The smell of tender peppers fills Ludmila Kostenko’s room. She has soaked at least a dozen of them in a basin resting on a shelf. “I’m going to bake them, stuffed with minced meat,” she says excitedly. Since May 10, this 57-year-old peasant, her husband and their dog Ginger have occupied one of the bedrooms of a former student residence on the outskirts of Kharkiv, converted by the authorities into a temporary shelter for those displaced by the war like her, who that day had to leave Vovchansk Khutori, her hometown. The latest attacks by the Russian army in this province in northeastern Ukraine, bordering Russia, have forced the evacuation of more than 13,000 people since May. The number of Ukrainians living internally displaced far from their homes by the large-scale offensive that Russia began in Ukraine in February 2022 is at least 3.6 million, according to the Ministry of Social Policy. And the number rises to more than five million if we take into account those who moved to other parts of the country after the Russian invasion of the Donbas region in the east, which began in 2014.
Kostenko has tried to turn her room into a home, even though it looks more like a storage room than a bedroom in size. At least it has large windows, which take up an entire wall under which there are two single beds, with barely enough room to walk between them. “On May 10, my husband and I decided to leave. That night there was a bombing that left everything in flames. My house was destroyed by a missile, but it was June 1; we were gone, thank God,” she says. “I was only able to take basic things: the TV, the water heater, clothes and four other things,” she laments. The embroidered chair covers, some kitchen utensils and a couple of pictures of Orthodox saints are the objects that remain from her house.
The situation in the province deteriorated in May due to a new ground offensive by Russian forces, which forced the evacuation of communities close to the front to the capital, Kharkiv, although attacks also occur here, destroying homes and leaving fatalities and homeless. This city, with 1.2 million inhabitants before the invasion, is the second largest in the country and is home to some 200,000 displaced people.
Those who lose their homes are housed in residential homes or converted public buildings such as schools or health centres, and even in modular cities. Many of them, like the Kostenkos, cannot return to their homes because they have been destroyed or badly damaged. Most fled with only a few belongings, and are very vulnerable because they are mainly elderly people and families with children. In their new circumstances they face the difficulty of finding housing and employment. And all this is added to the psychological damage that comes with living under the bombs.
The shelter where Kostenko and her husband live is home to 182 people – most of them elderly or mothers with their children, as many of the men are serving in the army – along with four cats and Ginger, their dog. They don’t have much luxury in this ugly, old, Soviet-style six-storey building with no lift, but at least they are not on the streets. Viktoriia Tiutiunnik, a UNHCR worker who is leading the tour, says that they are provided with accommodation for the duration of the war and, once it is over, for another three to six months. The paint eaten away by humidity, the worn woodwork and the lack of lighting are compensated for by the new appliances in the two kitchens on each floor. The government pays the utility bills and the International Organisation for Migration (IOM) and UNHCR are helping with the repairs. “Spaces are gradually being renovated,” Tiutiunnik says.
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The great need for accommodation forced the creation of spaces at the beginning of the invasion that did not always meet the minimum requirements of comfort and were only a temporary solution, as there is a shortage of permanent housing, or the ones that do exist are in remote villages where there are few job opportunities. These problems force many to rent, which consumes a large part of their income, and all of this has led to many being reluctant to move. “The vast majority want to stay with relatives, in rented housing or in collective camps in Kharkiv and not move far from their homes so they can return when the situation allows it,” says Tiutiunnyk, who is also a displaced person from Lugansk.
Data from the Ministry of Reintegration for early 2024 indicate that the State has accommodated 54,610 people and that there were 22,474 vacant places, but it claims that this gap is due to the fact that not everyone turns to the State for housing.
Mikola Goga, 75, is still smiling. Leaning on his walking stick, he describes how he fled his village, also Vovchansk Khutori, on May 12. “Bombs were falling here and there,” he says, without losing his good humour. “When things got worse, we asked the authorities to evacuate us and they took us to a transit centre,” he says, referring to the facilities set up by the government to register displaced people and give them first aid. “At first, I was very scared, I didn’t know what to do. The most important thing was the financial help they gave us, I am very grateful,” says Goga.
Housing assistance amounts to 2,000 hryvnias (about 45 euros) per month for six months, 3,000 (about 67 euros) if the person is disabled or has children to care for. In 2023, more than 2.5 million internally displaced persons received housing assistance, for which 73.3 billion hryvnias (1.65 billion euros) were allocated from the state budget.
In addition to the housing grant, Goga has applied for a further 10,800 hryvnias (240 euros) in aid provided by UNHCR in a one-off payment, which has benefited some 368,000 people since 2022. They also received a hygiene kit, blankets and non-perishable food, as well as legal and psychosocial assistance. The UN agency estimates that 14.6 million people need humanitarian assistance and protection services – around 40% of Ukraine’s population.
Goga and his wife, however, are not in a shelter, but have rented an apartment. Their house is practically gone, as a missile hit the roof. “A few days later I returned with my son and a neighbour and I was unable to recover much, only a few coats,” laments the pensioner, a former border guard.
The man tells his story of his escape in one of the rooms of a multi-service centre where he has been summoned to collect some supermarket vouchers. The centre has been set up by the Ukrainian NGO Right to Protection with the support of UNHCR and the Kharkov City Council, and is located in an underground area so that it is safe to go there even during air alerts.
The centre’s manager, Ksenia Tumanovska, lists the services that have been centralised here: legal and psychological counselling, help in finding a job, assistance in applying for a pension, and financial assistance. “The most in-demand service is legal assistance in restoring lost documents such as passports, property deeds or certificates that the house has been damaged by the war, as the authorities make reports on destroyed houses in order to receive compensation,” she explains. The second is emergency cash. An IOM survey found that the most pressing needs of IDPs are cash and financial assistance (56%), energy banks (7%) and solid fuel for heating (6%). On the other hand, 44% of IDPs say that their income only covers their needs slightly or not at all, according to another UNHCR survey.
Unattainable jobs
Moving often means losing your job. Either because your place of residence was also where you worked, as is the case for countless farmers who have lost their land, or because moving to a safer but more distant city makes it impossible to keep your job.
In Vovchansk, Ludmila Kostenko and her husband have worked as farmers all their lives. “We are nothing now, and the future is uncertain because we are older, although my husband will try to find something,” she laments. The woman cries. She remembers her farm, her animals, the flowers and the vegetable garden. This peasant woman was born, married and built her farm in the same place, from which she had never left until now. She must have had a good hand with gardening; in two months she has made half a dozen plants sprout in simple plastic bottles that are now flower pots. This tiny garden and a giant poster of yellow daisies that covers one of the walls help her feel a little less strange.
The government offers tax refunds to employers who hire displaced persons, and the State Employment Service offers free retraining courses. NGOs also provide legal assistance and counselling, but when push comes to shove, neither of these things helps people like the Kostenkos, who are on the verge of retirement and have no skills other than farming. In the end, 40% of IDPs of working age are unemployed, according to the Ministry of Social Policy.
“It’s nice to be here as a guest, but the house is the house. Everyone will come back when the war is over,” says Mikola Goga with a smile. Ludmila Kostenko is not as happy with this, and cries again when asked what would help her. “Stop the war,” she whispers through her tears. “My whole life has changed because everything I loved was in my house.” Her only and greatest wish, she says, is to return home.
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