A VIEW FROM UKRAINE: Battle cry is not such a distant thought in Lviv
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Wick man Chris McIvor is working with a charity in Ukraine. Here he shares his experiences of steeping into a war zone for the first time
There are several ways you can cross into Ukraine at the moment, none of them by the previously convenient method of air travel. The route I chose took me via Cracow in Poland.
Thereafter it was a three-hour train journey to the border, a few hours in a long queue to process papers and then on to the other side.
Although I knew in my head that ‘war’ would not be all around when I arrived, such is the volume of news about missiles, bombs and fighting that I half expected the evidence of all this to be immediately visible. There were a few soldiers around and billboards proclaiming the bravery of the country’s army.
But apart from that, the rest was a calm, relaxing journey through villages decorated with snow and on to the old city of Lviv where I am to be based for the next few months.
Let me confess that I am probably what would be called a ‘nervous’ person. If the dog barks suddenly or a door slams shut somewhere I will jump to my feet, much to the amusement of my children who have openly wondered what I would do if something ‘really scary’ were to happen.
So, when an alarm sounded the next morning and a voice over the speakers urging the hotel residents to immediately proceed to the bomb shelter in the basement, I admit to a moment of panic.
The torch I was supposed to have ready was nowhere to be found. The bottle of water was similarly elusive. My small bag of essentials had not been packed either. So confused, unprepared and embarrassed at my lack of readiness, I made my way to the basement where a group had already gathered.
I counted about 20 people. From the way they were chatting among themselves, doing work on their computers, sending messages on their phones or eating the breakfast they had prepared in anticipation, they were clearly seasoned veterans unlike myself.
"How many times have you done this?" I asked one woman who had offered me some tea.
She had lost count, she said. "At first we were scared. Would the building collapse on top of us if it got hit? But after a while it became part of our routine. Monday mornings and Friday afternoons are the usual times of an attack. So, we prepare."
"But doesn’t it get you down? All this stress? All this uncertainty? Electricity cuts and winter coming. A war that has dragged on for almost a year must surely be taking its toll."
"What else can we do," she shrugged, "but get on with our lives as best we can."
That message has been repeated throughout the several weeks I have been here. A few days ago, I visited an association of older people on the outskirts of Lviv, who had fled the fighting in the east of the country and now found themselves in western Ukraine without their families, friends and possessions.
I usually ask a lot of questions when I visit such groups but some way through the meeting one lady politely asked me to be quiet because they wanted to sing me some Ukrainian folk songs.
Although many of them had tears in their eyes while they were singing, including myself as a sentimental Scotsman, it was not only sadness I heard but a message of hope and resilience too.
Many people I have met, despite their situation, seem determined to maintain a sense of normalcy and routine, not only as a matter of keeping their sanity under terrible circumstances but as an act of collective defiance.
It is important to show the enemy that their spirit had not been broken, said one gentleman at the end of their impromptu concert.
These same enemies would like nothing more, he added, than to hear them cry.
- Chris McIvor is from Wick and is currently working in Ukraine as HelpAge International's interim country director.
