Nadia & Marat
The second in a series of twelve days of Christmas. Personal stories by Ukrainians now in Austria. In their own words.
I first texted with the couple from Odesa, now living in Graz, this summer, after they were left in shock by a hefty find handed to them by Austrian police on the Austria-Slovenia border, which they had inadvertently crossed by car with only their “blue cards” (Austrian government-issued ID for Ukrainian refugees) but not their international passports. The fine was something like €200. Money they didn’t have lying around. The punishment for not paying would have been a brief stint in a local jail. I put them in touch with an Austrian who understands these legal situations and could advise them. If I remember correctly, they paid the fine rather than fight it. The alternative was too overwhelming.
When you ask Ukrainians to tell their stories, they nearly all begin with February 24. Nadia and Marat, parents of four children aged 28, 11, 9 and 6, and grandparents to one 5 year-old, are no exception. The family lived in Odesa. On the morning of February 24, the parents were woken by the sounds of the first explosions. They sat staring at each other for an hour. The kids slept through. At 6am, Marat went out to change USD into Hryvnia, to look for an open currency exchange, and to buy gas. There were already lines everywhere. Nadia began packing suitcases.
I stop them right there in conversation — how did you decide, in just one hour, that you needed to leave? How do you make that decision? Surely not everyone was fleeing immediately? Marat says he ran into a neighbour in the hallway, also carrying suitcases, while Nadia remembers talking with a friend who was convinced “it will all be over by Monday” (the war began on a Thursday).
Marat says while he was waiting in line on February 24 to buy diesel, he heard Lavrov on the radio saying Russia would not target civilians, meanwhile there was a report from Kharkiv where a missile had rammed into the side of an apartment building but miraculously failed to explode. When Marat saw those images, of the family standing next to the unexploded bomb, he knew he needed to get his family out. Nadia packed as fast as she could and the children all thought it was a surprise, like going on holiday to the seaside. But even at the ages of 6, 9 and 11, they understood what was happening around them.
Nadia and Marat packed in a hurry and left Odesa by car with their three younger children. First to Izmail, but this was near Zmeyniy Island (Snake Island), which was also under attack. From there they went to Moldova. At the border, the caught up with their older daughter, herself a widow, and their grandson and her mother-in-law, who came in another car with a neighbour and her child. Nadia had found a place to say in Chisinau, Moldova’s capital, for a few days.
Nadia explains her decision-making process was also impacted by talking on the phone with friends who are doctors in an army hospital in Kyiv. They told her how badly Kyiv was bombed, they told her what the situation was like inside the hospital.
The family spent two days in Moldova, then headed to Austria, via Romania. Why Austria, I ask? Marat explains. It is a long story, he says. He is a historian. In 2016, an Austrian eco-activist came to Odesa on a tandem bamboo bicycle to draw awareness to the climate crisis. Marat and Nadia took their children to listen to his lecture, in a park, in summer. The got talking with the Austrian, whose great grandfather had been the Austrian empire governor of the Odesa region, and, according to historical record, ended his life there in 1918. The family had their doubts as to this version of events, and they had sought to find the unmarked grave in Odesa. During World War II, the former governor’s widow had also tried to locate where he was buried, as Odesa was occupied by Romania for a period of time. After hearing the story, Marat tried to help. He got in touch with local politicians and historians and located the spot in the cemetery, although the plaque was gone. Later, the entire family from Austria came to visit Odesa and attend a ceremony opening the new memorial.
Once Marat and Nadia were in Moldova — a dirty, cold summer camp for kids that had been turned into a shelter for refugees — they realized they must keep going. Marat reached out to his Austrian acquaintance, in Graz, who encouraged the family to head there. The Austrians helped Nadia and Marat with immediate housing. The granddaughter of the former Austrian governor, in her 90s, also helped. She remembers the time in Austria after the war when the Soviets controlled certain territories and how they behaved.
Upon arrival in Austria, Marat says they spent the first month in a state of shock. The cold camps in Moldova made them understand they must keep moving west, even though it all felt so far from Odesa. They slept in their jackets in the camp. The kids would wake up at night and you would have to take them outside to the toilets in freezing temperatures. Two more days in Romania. Then Austria.
The kind Austrian family helped house them for one month between their various available sleeping spaces, and helped them look for a more permanent housing solution. The local mayor’s office helped them find two social apartments. In May, the 70 year-old father of their adult daughter’s mother-in-law came. He was ill with cancer. He died in June.
I ask about the bureaucracy of life in Austria, how was that adjustment? Marat and Nadia understand they were at an advantage that they arrived early, amongst the first wave of refugees to leave Ukraine. At first, there was one school in Graz all Ukrainian kids were sent to, and then they were assigned different schools around the city. Although the family arrived on 2 March, they only received registration documents on 29 March. Each time you needed to show up as a whole family, and each time the kids were in school…the social payments were only raised this month by the Steiermark government to €260 per adult and €145 per child. Before that it was €200 and €90, respectively. They receive them on their bank accounts but they must show up once a month in person to show they are still in Austria.
The family lived rent-free for nine months, but now has been asked to pay €73 per month in rent and a gas/electricity bill of €230. Neither parent is working yet. I ask if they are banned from work, Marat says no, he doesn’t think so, but it is very hard to get a job without German. He has taken an A1 language course and is signed up to start A2, but there are no spaces, and he must wait until January to begin. Nadia would like to take A1, but she wasn’t able to study yet — this summer she was diagnosed with a brain tumour and she had brain surgery in Graz in July, carried out by a leading professor who has an international reputation in this area of medicine.
I intervene to explain my step daughter, her parents also from Graz, also had a brain tumour and also came back to Graz to have it operated on when she was a little girl living in the UK. I wonder if it is the same professor.
Nadia’s tumor was benign, and she has recovered well. She can’t help but wonder if it might be related to all the stress she endured in the spring.
I ask about expenses, how they manage to feed a large family on a small allowance. Marat explains at the beginning Caritas helped with groceries, but that didn’t last very long. A sign was then hung up that there isn’t enough for all the Ukrainians, as 200 new families showed up, and other nationalities needed the help — Austrians, Syrians, Chechens, etc. They tried to take groceries from the Red Cross, but this is only available once every two weeks and the assortment is worse. They shop at VinziMarkt, where the groceries are around their expiry date. Austrians also helped them a lot at the beginning.
I ask about school. Their three children are in a Volkschule and NMS (middle school). They are in normal classes, but the classes are filled with immigrants like them. There are not many “Austrians” in the school, Marat explains, although he proudly tells me Arnold Schwarzenegger once attended the school, riding his bike 11 kilometres to school from Tall, his hometown.
Marat and Nadia’s children try to make friends with other Ukrainian kids. Sometimes, during the school day, they are pulled out of their classrooms for extra German lessons, and there they meet other children from Ukraine. Their youngest son attends dance classes and his teacher remarked recently his German is really improving. Their eldest son is a star football player. He plays for Puch, a local club, and scored a whopping seven goals during the team’s win at the end of last season of the regional championship, the first time in eight years the team had won the cup. When the family arrived, their eldest was gifted football boots and was allowed to play for free. He has been playing soccer since he was four, and was one of the best forwards his age in Odesa, Marat tells me proudly.
I ask Nadia and Marat about their plans for the future. They reply, you can only live one day at a time. It would be stupid to return now while the war is not finished. You have to think about your children. Nadia tells me about a neighbour who stayed behind, whose child now stutters all the time, from stress. The woman had initially fled, but returned to Odesa in summer. She missed sleeping in her own bed. Nadia says you have to think of the kids.
Marat and Nadia are incredibly grateful to Austria for all the help. Marat says he once lived in Berlin for a month. “Austrians are not Germans. They are so different,” he says, meaning that as a form of high praise. They live in an apartment complex in Graz where there are many Ukrainian families. They applied for Familienbeihilfe (child benefit) in July. They still haven’t been paid. They received a letter from the finance ministry asking for confirmation the children attending school. The family now have to gather that paperwork.
Nadia asks me, delicately, about how the other Ukrainians are living. She has understood by now that her own family, due to personal connections in Austria and a first mover advantage, seem to have had a softer landing here than most. I tell her about the dorms and “hotels” and places across Austria where Ukrainians are “fed”, and don’t receive money each month, but rather only €40 pocket money. I explain there is no rhyme or reason. Pure luck. I am once again reminded that through my own activities I may have a broader, fuller picture of the refugee experience in Austria than individual families who can mostly only judge based on their own lived experience, and these vary so widely.
Marat sends me photos from Odesa, 2016. Summer. A park. An amphitheater. They only have two children young at the time. A kind Austrian with a curious bike. And a family photo from now, in Austria, the green mountains in the background. I thank them both for their time and their candor, and wish them all the best.
Nadia asked me if anyone would like to help her family with small Christmas gifts for their children. Please contact me to be put in touch with her directly.
A really nice portrait of the family. I take it that Marat is exempt from the conscription for age and/or family exemption. This is a blessing for them; the folks who have to manage the children alone, are miracle workers, too. Plz see my email of Dec 1 on my thoughts to be an elf for Christmas.