Some struggle, others do well. By choosing to settle in the region, Ukrainian refugees in Quebec experience integration that is sometimes successful, sometimes less so. The duty went to meet two families in Estrie who are experiencing the two extremes of the same exile.
Alexandra’s pride
Alex Baluyev and Olga Kotliarova introduce themselves in French where the accent and hesitation blur the conversation a little. “We come from Kyiv [Kiev]. I worked for the government and she, in water management… water! »
At their side, Alexandra Kulinenko, in Quebec for 13 years. “These two are my pride,” she said in impeccable French.
A sort of fairy godmother of Ukrainian refugees in Granby, she took this couple of refugees under her wing when the whirlwind of war first propelled them into a host family in Chambly. Their friendship began when the duo landed a job at cheese maker Agropur, also Alexandra’s employer.
“ [Les Québécois] were very patient,” recognizes Olga. “When we started work in the factory, many people [étaient] interested in us, helped us. »
The honeymoon of the first days has since given way to a “demanding” routine, explains Alexandra. “All the time, we have to show that we are capable. »
Around ten Ukrainians work for the cheese factory today. Policeman, fashion designer, banker — all kinds of pasts mix together. “Alex and Olga learned their job quickly, a very complicated job,” emphasizes Alexandra. Their success is partly due to him. She translated the enormous documentation on cheese-making protocols from French into Ukrainian. “I slept on the keyboard…”
Integration is strengthened through shared work shifts. A “merger” between the Ukrainians and the rest of the employees is taking place, according to the oldest of the three. “At first we were called the Ukrainian team. But we don’t use the word anymore. »
Despite the parties she organizes to maintain the social life of these uprooted people, nothing guarantees inclusion, says Alexandra Kulinenko. Just last week, two Ukrainians left Agropur to find salvation in Alberta. “Because of the language. »
Ukraine and Quebec, however, share a common ground on this point. “We can say that our first common value is our cultural and linguistic identity with our big neighbor. » However, the challenge of French becomes for some one too many challenges for many of these unlucky people in history.
Alex and Olga tackle this challenge with courage. To the point that they pay out of their own pocket for French lessons in order to meet government requirements. “Obtaining permanent residence will take a huge weight off our shoulders,” says Alex.
Alexandra puts into perspective the results that we can hope for from this rerooting. “In my case, it took ten years to become stable. »
A wandering Ukrainian
Ruslan Yevtushenko speaks neither English nor French. His nails clogged with motor oil, he lists in Russian the misfortunes that befell him, his wife and his five children.
Originally from Poltava, the small clan found themselves in their hasty flight… in Tête-à-la-Baleine, a tiny village on the Lower North Shore. One of the most isolated hamlets in Quebec, it is only accessible in summer by plane, helicopter or boat.
“We couldn’t find another place willing to help us,” explains the father to justify the choice of this destination.
After two months there without being able to earn a living, he returned to exile. “Through the Internet”, he spotted a job offer in Estrie as a mechanic, his original profession. “Here, at least, there is civilization,” Ruslan likes to say.
Except that this civilization remains very complicated for him. “At my age, 52, learning French? » Ruslan nods. It will never happen. Unable to have a conversation with his neighbors or colleagues without using online translation, he still managed to earn enough to eat.
Except that, from mishap to mishap, the administrative vise tightens around the family. While in Tête-à-la-Baleine, the destitute couple turned to social assistance for help. By starting to work for a garage in Mansonville, Ruslan allegedly did not declare his new job while continuing to receive government assistance. He now has to repay $4,300 to the state, a huge sum for them.
“We informed them that we were working. We sent the documents,” says his wife, Elena Malikova, from the kitchen, from where you can see through the window the garage where her husband works. THE Duty could not confirm this information.
Stuck in a Quebec whose workings he barely understands, Ruslan approaches every week the moment he fears more than anything: the expiry of his residence permit. “If I don’t get permanent residency, I have to leave for Ukraine. If I go there, I won’t be able to come back [à cause de la loi martiale]. It’s a one-way ticket,” he says, looking serious.
Worse, his son’s Ukrainian passport expires at the end of the year. Without a solution, the same fate awaits him. “My son is turning 16. If he returns to Ukraine to do his papers, it’s a one-way ticket for him too…”
He drops a name at the end of the conversation: “Saskatchewan.” » This province where people say they can obtain residency more easily is perhaps emerging as a way out.
This report is supported by the Local Journalism Initiative, funded by the Government of Canada.