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.