“There is war, what more can I say? »
Olga, 37, has drawn features. She is stingy with confidences, as if she were trying to avoid dwelling on the anguish of the hours spent in the bomb shelter, the memory of “the incessant crying of children”. There, in Mykolaiv, Olga lived two weeks of nightmare. His city, located in southern Ukraine, has become the scene of fierce fighting between forces from kyiv and Moscow. “Mykolaiv is still standing, but it is constantly bombarded,” she breathes. Olga wishes to conceal her full name for fear of reprisals against her husband, who has remained in Ukraine. “I keep in touch with him at all times, I have my eyes glued to my phone to follow the news every day. Decreed by President Volodymyr Zelensky on February 24, the day marking the start of the Russian invasion, the general mobilization prevents men aged 18 to 60 from leaving Ukrainian territory.
It was in neighboring Moldova that Olga took refuge on March 9 with her children, aged 7 and 13, Kiril and Anna. A choice of destination that flowed from source for the mother, who says she does not want to “go too far from Ukraine to stay close to my relatives and friends, while waiting for the war to stop”. In Chișinău, she was housed in the exhibition center of the Moldavian capital, which, from the beginning of the war, was hastily transformed into a reception center for refugees. At the end of March, more than a hundred exiles from Ukraine are housed there, in small rooms separated by partitions, each equipped with a bedside table.
Wandering: that’s what you feel when you wander through this labyrinth of rooms where drowsy people whose destiny has been turned upside down.
A surge of solidarity also took hold of the premises, even if the crowds have decreased since the start of the conflict. At the entrance to the centre, volunteers serve hot meals; there, members of Swiss humanitarian aid; further on, in a room adjoining an improvised children’s playroom, a mountain of pillows and blankets. On a bulletin board, in the middle of drawings made by young Ukrainians, announcements of all kinds aimed at new arrivals: psychological help, financial support for students, information on the Ukrainian embassy in Moldova, assistance with pets, job offers in a hairdressing salon, help for diabetics… In a corridor, there is an improvised laundry room and, further on, showers and toilets made available to the refugees.
Limited means
Of the approximately four million Ukrainians who have fled their country, more than 425,000 have crossed the borders of Moldova. And, of this number, nearly 100,000 are still there. Quite a challenge for small Moldova and its 2.6 million inhabitants, already one of the poorest countries in Europe, which now has the highest ratio of refugees per inhabitant among the countries bordering Europe. ‘Ukraine.
“We are doing well for the moment, but foreign aid is essential, we are at the end of our resources”, confides a government source interviewed by The duty. “It is above all thanks to citizen mobilization that we manage to deal with the crisis. »
It must be said that the former Soviet republic was already, before February 24, in a geopolitical position that was delicate to say the least. Moldova is neither a member of NATO nor of the European Union. Since its independence, on leaving the USSR, in 1991, it has also been struggling with Transnistria, a separatist region close to the Kremlin located in the eastern part of the country, where some 1,500 Russian soldiers are said to be stationed on behalf of a mission of “peacekeeping”.
Subject to galloping inflation – 18.5% for the month of February – the Moldovan economy, almost exclusively oriented towards agriculture, must also cope with an exodus of its population, which leaves for Eastern Europe West in search of a better tomorrow. And that’s not counting its strong dependence on Russian gas imports.
For several weeks, Chișinău has been calling for help to try to accommodate this wave of refugees. “Dealing with this influx is one of the biggest challenges the Moldovan government has had to face in the past three decades,” Prime Minister Natalia Gavrilita said in an interview with German broadcaster Deutsche Welle on April 5. . The same day, donor countries meeting in Berlin agreed to grant 659.5 million euros in support of Moldova. A week later, the International Monetary Fund also approved additional aid of $267 billion “to help Moldova cope with the impact of the war in Ukraine and the soaring international prices of energy and foodstuffs “.
“The days are alike”
In the small room at the Chișinău exhibition center that she shares with her son, Oksana Tyronksana expresses gratitude for the welcome received in Moldova.
Arrived in mid-March, she recounts the dread of hearing the artillery fire ring out louder and louder, of knowing the front line is inexorably getting closer. “We could hear the vibrations of the explosions several times during the night. 15 kilometers away, where my mother and my sister live, there was fighting, and a military base nearby. Oksana also recounts the helplessness that gripped her when she learned, in the early days of the conflict, that she could not flee immediately. Too risky to hit the road due to constant shelling. And then, several infrastructures were also blocked.
Originally from Mykolaiv, the young Ukrainian mother can breathe a sigh of relief: here she is safe. But she regrets her life before. Ditto for her little boy, Yura, four, who watches cartoons on the bed next to her. “He doesn’t understand what we’re doing here. He remembers his bike at home and says ‘Mom, I want to ride a bike’. He understands that this is not his usual place to live,” says Oksana, who worked at a gas station in Ukraine, in a soft voice. In Chișinău, she discovers the reality of a war refugee. A daily life made up of melancholy, languor, boredom, hours of checking her phone, worrying about her loved ones back in Ukraine. “Days that look alike,” admits Oksana.
About twenty kilometers from the capital, on the edge of a forest, the Bucuria Sind sanatorium has also opened its doors. Like this Soviet-era facility, several Moldovan health facilities have taken on Ukrainians.
“I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,” says Anastasia Andraschuk, 27, opening the door of the sanatorium room where she took refuge in early March. We discover a large unmade bed, stuffed animals, diapers and baby clothes. Anastasia and her daughter, Iryna, one, left the port city of Odessa by car; her husband is still there. “Maybe we will stay in Moldova until the end of April, and if the war continues, we will go to Austria,” explains the dark-haired Ukrainian. In Odessa, “before having a baby” Anastasia was a volleyball coach. “We had a house, a garage, a life in Ukraine. I never thought I would have to leave all this. Leaving my country, I was very nervous. I reassured myself by telling myself that it was just a trip like any other. Maybe it was a way not to fall into madness. »
At the Bucuria Sind sanatorium, Anastasia Andraschuk has regained relative serenity. With the beautiful days of spring, it goes green. “We wake up, we eat, we go for a walk with the children outside. The weather is more clement. But it’s kind of the same day every day. At each meal, the cafeteria is crowded with refugees. “There must be 300 or 400 people! They are mothers with their children, it is very rare to see complete families. »
One floor below, a shy young blond taps on his phone, wedged in an armchair. Tymofhy Suraiev recently arrived with his family from Dnipro, a city in eastern Ukraine. Crossing the border, he had a few cold sweats: “ [Les gardes-frontières ukrainiens] didn’t want to let me go at first. A few months before his 18th birthday, Tymofhy was soon ready to serve in the Ukrainian army; one of his friends has even already enlisted in the territorial defense.
The war put an end to Tymofhy’s studies in welding, a profession “for which [il] no longer has any interest. To tell the truth, Tymofhy seems to have lost his bearings. “War is terrible, no one should have to go through that one day. He would like to have a job, in Moldova or in Western Europe.
A visceral need to return
Valentina, she wants to return as soon as possible to her house in kyiv, where she has “everything to live on, water, electricity”.
This retired teacher resents her son, who drove her to the border and encouraged her to go into exile in Moldova for her safety. “I want him to come back for me. I want to come back to Kyiv, on foot or by hitchhiking if necessary. Everyone was begging me to leave Ukraine, they packed my bag for me. »
Since March 2, this 81-year-old Ukrainian, who asks that her anonymity be preserved, has been housed in a former hospital in the suburbs of Otaci, very close to the border with Ukraine, more than 200 kilometers north of Chișinău . The establishment was quickly renovated by the authorities to accommodate refugees, and Valentina can only express her gratitude. In the room she occupies alone, her elegant green beret is placed on the adjacent bed, next to her old mobile phone. “I get a lot of calls from relatives thinking I’m still in Ukraine, asking if I need anything. »
Valentina has a wrinkled face, golden fillings, a frail figure and speaks with a loud voice. She also has watery eyes and sobbing in her voice. The loneliness of exile makes her sad; she’s had two heart attacks since leaving Ukraine. “I really want my son to come back for me, I don’t see any point in staying here,” Valentina repeated.
She has a visceral need to return, a need that knows no fear: “I want to die in my native land. »
With Iurie Proca
This report was financed thanks to the support of the Transat International Journalism Fund.The duty.