Staring into space, she has been sitting for a while on this bench, up there, on the second floor of the central station in Warsaw. At her feet, a small pile of baggage: the only personal effects she had time to gather in the rescue. Like many Ukrainians fleeing war, 27-year-old Kateryna Arshulik is uprooted. On this Thursday evening, March 10, here she is who has just arrived in the Polish capital, by train, after boarding a bus which took her to the Polish border. A few hours earlier, in the morning, she left Loutsk, her city in western Ukraine, which has become the target of Russian bombardments in recent days.
“In this bus, there were a hundred people, mostly mothers with children. And also infants who cried constantly, it looked like they were absorbing the stress of their mother, says Kateryna Arshulik calmly, her features drawn. I fled my country to stay alive, to stop hearing rocket fire flying above my head. With alerts occurring ten times a day, we had to be constantly on our guard. It’s as if our brain is disconnecting, and preparing for death. The Ukrainian people are suffering from a war they never wanted. »
To learn more about the war in Ukraine
Around Kateryna, on the second floor of the station, the scene is striking. Dozens and dozens of Ukrainian refugees who, like her, are waiting for trains leaving at dawn. Because for many of them, Warsaw is only a stopover: they will take the 4:13 a.m. train to Berlin, or the one to Frankfurt, a little after 5 a.m. On tight mattresses in the aisles or even on the cold ground, we doze off before resuming the road of exodus. There, an old man wrapped in a blanket, lying on a bench; opposite, a little boy strokes his puppy. About ten meters further on, a play area set up by volunteers is a delight for little Ukrainians.
In the hall of the station, one floor below, there is heckling. It’s past 11 p.m., but the station isn’t sleeping. It lives to the rhythm of the arrival of these trains crowded with Ukrainian refugees from Przemyśl, a Polish town bordering Ukraine, on the front line of the exodus. It is also traversed by drafts that give goosebumps. It is an incessant coming and going of suitcases, volunteers, and distraught faces, which animates this imposing building dating from the communist era.
A one-way ticket
Like many refugees who have arrived in recent days, Kateryna Arshulik has a vague idea of what the future holds for her. She left alone, and her choice of destination is almost random. Shortly before 5 a.m., she will jump on the train to Prague. However, she never set foot in the Czech Republic. And to tell the truth, she had never traveled outside Ukraine before. “No one is waiting for me in the Czech Republic, I have no friends or family members. I have no idea where I will stay, but I hope that when I arrive I can be guided by volunteers. I will try to get refugee status there, and build a new life there. »
A one-way ticket, then. Even in the event of a cessation of hostilities, Kateryna Arshulik’s decision is made: no question of returning to live in Ukraine. “Already, before the war, life was difficult in Lutsk. Opportunities are rare there, for lack of investment. And now the Russian army is destroying our country. The poverty is such that some don’t have enough money to flee,” explains Kateryna Arshulik, who lived off odd jobs in the food industry in Ukraine. “In the Czech Republic, I’m ready to clean, do the housework, wash the dishes, whatever. The reason why I chose the Czech Republic and not Poland as a land of exile is that there are already too many people here in Warsaw, I’m afraid there are no job for me,” she continues, referring to the influx of Ukrainian refugees that the country is experiencing. And for good reason: of the more than 2.5 million Ukrainians who have found refuge abroad, according to the UN, Poland has taken in almost half, or 1.5 million, including more than 200,000 in Warsaw. .
So many lives that changed early on February 24, when Vladimir Putin issued the order to invade Ukraine. Like that of Vera Zamarayeva, 43 years old. A little further in the station, this chef by profession is patient with Bagyra, her little black cat wrapped in a cloth. On the morning marking the start of the invasion, she was on the subway, heading to her place of work, when a phone call from her superior informed her of the situation. “He told me that no one would go to work today, that it was now war. I couldn’t believe it, I was ready to live a normal day. »
In Kharkiv, where she lived until recently, Vera Zamarayeva describes “very difficult conditions, where humanitarian aid only comes once a day”, the city being violently pounded by the Russian army. “People are hungry, there is no heating, water, electricity. Everyone I know is gone. »
Already, before the war, life was difficult in Lutsk. Opportunities are rare there, for lack of investment. And now the Russian army is destroying our country. Poverty is such that some do not have enough money to flee.
In the early morning of March 5, on leaving her bomb shelter, she suddenly found herself homeless: a Russian airstrike had just partially pulverized her building a little earlier. A heartbreaking discovery that motivated her to leave Ukraine for good. After a three-day train journey to Warsaw, Vera decided to head for Denmark with her two sisters and her nieces. At Warsaw station, she is therefore waiting for her train to Berlin, from where she will then take the road to her destination. Vera knows it, a new life full of uncertainties awaits her. “But I have no choice, I no longer have a home in Ukraine, everything is destroyed. We will try to find accommodation and work, even if there is nothing concrete for the moment. »
Destitute refugees
The growing brutality of the Moscow army risks accelerating the exodus of these war-disadvantaged people, who live nowhere, fears Dominika Pszczółkowska, a political scientist affiliated with the Center for Migration Research at the University of Warsaw. “During the first days of the invasion, many of the first to flee had contacts in Poland, families or friends they could rely on. These were people who had already traveled abroad, who had the means. Before the war, it was already estimated that more than a million Ukrainian citizens lived in Poland, mostly temporary workers, she explains. Now I fear there will be an increase of even more destitute refugees, without friends abroad and with very little money. »
However, in the face of the influx, like every evening for nearly two weeks, an army of volunteers is active at the Warsaw station, offering food or directing newcomers. Behind her food table, Zuza Wiśniewska, 31, however regrets an action deemed limited by the Polish authorities, although they have made trains free for Ukrainian refugees. Reflective jacket on the back, the volunteer brandishes as an example the central station – which is under the authority of the Polish State –, where the help given on the spot is almost exclusively offered by ordinary citizens, who came spontaneously to assist the refugees. “We don’t get enough support from the authorities, everything is organized by ordinary citizens: these toys, these blankets and this food, all of this comes only from private individuals. They must send reinforcements, because in the long term, it will not be sustainable, ”claims Mme Wiśniewska.
An administrative detail that escapes Yulia Kazimko, however. “I am amazed by this solidarity, even though it bothers me a little! admits this 38-year-old mother, who comes straight from Kiev. At his side, his son Artem, 10 years old and smiling, affirms, mischievously, “not to have been afraid” in recent days, despite the repeated assaults of the Russian army against the capital. “It was either we continued to hide in the bomb shelter or we left the country! »
With Nadia Khrustalova
This report was funded with support from the Transat-Le Devoir International Journalism Fund.