01 Did You Hear That?

It was around 5 am, on February 24, when the sound of two distant explosions, about half a second between them, woke me up. I was on the left side of the bed, laying on my right side. I opened my eyes and I saw Rita, facing up, eyes partially opened.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered. We have a habit of whispering or speaking very softly when it’s dark. I think it’s a way to keep a calm vibe when it’s early morning or when we’re close to bed time.

“Yeah…” she replied calmly.

“What the…?”

“I think it’s the construction site that’s behind that building, remember?”

“I don’t know….” I started to get nervous.

She went to the bathroom and I reached for my phone, I opened Twitter as it’s usually the fastest way to get news. There it was: “Vladimir Putin announces special military operation in Ukraine, calls for men to lay down their arms.”

She came back from the bathroom and I showed her my phone, we both sat down on the bed, looking at each other.

“What should we do?” she said, still whispering.

“I would say, let’s start by moving our bag and the carriers away from the windows, they’re in the balcony.” She agreed.

I got up, and took a carry-on bag and two cat carriers from the balcony. Up until that point, an affordable apartment with two balconies and many windows near the center of Kyiv was a dream. Now, I was thinking that anything could burst through those windows and kill us any second.

“Apparently they hit Boryspil” she said looking at her phone. I couldn’t believe it. The airport that we’ve been through so many times, could it be? Is it gone? Were there people there? I felt nauseous, my mind started rushing. In the past few days, we briefly talked about what we would do if this happened, but we didn’t think it was necessary to be scared, or to plan too many details. We were wrong.

Fortunately, we are the type of people that think fast, and act fast; Rita usually does both faster than me, so at that moment we stopped whispering, and we started communicating in clear, assertive phrases.

“I’m gonna call Zhenya” she said. Our relatives, Zhenya’s parents, live in the outskirts of Kyiv, and told us that we should go there if anything happened. Zhenya and his wife Nastya were living in the city now, so we thought we could all go together.

“I’m gonna start packing. Toss a change of clothes in the open bag, I’ll pack everything” I started to get dressed while I picked a few clothes for the bag and started packing. I’m the one who has travelled back and forth more, and has more experience making things fit in a small bag. I packed as quickly as I could, while she was in the hallway of the apartment. That hallway is the only place without direct view of a window. I snatched both cats and put them in their carriers, both carriers in the hallway too.

“Nastya says they’re almost home, they can’t pick us up. I’m gonna call a cab.” She said while she was finishing getting dressed.

It must’ve been around 6:00 am when we were ready, we had some nuts, water, few clothes, an empty cat toilet, and our passports and other IDs; we walked outside to wait for the cab. While we were on the sidewalk waiting, a man rushed past us, dressed in full military fatigues, carrying a tactical backpack, heading towards the subway station in Palats Ukraina. I knew where he was going, we all knew what was going on. I just now wonder if that guy is still alive.

02 Trust The Walls

We arrived to our relatives’ around 6:30 am. Some were worried, others were indifferent, the two kids were just walking around. Masha, the youngest girl was telling everyone that things are gonna be ok, smiling as always, showing me her English and testing my Russian.

We had a room to sleep, but that room had a big window/door facing the backyard, so we knew that was something to address. We taped the windows and placed a mattress, covering about 80% of the frame. We put a desk holding the mattress too. We agreed on shelter spaces in the house in case they were needed; Rita and my spot was our bathroom, with about 1.5m x 1.7m of space on the floor, where we put our pillows and blankets.

Next time I saw my watch it was about 4:00 pm, and I’m not sure where the day went. We saw and heard a few military helicopters going West, towards Hostomel Airport.

News started to flow on Telegram channels. In the morning Russians tried to hit Boryspil Airport, but two missiles were shot down by aerial defense. They did hit Hostomel Airport, about 50km from us; a place where a few days later, it was confirmed that the largest cargo plane in the world, the Antonov Mriya, was destroyed by Russian strikes.

We were in the living room, watching news, searching Telegram channels, texting friends and family, and suddenly it started. Three loud booms in rapid succession. We turned off all the lights and ran to our shelter spaces. Rita and I grabbed the cats, put them in their carriers and got in the bathroom. We sat on the floor, cats next to us, using up all the available space. We were quiet, using a very small night light that Masha gave us. A blue light made of plastic, resembling a small candle, the base was in the shape of a heart. I could hear myself breathing, Rita was completely silent, the cats were meowing and we tried to calm them down.

All the time I was thinking that none of this seemed real, it was hard to believe that we were in real danger, that we will have to trust the walls in that house to withstand an explosion, to be able to sleep, or at least rest.

I’m not sure how much time passed in silence, and eventually we got out of the bathroom, we all met again in the living room and we had soup for dinner.

After dinner we all sat in the living room again, this time, lights were kept dim. We heard more explosions, and we ran to our shelters. Lights off. Cats in carriers. We sat on the floor in silence. Again.

Rita started crying and I hugged her.

“I’m so sorry” she told me.

“Sorry for what?”

“For bringing this into your life. You wouldn’t be in this situation you weren’t married to me.”

Hearing that broke my heart. I felt deeply saddened because she thought that somehow this was her fault. I never for a second thought that I shouldn’t be there. I was in New York in January and I didn’t hesitate to go back to Ukraine, even with the threat of war already well established, because my wife was there. Because how could I be anywhere else? For me, this was never optional. It was part of my life, to go and live with my wife. And never ever regretted that decision. Not then and not now.

I told her that some things are much bigger than ourselves, and that there’s no fault on anyone except on the fucker that decided to start a war. And even in the middle of it, I was glad I was there. I wouldn’t have done anything differently. She cried for a long time, I cried too.

After an hour or two without explosions outside, we decided we should probably try to sleep.

03 Sasha & Dima

We didn’t sleep much. I slept a bit more than Rita, but it’s not like it made much of a difference. Explosions were heard every 2-3 hours. In what I can only guess was early morning, I woke up from a nightmare and my head was racing.

For some reason I thought about the backyard of our old apartment in Dnipro. A cobblestone space, hidden from Gogalya Street, with a small garden that I was never sure if we shared, or if it belonged to the neighbors. I never stepped on the grass though, except to greet and pet Dima, Sasha’s cat.

Sasha was our neighbor the whole time we lived there. He lives in an apartment on the ground floor, with a window next to the building’s entrance door. Like in many buildings in Ukraine, the entrance is on the backyard side, not on the street. Sometimes Sasha sat next to his window to get some fresh air and we’d say hi. I am really sorry that I was never able to have a conversation with him, because of my poor Russian, but he assured Rita that it was ok, that his son or someone knew a foreigner, and that person couldn’t speak Russian either, but he liked this person anyway. Sasha invited us over before we moved to Kyiv, he gave us home-made wine and offered us cheese and bread. He is a really nice man in his late 50s, with what is to me a classic Ukrainian character. Stoic looking but kind, talkative but soft spoken, and an excellent host.

I also thought about Dima, a semi-outdoor cat who hangs out on the backyard, and who is Sasha’s adoration. She’s full of fluffy grey hair and her paws have the softest touch I’ve ever felt. She wears a safety collar with a blinking red light when she’s out. She would come greet us when we’d come out of the building, and will come literally running if Sasha calls her name from the window.

I realized suddenly that all of this might have changed, the peaceful backyard with garden and blue skies might not be a quiet place soon, or maybe it already wasn’t for all I knew. And us? We were hiding in a bathroom, hearing explosions outside, and not knowing what’s gonna happen in the next hour. In my head it felt as if the sky suddenly went black, I got overwhelmed by deep anguish, fear and sorrow. I felt like I was going to cry. All of this happened in just a few seconds.

04 Just Wait

Those first two days went by too fast, I’m not even sure if we spent 2 or 3 nights with our relatives. On the second or third day, we got word that there was a bomb shelter less than 1km away, in the basement of a school, and we discussed if we should move there.

Everyone was hesitant to go outside, or to see if the shelter was accessible and safe; Rita and I volunteered to go scouting. It was past noon, and explosions were only heard during the morning, so we planned a run for it.

We went out of the house and around the corner of the block, we weren’t sure if there were going to be more explosions so I suggested we should at least jog. It only took us a few minutes to find the place. Families were coming in, parking cars nearby. The school was really big, 4 or 5 stories high, and the entrance to the basement was on the left side. We went in and we found a few barricaded windows, and enough space to accommodate all of us. We didn’t go deep into the shelter, just the first floor down, and then we went back to the house. We told everyone that the shelter was a good option, and we all grabbed out stuff, the cats, and moved there.

Once in the shelter, we thought it was not the best idea to stay on the first floor down, which was halfway above ground with some windows, so we went deep in it. This is where I found what I was fearing all along: many elderly people, too many women and children, all sitting on floor mats and a few dozens of chairs; and space was more limited that on the surface floor, obviously. We found a small space and our relatives got a few foam mats. We sat on the floor, ate buterbrod and tried to nap. I don’t even know what time it was, but I felt really tired, and extremely sad. Even though there were two kids nearby playing a variation of a squid game, singing and all, I kept thinking of how many of these children will grow up remembering this, how the future looks for them, how I wish with all my heart that they’re all still alive right now, somewhere safe.

At some point Rita and I went to the bathroom, which was inconveniently on the second floor of the school, and while I was waiting for her to come out, the air raid siren started blaring. Most people in the hallway or coming out of the bathroom ran downstairs again; a babushka going up didn’t care, she just wanted to use the bathroom.

We sat on the floor again, we were quiet even though most people were just talking among themselves, but we didn’t hear any explosions. We were not sure if nothing happened, or if we were too deep into the ground to hear anything. Rita started crying, I hugged her and I couldn’t stop myself from crying too. It’s hard to reassure someone when you yourself are not so sure of what’s gonna happen, or if things are gonna improve anytime soon. Masha kept telling Rita that everything was going to be ok. Two women sitting across from us couldn’t stop staring at me, I felt uncomfortable at first, but then I thought that I didn’t rally care. I felt impotence of not being able to make Rita feel better, I felt anger and rage at the situation, and I quickly realized that we didn’t have a plan or anything to look forward to. We were slowly condemning ourselves to wait. I don’t know for what, or who. Just wait.

We spent most of the day in the shelter, coming outside for short periods of time to get fresh air, even though most people who went out were smoking; we had to walk a few meters away from the entrance every time. At some point while we were outside, we heard what seemed to be an air raid siren, we all got startled and headed to the entrance, until a man told us that the sound was the heating kicking in at a nearby warehouse. I noticed how uncomfortable I was feeling being outside, even without explosions or planes, and with a clear blue sky above.

We had a short family talk and decided to spend the night back in the house. We thought that the probability of a bomb in the house or in the school was more or less the same, after all, we knew Russians were bombing anything and everything. We also thought that we would be more comfortable at home, and we had sheltered spaces anyway. So we headed back to spend the night before it got dark.

05 I Blamed Myself

Back in the house that night, explosions started, we went to our spaces right away. We sat on the bathroom floor again and I completely broke down and started crying. It felt as if all the responsibilities that I’ve ever had in my life were suddenly inconsequential. All that work to be done, bills to be paid, the chores of the house, absolutely none of that was important anymore. My responsibility right now was to keep me and my wife alive. I never felt such a weight on my shoulders. I was also in a country where I don’t speak the language, I don’t have a way to ask for help, to look for options and alternatives. I was completely dependent on Rita for most of the complex things. I felt like a child. Like a child with the responsibility of an adult in a war zone. I felt incompetent and severely unprepared. I blamed myself for all of that.

All these feelings of inadequacy were probably lingering inside for days, maybe even weeks, and it was hard to snap out of that state. I knew I had to stop feeling sorry for myself, but it was way too hard.

I thought of my aunt Graciela and my uncle Carlos in Mexico, who recently died from COVID. They were two of my closest relatives, I grew up with both of them after my mom died. Graciela was like a mother to me, Carlos was the fun uncle, who in 1994 took me to my first live concert, the Rolling Stones. I talked on the phone with both regularly, they always tried to look after me and make sure I stayed out of trouble. I felt oddly glad that they were not alive to know what was going on right now, I knew they would’ve lost all sleep.

And then I thought of my dad. He was probably losing all his sleep. I thought that I didn’t want to give him the burden of losing a son and a daughter-in-law. I also thought of my sister, Rita’s parents, my grandma, everyone who is still alive and who are probably having a hard time knowing that we’re here, even though they don’t know the full extent of the situation, even if I’ve told them many times that they shouldn’t worry and things are ok.

Explosions started being more frequent, now every 30-50 minutes. I couldn’t tell if they were closer or not, but the sounds started to get overwhelming. After 9pm we had something like 2 hours without bombs. This is when Rita told me that she was tired of waiting, because she, like me, felt like we were waiting for nothing, waiting to get killed. We decided then that we had to get out and we started drafting a plan.

06 A Bad Idea

The subway in Kyiv was running, but the nearest subway station, about a 25 minute drive, was bombed earlier; if we could make it to the next one, we could still try to get to the train station.

To get there, we had to cross a military checkpoint and then walk about 2 hours. We checked that there were a few shelters on the way, because we didn’t know if staying out for more than a few minutes was safe. We would take the subway to the train station, and board a train to Lviv. We bought tickets for that, and tickets for a different train to Rivne. What are we going to do if the subway service stops? If they bomb the train station? What if we can stop by our apartment? We contemplated many scenarios.

One of our scenarios included going back to our apartment to pick up a couple of documents we forgot. We meticulously planned every step, we agreed we were going to be in there for 20 minutes at the most. I would grab some specific documents, she would collect the rest. I was going to the kitchen to try to salvage some food, and to put all the trash and fridge contents I could into a bag that we would dump on our way out. I didn’t need any more clothes but she needed a couple of pieces, after the documents, she would toss her clothes and I would put them in the bag. Then we would be out.

We envisioned also the steps we would take once we got to the train station, or in case we couldn’t catch one train and caught a different one, etc. We tried to be ready for everything.

Earlier in the day, our relatives told Rita many times that leaving was a bad idea. They were scared of crossing the military checkpoint, and there were rumors of scattered russian soldiers or russian saboteurs through the forest areas that surrounded the neighborhood, mostly because Ukrainians were stopping everyone who tried to cross the woods or was driving through. They were also worried about the rest of the way, which was an estimate 10-15 hours by train.

By now, we had read that the explosions were likely Ukrainian air defense rockets, either defending the area near us, or trying to shell the Russians and stop their advance, however, we were the next town after Bucha and Irpin, names now forever associated with the atrocious war crimes that russians committed. We were just about 10km from where Russians were going to start digging mass graves a few days after we left.

I went to the dimly lit living room and had a word with Stas, one of two higher authorities in the house. He speaks English.

“Hey Stas, so we decided we’re gonna leave tomorrow morning.”

“Leave? Didn’t Rita tell you about the soldiers that are now in the forest? Where will you go?”

“Yes, she told me. I don’t know where we’re going but we’ll head West, we will try to get out of Ukraine.”

“I don’t understand, you’re crazy.”

“I know, is just that we’re too tired of all this. We just need a small favor, we need you to drive us to the check point.”

“And then what are you going to do?”

“We can walk from there to the subway. It’ll take us to the train station. If you can drive us, it would save us like 40 minutes, and you don’t have to leave the neighborhood, you can just drop us, turn around and come back here.”

“You are crazy… but ok, me and Zhenya will drive you.”

I thanked him and went back to our bathroom. I told Rita that everything was ok, and that we were going to get out of there in the morning.

07 Will They Ever Know?

The next morning, coming out of the house was a brutal slap in the face, because the cold air smelled like sulfur, it was gunpowder. It took me a second to recognize the smell, it gave me chills. I will never forget the feeling.

We got in the car and before we closed the doors, we were immediately approached by Territorial Defense members who were patrolling the streets. These are all civilians who signed up to defend the country behind the frontline, they were registered and given a weapon. Three or four approached us, all dressed in camo clothes, a yellow band around the arm, and big semi-automatic guns. I felt respect for these guys, some in their 30’s, one of them well into his 60’s, but determined to stop the invaders. They talked to Stas, I don’t know what they said.

Stas and Zhenya drove us to the checkpoint, set at a big highway crossroads with most of the lanes closed. This was not Territorial Defense, these were the Ukrainian Armed Forces, anti-tank hedgehogs everywhere, and many barriers made out of concrete and sand bags. About 20-30 soldiers walking around, armed to the teeth. We stopped and a soldier came to the window to ask where we were going and to check our passports, then he had a short conversation with Stas. I’m not sure of what was said but they let us through. Stas told me that he was going to drive us all the way to the subway station, saving us a good hour and a half.

Again I started crying, Rita held my hand and asked me if I was scared, if I had never seen so many weapons before. “It’s not that” I said, stopping myself from saying more. In my head, I was looking out the window thinking, what if this is the last time we see Stas and Zhenya? What if we all die before getting to the subway? Who’s gonna let the rest of the family know what happened? Will they ever know? Is any part of the life we knew coming back at some point?

They dropped us at the station, got out of the car and gave us a hug. Both of them smiled and wished us luck, I was so close to start crying again “Thank you so, so much” is all I could say, and we parted ways.

08 That Fridge

We got in the underground subway station and found all the hallways and platforms full of people. Again, many women and children, everyone had a blanket on the floor, or a chair; some people were sleeping, others were eating or playing cards. We waited for the train, hopped in, and traveled to the railway station. When we got off the subway, we hadn’t even left the station and we checked the news, subway service had been suspended in all lines in the city. We barely made it.

Once in the railway station, we were walking on the passageway above all the tracks, and we saw that a train was about to arrive, the platform for that train was packed. When the train came, a lot of people ran to that platform. Rita read that trains were basically free for all, so we were going to have to push our way through. We went to a waiting area, typically reserved only for people taking the train to the Boryspil Airport, but this time it was open, without anyone at the door checking for tickets. Our tickets were for the afternoon, and it was still morning, so we knew we had some time. We sat there and re-shifted our plan. We realized that we were missing a couple of documents from the apartment, so we decided to run the risk and take a cab back and forth, using the plan we made to get in and out of the apartment in 20 minutes max.

We called a cab using the Uklon app, and the driver agreed to wait for us outside our building and bring us back. Once there, we ran inside, going directly to the things we knew we were missing. Looking over the shelf with important stuff I saw the keys from the apartment in New York, which I didn’t even know I didn’t have. My mind leaped into the future and I saw ourselves needing those keys at some point, I tossed them in my backpack. I grabbed a huge trash bag and went to empty whatever was left in the fridge, we had a lot of cooked food, chicken, vegetables, fruits, milk, cheese, olives. I can’t remember how many things went into the trash bag along with plates, cups, and forks. I just wanted to avoid a future infestation, and I knew that anything in that fridge we could replace. I didn’t even tell Rita that I tossed some dishes, she will find out eventually.

We came back outside, I tossed the giant bag of trash in the containers, and the cab drove us back to the railway station. The city looked very normal near the center, if anything it looked a little lonely, eerily quiet, but there were still a few cars in the street. All businesses closed. Few people walking.

09 Proud of You

Back and the railway station, we went directly to the platform and waited for whatever train was coming next. Turned out it was a train to the city of Rivne, and it stopped in an adjacent track to where we were, so as soon as the train stopped, we all ran across a set of tracks, gravel and dirt, to get to it.

The train opened all its doors, but because the platform was on the opposite side, they were really high. Rita climbed first with Kobe, I gave her the carry-on bag, and before I could climb, an old woman made her way next to me, she said she couldn’t reach the steps to climb, so me and two other men lifted her, while two people on the train pulled her up. I climbed after her, carrying Pusha and my backpack. I found Rita just as I entered the car, she had two seats for us. I left Pusha and went back to the door to help people boarding.

The first thing I saw standing at the door was a man with two large suitcases, I motioned him with my hand and yelled davai! which is a word I love for its versatility; I grabbed one suitcase with my left hand, while I was holding to the door with my right hand, and I pulled up the bag, probably about 25kg. The second bag was even heavier. After the second bag, they lifted up an old man, who raised both hands towards me, I held one hand, another man came to the door and held the other hand, and we brought in the old man too. Me and other man pulled up small bags, backpacks, children, women and men, until there was no one else waiting.

I finally went to Rita and sat next to her. “I’m proud of you” she said. Only then I remembered that I had hurt my left shoulder in the gym about 2 weeks before that. I’m not sure which muscle I strained but I couldn’t raise my arm more than chest level. This is the arm that I was using to lift bags and children. I realized that the pain was completely gone.

We happened to be seating across a man probably in his 50s, he looked disheveled, his eyes were staring at nothing for the first few minutes, he was a bit drunk and he seemed to be traveling alone. For a second I felt bad for him, I didn’t know this man’s story, but if I was him, I’m sure I’d be drunk too. Rita interrupted my thoughts when she pulled some food for us, and offered half a sandwich, or whatever we ate, to the man; he smiled and said he was good.

My feelings of empathy, and thoughts of sadness about all the people on board the train, some standing, some seating on their bags, went on for hours.

10 Black Car

We arrived in the city of Rivne at night, all the lights at the train station were out for safety reasons, as well as most of the city including the public lighting, so I couldn’t see much around us. We had gotten an Airbnb for the night, but we still had to meet a person to get the keys of the place. We called a cab and he took us to this person’s home first. When we met this woman, she gave vague instructions on how to get to the building we were going to stay in, the cab driver seemed to understand everything so we took off after a short exchange.

I can’t remember exactly how, but when the cab made one last right turn, I knew that it was not the street we were looking for, we should’ve gone straight one more block. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I felt insecure about what I have heard and understood (they spoke Ukrainian). The cab driver was a local, and I’ve never been to this city, so he was more likely to be right.

As soon as we made the turn, a black car going in the opposite direction passed by us and slowed down, almost came to a stop. I saw the man driving, he was alone and he was looking a bit too hard, trying to see everyone in the cab. A couple of blocks later, our driver turned left, believing that the building we needed would be in sight, but it was a dead end. I looked back and the same black car had turned around and was taking a second look at us. He stopped for a few seconds, and then kept driving and disappeared.

Rita was calling the owner of the apartment, telling her that we couldn’t find the entrance, and describing everything we were seeing, a dead end, a dark multi-level parking lot, a closed coffee shop. The woman couldn’t seem to understand where we were, or how to help. I took a second look behind us, and the black car was back, this time he was driving towards us fast, he stopped a few meters from our cab and started talking to us but I didn’t understand what he was saying. I seriously thought he was going to kill us, either he was a Ukrainian vigilante or a russian saboteur.

Suddenly, five soldiers fully armed came walking out of nowhere, I assume they came from the parking lot, and asked everyone to identify ourselves and to get out of the cars. Our driver explained our situation to two of them, while the other 3 were talking to the man in the black car. We all showed our passports, and they even checked the cat’s passports, before taking a look at the inside of the cab and confirming that those two bags had cats inside.

They scolded the man in the black car and sent him home (I guess he was a vigilante), and then they had a long talk with the cab driver, he seemed too nervous so one of the soldiers made us call the owner of the apartment on speaker to talk to her. He talked to the woman to confirm who we were, and she gave instructions again. After they hung up, they also scolded the cab driver, he was not supposed to be driving people around, curfew was in place. They asked us to go immediately and so we did. “Take a right here in the corner, then another right.” they told the driver, and I was surprised to realize that I was correct all along about where we were going. Not that I felt any better.

The driver took a right, and then another right before getting to the avenue, so we came to another dead end. I was telling Rita that, again, that was not the street, but she ignored me and tried to call the woman again. The driver grabbed a flashlight and came out of the car, Rita came after him, with the woman on the phone, I was so mentally exhausted that I couldn’t say anything.

The driver was using his light to read street signs, shop signs, to try to see past a closed gate. The whole city was dark, so the flashlight looked brighter than it probably was, and it definitely looked suspicious. I got out of the car and looked around, trying to see if there were people in the windows, or around the corner, I was sure we were going to get shot any second.

“Stay here, don’t go anywhere” Rita said, as she and the cab driver went to look for the building on foot. They walked to the corner, turned right, and disappeared into the night. I was left standing there, in almost complete darkness, next to a car with the doors open, and two cats inside meowing because it was really cold.

“What the hell am I doing here?” I thought to myself. “Just keep calm, keep calm.” I realized I was whispering now. I talked to the cats, I talked to myself, and once again all of this seemed too unreal.

After a few minutes which felt like hours, Rita and the driver came back, they found the building and it was exactly where I thought it was. We all got in the car, and the driver finally dropped us off where we were supposed to be.

11 Windows Painted

We spent the night in the Airbnb, it was a relatively small apartment with a beautiful but almost comically huge bedroom, it was so big that the bed looked as if it was against the wall of a museum gallery. Enormous windows on our left; and a fireplace that we had to block, to stop the cats from climbing up the chimney.

It was nice to have a bed again, even though we were not really able to rest. Our huge windows faced the street, and outside it was so quiet that ironically, cars driving by could be heard approaching from far away, the cobbled street made them sound like planes. Every car sent shivers down my spine for the first few hours.

The next morning we went to the supermarket to buy some food for breakfast, we were crossing the street to the supermarket when the air raid sirens went off. There was a church between us and the supermarket, and we saw some people running in that direction. We didn’t know if there was a shelter so we followed them. The church was in the middle of service, and they didn’t stop. People in the street were not going in, though, they were going to the supermarket, which was in the basement of a huge office building. We walked down and there were a few people, some waiting to enter (they closed the entrance during air raids), others just waiting for the siren to stop.

The sirens stopped, and we went inside, grabbed some bananas, granola bars, tea and other stuff. The sirens started again when we were paying, so we had to wait again.

Back in the apartment, we had time to eat something and got ready to leave. The same driver from the night before picked us up, and took us to a nearby village, where the train to Lviv was scheduled to depart that afternoon.

Once in the train station, the PA system announced that an air raid was taking place (we didn’t hear any sirens), and the station workers asked all the passengers to head to the basement, arguing that “this is the largest train station in the area, please take cover, we are a target”. Rita and I were tired, and relatively calm, and to be completely honest, we thought the woman was exaggerating her claims, so we just got to the stairs leading to the basement and sat there, being mindful of the windows nearby but not fully taking cover. Many people went downstairs. Nothing happened.

Just recently, we got news that the russians did bomb that station, and it was completely destroyed.

The train arrived and we were urged to board as fast as possible, which we did. It was a very old train, what they call elektrichka, which is almost a tram, with wooden seats and old windows. Half of the windows painted from the outside, and I was not sure if this was a cautionary measure to avoid showing what was inside, or it the cars had been vandalized.

It took us about an hour to depart once we were on the train, for some reason we had to wait at the station, while I was thinking that a bomb could fall on us at any second. Not like we had an option, it was either be on that train or stay behind for who knows how long.

The train was not completely full when we departed, but as it started making stops along the way, more and more people hopped in, to the point where there was barely any space for anything. I couldn’t stand up to stretch my legs, and people couldn’t sit down even on the floor because there were too many people standing. After 10 hours I really didn’t know what was worse.

All the feelings of rage and frustration came back to me. Seeing all the children on board, all the elderly people; some heading to a known place, some to the unknown, but everyone moving away from home. I would hold Rita’s hand at times, or let her head rest on my shoulders, for hours I passed the time holding the cat’s carriers and petting them to calm them down, almost everything done in automatic, while my mind floated in a dark, cold sea of anguish, unknown to me until that day.

12 Not Expecting This

We arrived in Lviv in the evening. We had planned to take a train to Poland, but first, we had to meet with Kiril, a good friend of Rita who lives there.

Lviv is the largest, most important city in western Ukraine, about 60 km from the Polish border. One of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever visited as a tourist, was now transformed into a hub for hundreds of thousands of people trying to get to safety.

When we got off the train, it started to become obvious that we were not going to be able to board a train anytime soon. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in my life outside of a massive concert or a sporting event. The station was packed, the platforms were full of people waiting for trains, and outside in the street, the crowd went on for several blocks. Here I got a small glimpse of the modern Ukrainian demographics, with groups of Africans (some of them English or French speakers), Indians, Asians and South East Asians, all trying to figure out what to do next. Professional television crews and amateur vloggers were scattered in the street, interviewing people, or streaming and talking to their phones.

We stopped in the middle of the street and turned 360 degrees looking around at the sea of people. I estimated a few thousands just in sight.

“What are we going to do now?” Rita said, I felt the anguish in her voice. “I was not expecting this…”

I didn’t know if everyone was waiting for trains, so I talked to the first person that looked like a foreigner

“Excuse me, do you speak English?”

“Yes.” the guy replied, he was carrying a baby.

“Did you just arrive here in Lviv?”

“Yes, with my family.”

“Are you planning to stay here? or to go out?”

“No no no, we want to go out.”

“Do you have tickets? Are you going to take just the next train?”

“I don’t know.” he said, and he kept walking, catching up with a woman and a second baby.

I felt so small. I was just one more number in a growing humanitarian crisis that I never thought could happen in Europe, let alone be part of it.

“Kiril is close by, let’s go.” Rita said, popping my thought bubble, so we walked further away from the station, to meet him.

We walked about 500m from the station and we met Kiril, I knew him from pictures only, but I knew they were good friends. Rita had stayed with him and his girlfriend Irina before, the last time that she visited Lviv and I was in New York.

We walked all the way to his apartment, which was close enough to the train station, and Irina showed us a room they had for us and the cats. We let Pusha and Kobe out of their carriers and left them in the room so we could sit at the table and have something to eat.

While we were at the table, the air raid siren went off. Everyone rushed to get their shoes on, and Kiril leashed their dog. Maybe we were too tired, or just numb, but Rita and I decided to leave Pusha and Kobe in the room, they were already stressed enough, so we just got our shoes and went downstairs, to a bunker in the basement of the building.

A few neighbors joined us after a couple of minutes, they grabbed some chairs and sat down in silence. I was standing up, I didn’t want to sit after the long train trip.

I don’t know if there was an official clearance, because we couldn’t hear anything in the bunker, but we all got up and went back upstairs after 15-20 minutes. I realized that it was snowing outside.

Back in the apartment, we spend an hour or so just getting to know each other and talking war related issues. Kiril told us he could drive us to the border in the morning, as long as the snow was not too thick because he had just put the spring tires on his car.

We went to bed that night still with the uncertainty of the next day, but at least it was quiet outside. The whole country seemed to be quiet on the West side.

13 It’s Monday Morning

After running some errands in the morning of Feb 28, Kiril drove us a couple of hours to the border of Poland. Around noon we parked in the middle of a field, in the village of Khorobriv, about 20 minutes from the border crossing. Hundreds of people were already there, waiting for buses and vans that were looping non-stop between there and the crossing point.

We waited for a few minutes for the next ride, and we said bye to Kiril before jumping on a small bus, struggling to fit among children, strollers, bags and large suitcases.

After a short drive, we arrived at the Dolhobyczów-Uhryniv crossing. There must have been about 1000 people already in line, mostly women and children. We made a line on the road, which was closed to traffic. On each side of the road, people had placed tents with food, coffee, tea, diapers and all sort of first necessity items.

After a few hours, a big sign that said “Welcome to the European Union” was in view. I took a picture and sent it to a group of close friends and family, just to let them know that we were almost there. Everyone replied that this was great news; but my Croatian friend Tea replied “This sight is heartbreaking”. As a child of war, the first thing she saw was not the joy, but the obvious horror: the amount of children on that crowd, and the uncertainty of their future. “It truly is” I replied “it’s Monday morning. They should be in school, not fleeing their homes.”

Step by step we advanced towards the entrance to the crossing facility. After a few more hours, we were standing right at the gate. A border guard motioned with his hand to go in, which we did, but a second guard grabbed me by the arm and pushed me back. Rita kept walking, she was carrying Pusha and Kobe in a single carrier.

“Hey, I’m with my wife.” I said.

“You can’t cross.” the guard said with a heavy accent, while he gripped my left arm firmly and pushed me back.

“But she’s my wife, we’re going together!” I almost yelled.

“You have to go wait there.” He pointed at a separate group of about 30 people, mostly black and brown, mostly men.

I joined that group, and people were complaining and trying to talk to the border guards.

“How long have you been waiting?” I asked the guy closest to me.

“I don’t even know anymore” he was visibly upset.

“When did you get here?”

“I got here yesterday at 10am” he said. It was 5pm.

I texted Rita, asking her to talk to someone, or at least try to figure out what was going to happen to me. Again, I felt that the language was being the biggest hurdle I had to overcome, even though the men around me spoke English, I had no interest talking to them, I needed to talk to someone at the border.

I contacted the Mexican Embassy in Poland, and whatever was left of the Mexican delegation in Ukraine, but everyone said the same: “There’s nothing you can do but wait.”

Around 7pm, buses stopped coming, and the huge line dried out. Earlier, a border guard had said that we could cross, as long as there were no more women and children waiting (by now, there were 6 or 7 foreign women in the group, but it’s not like it made a difference). Me and two other guys decided that it was time to stand up, and we demanded to talk to a higher rank. A guy in a different uniform came to the gate and we managed to make him acknowledge that there were no more women and children waiting, and that we had to go through. He agreed to let us come in.

They grabbed all of our passports and took them to a small booth. I was freezing by then, it must’ve been 5 or 6 Celsius (~40F) and we had been out there for too many hours. I started jogging in place, just trying to move and warm up, and as a way to relieve stress.

When the border guard came out of the small office booth, the first passport she called was me. I grabbed it and took off. I asked a volunteer for a cup of tea for Rita and came out of the border crossing, finally setting foot in Poland.

I found Rita sitting on the grass, next to the entrance to a humanitarian aid center, covered with at least 3 blankets provided by volunteers, and I offered her the cup of tea. She was smiling at me, but my heart sank. I never imagined having to see my wife in this place, in this situation, after having to wait for me in the cold for hours.

“I’m sorry.” were my first words to her “They really took their time, the tea got cold just from the walk to here”.

“It’s ok” she said, still with superhuman demeanor and strength. She got up, called a woman with two small children, and told her to take the blankets she was using for the kids. I grabbed our bag and the cats, and we started looking for help in a sea of refugees and volunteers.

14 Kalinowice

Rita found a volunteer and talked to him. She asked where could we get on a bus, or call a cab, or something to get to the nearest town. She was speaking Ukrainian and the guy was speaking Polish, so with enough patience they understood each other.

I was just standing there, carrying a bag with both cats inside. I covered them with a towel that Kiril gave us. I was a little scared of looking in the carrier, ever since the morning that we put them together (so they could warm each other up) I didn’t hear a single meow, or felt a single movement. I think they were both too scared. A little bit like myself. And I was starting to wonder who could help us now.

The help came in the form of a short, assertive and loud Polish woman named Agata. She and her sister had driven to the border from the town of Kalinowice to help people. We happened to be standing there when she asked the volunteer guy if anyone needed help.

Agata took us to her car, loaded everything up and just started driving. For the full two hour drive I was in awe. How a complete stranger, in a place I’ve never been before, speaking a language that I couldn’t understand, was willing to take us not only to a place to spend the night, but to her home, without hesitation, without questions.

Another thing that impressed me was how fast she talked, and how loud her voice was. She would ask Rita something, then comment with her sister, then return to the conversation with Rita without missing a beat. To my ignorant ear they even sounded like they were speaking the same language. I felt like crying when I realized that she reminded me so much to my late aunt Graciela, who raised me. She felt so familiar in her mannerisms, and her voice, even though I couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“Zelenskyy! Ooohh co za prezydent!” Agata yelled while motioning with her right fist in the air.

It’s the one and only thing I understood.

Agata was the first person outside of Ukraine who showed us that she fully understood the gravity of the situation, and the grave danger that comes with it. Not only for Ukrainians, but for a lot of Europeans like herself and her family, living so close to the border.

We stopped by her sister’s house first, to warm up and drink tea. I took the opportunity to separate the cats again, to make them more comfortable now that they were not in the freezing cold. They both felt like exploring the house, but I didn’t let them out their carriers. After a few minutes, Agata told us it was time to go, we said bye to her sister and her sister’s family, and left.

During this second car ride I had many things in my head. I couldn’t help but to feel like, again, I was a burden for everyone around. That feeling of being an incompetent adult, carrying only the clothes I was wearing and one extra t shirt in the bag, and not speaking enough languages to get by. That feeling I came to realize, was not me being a burden, so much as me being a refugee.

Experiencing that specific kind of defenselessness, and the dark realization that there’s absolutely nothing you can do, is devastating. If a crazy person with enough power decides to start dropping bombs on you, you have only one option, to try to save yourself.

That night we slept in Kalinowice. It was quiet. The first quiet night since the war started. The first time that I knew we were safe, but I couldn’t let myself fully believe it.

I thought that for a while, the skies will no longer be blue, and the air won’t be fresh, the fields won’t be green and quiet. The news won’t be good for a long time. You have to accept all of that. With enough effort and luck, you can successfully remove yourself from the horror, even though the horror can’t be removed from you.