«It was prayer that kept us alive, day and night»

I was born in the Vinnytsia region, in the village of Mykhailivka. At the beginning of 1975, I moved to Mariupol. I immediately started working in the factory canteen at Azovstal and, so to speak, spent my whole life there. I worked in the same place for 45 years. Over that time, a lot changed at the plant and in the city. Mariupol was becoming a modern city. It was a very beautiful place, and we loved it immensely. We especially enjoyed walking near the Drama Theater. We had a lovely theater, cozy even if small, and my husband and I went there often. We really enjoyed our Mariupol actors – they were very talented.

«We left in whatever we were wearing, with our documents and our cat»

Of course, we didn’t believe a full-scale invasion would happen. Before the fighting began, we lived on the Left Bank. There was always some banging, occasional gunfire, and you could say we had even gotten somewhat used to it. We didn’t pay much attention. But on February 24, we woke up to explosions—and I can tell you, they were much closer this time.

We lived closer to Novoazovsk, and that’s where it all started. Until March 6, we were still in our house, but then the electricity, gas, and water were cut off. Together with our neighbors, we decided to try to leave toward Zaporizhzhia, hoping for a “green corridor.” I went with my husband, our daughter, and our neighbors – a married couple – in their car. We left in whatever we were wearing, with our documents and our cat. But we weren’t allowed through – the area beyond Mangush had been seized, there was no way out. So we turned around and returned to Mariupol, to the city center, to the Drama Theatre.

Four hours in line for food

There were countless people in the Drama Theater – children, women, men, pensioners. People were sitting everywhere: in the hallways, on the floor of the lobby. Some even broke out the theater seats to make space. The basement and bomb shelter were packed, mostly with women and children. We only managed to find a spot on the second floor. A huge thanks to the volunteers who brought hot water and slowly prepared some food. To get hot water, you had to wait about two hours, and to get any food, you’d stand for four hours in line. That gives an idea of how many people were there.

When we arrived at the city center and the Drama Theater from the Left Bank on March 6, it felt almost as if there was no war around. It was relatively quiet. But the next day, the attacks started here too… Heavy shelling, planes dropping bombs. You could hear them flying, and your blood ran cold with fear. So we’d take food in plastic containers and return immediately to our spot on the second floor. We were too afraid to go outside, only listening to others who ran out briefly to catch signals and then came back with news – reporting which areas were on fire or had been bombed.

Our police brought water, blankets, and mattresses. That at least gave some comfort, because we didn’t take off our clothes or shoes – the cold was brutal. Some days it dropped to minus 10°C. I sat there wondering if I would ever get to bathe, undress, and sleep in a real bed again.

People even gave birth in the Drama Theater! But on March 15, 2022, a day before the bombing, some mothers with newborns managed to leave. That saved them. As they say, God helped.

Survived through the hell

We grabbed some hot water and stayed in the theater lobby with my husband. After that… I don’t really remember. The explosion seemed to erase everything from my memory, probably because of the head trauma I suffered. I only came to when my daughter, along with others, pulled me out from under the rubble, boards, and beams. The walls were thick, and had they collapsed, I honestly don’t know what would have happened. But they held. My husband’s legs were pinned, though his injuries weren’t severe. I got it worse: a broken head, a hard hit to my knee. For about a day and a half, in shock, I didn’t even realize I couldn’t put weight on my leg. I was completely dazed at first. My daughter led me to the basement where people had been hiding, but by then most had left. They cleaned my wounds, and we went to the Philharmonic.

I walked like a zombie. On the way, glass was shattered underfoot, and the scene around us was terrifying. My daughter later told me it looked like complete hell everywhere. Once we reached the Philharmonic, they bandaged me again. There were no doctors, just a nurse. Many people had gathered there too – some had escaped from the theater. Everyone was running, trying to find safety. In the theater, the fire had already started. We went down to the Philharmonic basement, while my husband, Vasyl, stayed on the first floor. In the evening, they bandaged me once more. A volunteer boy brought me a blanket to cover myself.

The bombing never stopped – not even for a second. A ten-minute pause, then the bombs kept raining down again and again. On the next morning, early, a young man who knew where I was came running. He had bandaged me before. He said, “Let’s go, the ambulance is here. We’ll get you to Mangush.” It was an ambulance from Mangush. Everything happened so fast because the bombing didn’t stop. The ambulance was packed with injured people – there was barely room to stand. The volunteer got my daughter and me out, but my husband stayed behind. We couldn’t linger even for a second, unsure if we would make it out of Mariupol alive. I am forever grateful to that volunteer – he saved my life.

I desperately want Ukraine to win, to drive this filth off our land. The whole country is suffering. So much grief. I mourn those who died under the bombs and collapsing buildings. Every time an air raid siren wails, my blood runs cold, and my mind instantly flashes back to that horror we endured.

They wished us a safe journey

My husband didn’t know we had left. We were evacuated very quickly, using a side entrance rather than the main one. When we arrived in Mangush, my daughter offered money just to go and pick up her father, but the drivers refused, saying there was no diesel left and that the shelling was ongoing. We were incredibly lucky to make it there at all. Once we reached people in the village of Yalta, we still couldn’t find a way to get him out. My daughter tried calling and looking for someone to help, but the situation was chaotic – the Russians were already controlling the city center, and nobody was taking anyone, no matter the money offered.

We were very fortunate – there was a volunteer delivering humanitarian aid from Vinnytsia to Yalta. He was planning to return to Vinnytsia and, thanks to the parents of Yulia’s colleague, we found out about it. On March 22, he agreed to take us. It was a cargo van, with 16 people inside, all sitting on the floor however they could just to keep moving. The journey took two days. The hardest checkpoint was leaving Mangush, we thought they wouldn’t let us through; the Russians tried to seize the van. Women, children, and two men – a 70-year-old and another around 40 who was disabled – were on the floor. Russian soldiers checked our documents, asking, “Are you leaving voluntarily? Or are you being taken to Ukraine by force?” Our driver may have even paid them, as they held us for a while, but eventually, they let us go. After that, the checkpoints were calmer, they saw elderly people and children, and let them pass. At one point, they even wished us a safe journey.

When we approached Vasylivka, the shelling started. Some shells flew very close – we couldn’t tell where they were landing. It was terrifying. After that, they quickly let us pass toward Zaporizhzhia. Finally, in Zaporizhzhia, we felt free. They offered us a place to spend the night. We were so happy to have escaped that hell.

Reuniting the family

It happened just before Easter.**** We were constantly worried about my husband. Then, finally, he made contact. The Russians themselves had taken him to Mangush, fed him, and even gave him a travel ration. They showed mercy to the old man. All this time, he had been living in the Philharmonic Hall in Mariupol, under constant shelling and bombings. Later, my daughter found transporters who could get him out. Of course, there were many scammers offering transport to Ukraine for full prepayment –but my daughter didn’t fall for it.

Thank God, we found reliable transporters. From Mangush, they took my husband to Berdyansk, where I had an acquaintance from a previous hospital stay. I called her, and she agreed to take him in. He stayed with her for a week before being transferred to Zaporizhzhia. As they say, coincidences are never accidental.

The journey took him three days. At first, they didn’t let him through. Those days before he made contact were terrifying. We worried constantly, crying day and night. I remember sitting down to eat, my daughter setting the plates, and we were crying because we were eating here while not knowing how he was or if he was even safe.

All of this inevitably took a toll on our health. On top of that, we arrived with nothing – barefoot, without clothes. Back in Mariupol, we had everything, but here, we had nothing. Thank God, people helped – relatives pooled money so we could at least buy some clothes.