustered the strength to survive the evacuation from the temporarily occupied territory. Millions of Ukrainian women around the world are now alone with their children. They are helped and supported, but they get tired of emigration, of experiences, of uncertainty and of children. Children are undoubtedly the most wonderful thing that can happen in life. However, the entire burden of caring for and raising children (this is the most difficult test) falls primarily on women’s shoulders.
During the occupation, I realized that we do not know how to appreciate ordinary goods. How good it is when there is light, water, mobile communication and the Internet. How good it is when there are products in stores and medicines in pharmacies. How good it is when you can move freely in any direction.
If you have someone in the occupied territories, ask “how are you?”, Share ways to leave and where to stay. If not for the support of friends, I would have given up a long time ago.
