Ukrainian Portraits: Diaries from the Border

By Marina Sonkina

At the outbreak of the war in Ukraine in February 2022, Canadian author Marina Sonkina flew to the Ukrainian-Polish border to volunteer in a refugee camp using her knowledge of Russian and some Ukrainian. The suffering on a massive scale was beyond what she could possibly expect. "Putin's destruction of Ukraine left me with dismay and utter helplessness. The world order as we knew it, after WWII, was unraveling in Europe in front of my eyes, and I could do nothing about it. Evil always shouts loud; goodness is quiet. But when I came as a volunteer to a transition refugees centre at the Polish-Ukrainian border, I saw an outpour of good will on an unprecedented scale. This book is a celebration of magnanimity that lives in the heart of each of us and comes forth when called upon. It is also a homage to the millions of destitute Ukrainian women, faced with the daunting task of rebuilding their lives and the lives of their children with patient courage, moral grace, and faith in the ultimate victory of goodness over evil."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guernica Editions
• Release date: Sep 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781771838559

Book preview

title page

Copyright © 2023, Marina Sonkina and Guernica Editions Inc.

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication,

reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording

or otherwise stored in a retrieval system, without the prior consent

of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

Guernica Founder: Antonio D’Alfonso

Michael Mirolla, editor

Interior and cover design: Rafael Chimicatti

Front cover image: Włodzimierz Milewski

Ebook: Rafael Alt

Guernica Editions Inc.

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Distributors:

Independent Publishers Group (IPG)

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University of Toronto Press Distribution (UTP)

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First edition.

Printed in Canada.

Legal Deposit—Third Quarter

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2023934993

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Ukrainian portraits : diaries from the border / Marina Sonkina.

Names: Sonkina, Marina, 1952- author.

Series: Essential prose series ; 214.

Description: 1st edition. | Series statement: Essential prose series ; 214

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20230200591 | Canadiana (ebook) 2023020080X | ISBN 9781771838542 (softcover) | ISBN 9781771838559 (EPUB)

Subjects: LCSH: Sonkina, Marina, 1952-—Travel—Ukraine. | LCSH: Ukraine—History—Russian Invasion, 2022- | LCSH: Ukraine—History—Russian Invasion, 2022-—Personal narratives. | LCSH: Ukraine— Social conditions—21st century. | LCSH: Women, Ukrainian—Social conditions—20th century. | LCSH: Ukrainians—Social conditions—20th century.

LCGFT: Personal narratives. | LCGFT: Creative nonfiction.

Classification: LCC DK508.852 .S66 2023 | DDC 947.7086—dc23

Contents

Cover

Title page

Copyright

1. At the Border

2. My First Bus – Vera and Anna

3. Where is America?

4. The Ghost: Tatyana and Katerina

5. Dodo the Clown

6. Tikun Olam

7. Some Kind of Fish?

8. Semper Augustus: Kristina and Lydia

9. I Saw Their Faces: Oleg, Oksana, Jaroslav

10. Lettuce and Onions, Tomatoes and Watercress: Atanes and Basima

11. Maria of Korczowa

12. The Journey to the Future, the Journey to the Past

Afterword: Glory to Ukraine

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Landmarks

Copyright Page

Half Title Page

Title Page

Copyright Page

Table of Contents

Dedication

Afterword

Acknowledgments

I dedicate these stories to heroic Ukrainian people

who—I firmly believe—will prevail over the forces of Evil.

1. At the Border

On February 24, 2022,

Putin attacked Ukraine, launching the largest and the most brutal war on the European continent since WWII. Very quickly, in Russia, expressing any negative sentiments towards what was officially called a special operation, would become a criminal offence. But then, in the early days of the invasion, an anonymous Russian woman bared her feelings in a post on the internet: Overnight it became totally irrelevant how one looks; what kind of clothing one wears, what kind of films one watches. There is no point in any entertainment; no point in creative work or anything else. Food has no taste. Everything that has been familiar has totally lost its meaning.

Her emotions mirrored mine: bewilderment, numbness, stupor, inability to work, to focus on anything unrelated to the war, unfolding half a globe away from me, that’ s what I felt in these early days of invasion. Why? What for? No amount of political buzz could provide answers to these vexing questions.

I was born and raised in Moscow and spent there half of my professional life. My two sons were born there. I still have family both in Russia and Ukraine. For many years, I’ve been teaching Russian literature and the classical questions the classical Russian writers always asked who is to blame or what is to be done? could never be more poignant than at this pivotal moment of history.

Clearly, the war with Ukraine was unleashed by Putin. But was he the only culprit? Haven’t Russians been turning a blind eye to the twenty-three years of his rule while he was poisoning and executing his opponents? Didn’t they welcome the annexation of Crimea while taking a stroll along the theatrical sets that Moscow has been turned into? Or was there some invisible point of no return when a burgeoning democracy turned into autocracy, then into fascism? When any attempts at resistance – and there were many – would be doomed? Did the West play any role in it, looking at Putin as at a business partner first, an authoritarian second? And what would be the fate of Ukraine, the fate of Russia and Europe in the years to come?

History seemed to be exposing its nuts and bolts. But it wasn’t providing any answers or telling me which turn it would take next.

In this state of confusion, I decided to help Ukrainian refugees. My friends responded readily and generously to the fundraising I organized. My goal was to give this money directly to refugees, from hand to hand. But how to go about it, I didn’t know. Things started to gain steam when I saw on my computer screen an application form from the JDC (Jewish Distribution Committee). I quickly filled it out and was interviewed next day. By that time close to two million refugees had already crossed the border into Poland. Volunteers and interpreters were urgently needed. I had to arrive in Warsaw the following Monday. It was already Friday. I had a week-end to fill out numerous forms and then pack.

It was the end of March.

2

The flight from Vancouver, Canada to Europe takes a day. Around midnight, I arrived in Warsaw. Derek, a Pole, who had been working for JDC tirelessly, on three-four hours of sleep, asked me if I wanted to see right then what it was all about or should he take me to the hotel for some rest? He put my suitcase into his van and five hours later I and two other volunteers from the US arrived to the Ukrainian-Polish border.

With no booths or guards in sight, it didn’t look to me like a border. It was dark, windy and bitterly cold. The atmosphere was sombre; asking questions somehow didn’t feel right. I decided we were taken to a special crossing, designated for some special purpose. There was nothing around, except a German Red Cross ambulance brightly illuminated from inside. Next to it, on the ground, were placed seven stretchers. Their white fabric contrasted sharply with the night darkness upon dark gravel. It was the sight of these stretchers, empty for now but soon to be filled with sick or wounded, that shocked me into the realization that the war zone was at hand.

Half an hour later, a bus from Ukraine with Holocaust survivors had arrived. As I found out later, Germany had made special arrangements to take them in. Six or seven frail women in their late eighties and nineties and one man were helped out of the bus. They clung to their old-fashioned, worn out purses and plastic bags, all they had by way of luggage. The man, as far as I could tell, didn’t have anything at all in his hands. Most of the women could walk if helped. But one, extremely emaciated, was unconscious, either wounded or sick. The German nurses (all volunteers) administered intravenous. From their conversation I understood they weren’t sure the lady would make it to Germany. One woman seemed terribly distraught: nervously turning her handbag inside out, she refused to go any further. A watch, her late husband’s present, was missing. Finally, she settled on a stretcher, her handbag on top of her chest. Some women didn’t realize there was another long journey to endure. They had been on the road for 15 hours already crossing Ukraine. As far as they were concerned, they had already arrived. The man sitting at the back of the bus looked unperturbed: I’ve started my life with one war. And now I’m finishing it with another. Does it matter to me where to die?

In the next three weeks, I met hundreds