Where war never seems to end – # 1
Memories from Ukraine
In February 2022, Russia declared war on Ukraine, turning a conflict that had been going on for almost ten years into a military operation affecting almost the entire territory of Ukraine. Although Kiev held its ground, many areas of Ukraine were occupied, and even today, two years later, there are active fights and bombings.
Huge numbers of people fled their homes and country to search refuge or in the hope of a better life. The first waves of the refugee influx mainly affected surrounding countries, including Hungary. Over time, however, fewer and fewer people left Ukraine, even though the situation only eased in certain areas. Life in Ukraine is far from normal to this day.
This article describes the subjective experiences of a Hungarian girl who spent the last two years in Ukraine. In 2022, the author spent more than half a year in Transcarpathia to understand the situation of this region during the war, and then travelled to Kiev to document how life went on during the war and how this kind of life started to become the new norm. The following stories are true, but names have been changed. In the series of articles our goal is to gradually get closer to the war, all the while guided by the dialogue between the external observer and the reflections of an inner self. The photos taken on the spot are not only illustrations, but they also provide a structure to the aforementioned dialogue based on facts and personal experience.
Saying goodbye at the border
We began our journey on 25th February to Záhony, however finding accommodation near to the border proved impossible, so we stayed in a little village 30 km from it. The next day we crossed the border, where strange, weird in fact rather bizarre events followed one another. There was not a single soul coming from the direction of Hungary, but the line from the other direction seemed never-ending at first glance, and in reality, it must have been a couple of kilometres long. Everyone was waiting to enter the Schengen zone. First, we had to turn back due to the lack of a non-EU COVID vaccination certificate, which felt completely absurd in the given situation. We returned 12 hours later with the form requested, and then they asked us a series of questions about why heading to a place from where everyone is trying to escape. On the other side of the border, the signs of war were immediately apparent.
I have crossed this bridge countless times over the past two years, back and forth. Each time something crossed my mind. Something that has already become part of history or something that will become so later. This bridge is a real gateway between East and West. A connection between the European Union and territories outside the Schengen area; a bridge with different laws on both sides.
The train rushes across the Tisza, and the shadows of the iron bars bounce rhythmically across my face. I sigh, I love this place, these people and the fact that they always have another story to tell. The Ukrainian Hungarians, the Russian Ukrainians, the Hutsul Ukrainians… so many nationalities and minorities live on this ancient land. Now this bridge is the threshold of the war and the border lock itself.
On the only 15-minute train journey in no man’s land, I always look at the bushes outside the window, the green border. I can’t help, I must look at it. I exactly know why I can’t take my eyes off the greenery. For a long time, I followed the path of men who either managed to cross that line or didn’t.
When arriving at the building on the border, different thoughts come to my mind. I recall stories, typical scenes… The Ukrainian-Hungarian border is known for a lot of things, for example its border checks. Legends of smugglers also spread, so you can usually expect a long waiting time to get through. Not to mention the bizarrely casual chats with the military personnel and customs officials, while you have to prove that you don’t have any cartons of cigarettes, or weapons sewn into your small bag. The same things are checked if you arrive by car; the only difference is that your car’s body gets examined too.
A state of utter chaos prevailed in the settlements along the border, no one could predict how quickly and how big the armed conflict would become. First of all, we wanted to provide aid. We were given a task immediately, so we turned back to travel to Hungary. By then, the extremely long queue has been forming for days. I vividly remember that we had been standing at the border for about 16 hours, and then on 26th February, sometime between midnight and 6 in the morning, the border was closed to men of military age. At that time, it was not clear what the lower and upper age limits were, or when the closing of borders would become official or how many whole families could still get through. Chilling rumours were circulating through the lines about people who were already being picked up by minibuses. Someone said that anyone over the age of 16 had better hide. Other people stated that then was the time to still try to sneak through. Near the border most places had no electricity, and if any, only an insignificant amount of fuel. Petrol stations had already run out, food was scarce.
I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even close. I believe we had been standing at the crossing in Kaszony for quite some time when the first news arrived about the closing of borders. Everyone was standing on the road, engines have already been switched off, and people in kilometre-long line were frozen in terror along the Hungarian villages that had their name written in Cyrillic letters. Children, mothers, fathers, the elderly were standing there, petrified. I got out of the car to record this spine-chilling scene, but I instantly felt sick doing that. My stomach was churning, because we didn’t know what’s next. Will we be allowed to return to Ukraine? What will happen in the next few hours, when darkness falls, while we are on the edge of mass hysteria? Everyone was watching the news in silence, an atmosphere of fear hanging over them, but every now and then, harrowing cries interrupted the quiet.
The men who were standing in line started to realise in those moments that they might not be able to leave at all. Families had to make the difficult decision then and there, and their options were to be separated or going back all together where the war erupted. In those minutes, they had to come up with a new plan, since the original one – which was also quite difficult to make – suddenly fell through. People cried in desperation, some shouted and some began to say goodbye: to their husbands, to their love, to their children, to their father… There were also those who stood out of the line and tried to push forward, or to leave on foot, what if… It was one of the most poignant days of the past two years. And to top it all we didn’t even know back then that it would drag on.
What did I saw exactly when I reached the border? That will remain in my diary for the time being, but unfortunately it also burnt into my memories. I came here as a naïve person, and I hope I can stay that way. I happen to come across many different stories during the first few days already. And things were by no means black and white.
T.R.
This content was published as part of PERSPECTIVES – the new label for independent, constructive and multi-perspective journalism. PERSPECTIVES is co-financed by the EU and implemented by a transnational editorial network from Central-Eastern Europe under the leadership of Goethe-Institut. Find out more about PERSPECTIVES: goethe.de/perspectives_eu.
Co-funded by the European Union. Views and opinions expressed are, however, those of the author(s) only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union or the European Commission. Neither the European Union nor the granting authority can be held responsible.
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