Natasha & Pasha (Day 106)
The hardest day so far. We need your help. It takes a village. A global village.
Today, in a small town about an hour’s drive from Vienna, I met Natasha (44) and Pasha (15). Exactly three months ago, on March 9, Natasha lost her husband and Pasha lost his father when Russians soldiers entered the family home in Borodyanka and shot him at close range. The soldier then took Natasha to their headquarters, about 50 meters from her family home, where he raped her. He threatened to harm Pasha if she did not comply.
Natasha and her neighbour Vika told their horrific lived experiences to Sky News (among other journalists) here. Please listen to this recording of Natasha telling her story.
I was introduced to Natasha by a journalist working in Ukraine who asked me to visit her and give her some money. I was put in contact with Natasha’s psychologist, herself also a refugee from Ukraine, but with experience working with victims of war since 2014. This morning, I drove off, after having bought a few balls for Pasha (was told he likes sports, especially volleyball), some money and a Hofer card for Natasha, two McDonalds cards for Pasha, and plenty of fresh fruit, flowers, and macaroons from Oberlaa.
Natasha is a few years younger than me, with short dirty blonde hair and kind blue eyes. She opened the door to a very modest one-room flat with barely any furniture and a tiny garden plot, and greeted me with a warm smile. She had set the table with tiny sausage and cucumber sandwiches, blinchiki filled with tvorog and fresh herbs, cookies and tea. I was embarrassed she had gone to such effort.
“Don’t worry about Pasha, he is still sleeping,” she said as she invited me in from the door. Next to the small kitchen table and four chairs was a single bed without sheets. “They only brought the bed yesterday, before that he had to sleep on the floor.” Natasha’s bed was even smaller and tucked into the corner against the wall.
Pasha turned over from under the covers and greeted me. He has a sweet face reflecting that age when you aren’t really a kid anymore but not yet an adult either. He smiled with his big blue eyes and looked just like my own kids look at me when I force them to get up for school. The sleepy eyes on the tan face from the early summer sun. Except it was 11am on a Thursday. Pasha is not in school. No one has arranged for school for him.
No one in Austria has arranged for much of anything for Natasha and Pasha, it turns out.
They arrived in Austria in early April. Borodyanka was under Russian occupation from February 28 until early April. As soon as the town was liberated, journalists and volunteers, it sounds like various people along the way, convinced Natasha and Pasha to leave for Europe. A bus brought them to Stadion (Train of Hope). From there, they were sent (not clear to me by whom) to temporary housing in the Vienna area, including a home for women escaping abusive partners which was odd given the circumstances. Natasha told me it wasn’t suitable as there were “no Ukrainians there”. She somehow (details are murky) met the psychologist, who also joined us this morning, and they both ended up in a small town about an hour’s drive from Vienna. Housing has been provided by a charity affiliated with the Adventist church. There is one local volunteer who is in touch with the women, but it sounds like most of their social lives revolve around group sessions planned by this psychologist, herself a refugee too.
I start asking questions because I am confused by Natasha’s spartan circumstances despite the trauma she has been through — far worse than anything I have heard yet and I have met hundreds of refugees, if not thousands over the past several months. Natasha and Pasha have not yet received blue cards. They are registered at the address, as of May 24. They also have not yet received any money from the Austrian state. They do not have a future appointment yet to receive such money. They do not seem to be in contact with Caritas, Diakonie, Volkshilfe, or any other of the big aid organizations dispensing state money. Natasha and Pasha also do not have e-card numbers yet (social insurance).
Pasha is not in school. Natasha says he finished 9th grade in Ukraine and isn’t sure which kind of school he should apply for next. They are both attending some kind of German classes (details murky). Pasha would love to do sports but hasn’t been able to find a local club for volleyball or the like. I certainly left with the impression that he needs to be around kids his own age. Natasha dreams of sending him to a summer sports camp. She needs hope. She wants to build a new life around giving him an education and a new start.
Natasha loves working the land and planting vegetables and gardening and working with flowers and would be happy to do any kind of job that involves working with her hands, outside. She loves nature. She has the strong hands of someone who has worked hard her whole life. Her mother in Ukraine has goats.
In short: a school for Pasha, sports for Pasha, summer camp for Pasha, an apartment for them both, a job for Natasha. Anywhere in Austria (or even another country frankly) where there is infrastructure to support them.
Natasha is kind and gentle and speaks without emotion about a lot of what she has been through. I don’t want to press with questions, but she starts talking. At one point she tears up, and the psychologist later tells me this is the first time Natasha has cried in her presence. The release is good, she assures me.
The Russians shot and killed the family dog before they shot and killed her husband. The large dog stood on its back legs like a bear, and the soldier just shot it dead. The dog knew, it felt it, Natasha explains.
Today, Natasha says she lives for Pasha’s future. I want to help Natasha make’s vision a reality. I was really depressed by what I saw today. I saw a lovely mom and son trying to keep smiling despite the horrors of horrors they have been through, and I also saw them all alone, except for a psychologist who herself recently arrived in Austria and doesn’t know how things work here neither in theory nor in practice.
Natasha tells me she needs to see a dentist. The psychologist gives me the phone number of a local dentist. I call and in German try to book an appointment. I manage, but am warned “the Ukrainian must go to the social insurance agency and receive a replacement e-card”. So I hang up and call the local office of the social insurance agency. They tell me the dentist is lying and nothing is needed, but I should call the mayor’s office. Yes, really. I call the mayor’s office, but it is 12:30pm and they only answer their phone until noon. So we dial back the dentist again and tell them what the insurance office said and they reply “we already had 3 Ukrainians and they all managed to produce the document but tell her to bring her passport and all possible documents.”
At that point I just hung up, called my dentist in Vienna, and booked an appointment for Natasha. I promised to accompany her. The train ride into Vienna is about an hour and for now, still free of charge for Ukrainians. This will likely be over come July. I remembered that Austrian state health insurance doesn’t cover the price of fillings anyway. I told Natasha we will find the €100, not to worry. My dentist is nice. She isn’t scary. I am afraid of the dentist. So is Natasha. We giggle. All will be fine. One box ticked.
Natasha’s mother is 65 years old and still in Ukraine with her animals and vegetable plot. Her sister had a hair salon in Borodyanka. The Russians stole everything, even the sofas. Her sister has four kids. Prices are high. Cabbage costs 75 hryvnia per kilo, bananas already 45. Fuel prices. They are driving inflation. “I told them they better plant potatoes,” she says.
Natasha has no death certificate for her husband. She was able to bury him. That was it. The office that issues the certificates is gone. The school was destroyed. Everything was destroyed.
The soldier was from Buryatia. He was drunk. He killed her dog before he killed her husband. Her dog died in her arms. The soldiers would barge into the houses 3-4 times a day, armed with rifles, they would put a rifle to Natasha’s stomach. Why are you not afraid? they would ask her. I’m in my own home, she replied. They came to her mother’s home looking for vodka. They were all looking for vodka. One Russian soldier came asking for two potatoes and two beets. To make soup, he said. I am the cook and I just want to go home. She gave him the vegetables and said she cannot help him. She doesn’t know what happened to him. The headquarters was only 50m away.
Natasha pulls out her phone and hands me a text in Ukrainian. It is her story. She wants me to know it without her repeating it. I nod, and read. I cannot read quickly in Ukrainian. I understand the language spoken better than I read it. I thank her. I share it with you here, unedited, via Google translate:
Natasha's story (from text from Ukrainian journalist Igor Kramarenko) The occupiers came to her house after Vika was taken away. Natasha's husband, Sasha, opened the door. The occupier pointed a gun at him and said he wanted his wife. Sasha told him to leave, and he shot him in the back of the head. After the murder of Natasha's husband, the occupier woke up the woman and pushed her out into the street to take her to the same abandoned house. This soldier introduced himself as 21-year-old Oleg. He led Natasha upstairs and raped her on the mattress in the large bedroom. The woman recalls how the occupier told her that her son would be harmed if she resisted. "At that time, I thought only of my son so that he would not be killed. ... [I was] like a living corpse - a dead end - I did not know what to do," - she says. According to her, everything lasted about an hour and a half. After that, the soldier went down to find 19-year-old Daniel, who was no longer there. After that, he also disappeared from the scene. After what happened, Natasha crept home, where she saw her husband lying dead in the dark on the stone floor. "How did I feel? I stayed until morning. I couldn't sleep," she said. For some time after the incident, both women had to stay in the village - they were afraid of persecution. 65-year-old Valentina, Natasha's mother, who lived with her daughter, said that when a new unit came to their village, the military was shocked to learn of Daniel's and Oleg's crimes. Ukrainians share stories of rape by occupiers / Sky News photo After Russian troops were withdrawn from the region, Vika and Natasha were able to testify to police and prosecutors about the attacks. Natasha and her son fled to Austria.
I want to give Natasha and Pasha the best possible fresh start Austrian can offer. I believe in miracles. And if that miracle is an invitation to a great school with sports for teens, perhaps even in another EU country, or Canada, or the UK, why not? Natasha left Ukraine so that she could offer Pasha a future. She said to me she couldn’t stay there in that house, in those walls. “Who will raise him now?” she asks me, and I don’t know what to say. I have a 16 year old son myself and I kept thinking how much he and Pasha look alike and how they both lie there in their beds on their phones and how it isn’t fair that my kid is in school now joking with his friends and Pasha is home with his mom because no one has given him a chance to start over.
I know we can do this. We just need collective brainstorming and generosity and some real time and effort invested by those who know how Austria works best. For Pasha: a school, a sports club, friends his own age, a summer camp for a few weeks? An apartment that feels like a home. A job for Natasha. She is holding herself together for her son. I don’t think I have ever met someone as strong as she was sitting in front of me today. I am still in awe of her. She smiled and laughed and cried a little bit and we talked and talked and talked again this evening and I know it is all so hard and no one is helping them yet through all the bureaucracy (the dentist story gives you a flavour). I know we can do better. I believe if we all put our minds and connections together Austria can offer Natasha and Pasha a happier future than the one they see out their window at the moment. Yes, they are safe. But it is the “bed, bath, bread” version. They deserve better.
My DMs are open and I am on Telegram at tanjamaier1717. I will do what I do best which is to connect Austrians who know how things work and can help and Ukrainians in need of help and hope for a happy solution. I am happy to be that middle person for this family who touched me very deeply today. I know Natasha and Pasha don’t want our pity. They need our help. Lets please do what we can.
This is another story about what happened in Borodyanka, but it is behind a paywall. Natasha told me she gave interviews for hours (“they all came, so many of them, they all asked if they could come in for coffee”) and at first she didn’t want to talk, while her neighbour talked and talked, but then at one point she realised she had no reason not to talk, and she shared her story. Natasha speaks softly, but matter of factly. She isn’t giving herself any pity. She is holding strong. For Pasha. For the future. I am in awe. I will try to do everything I can. I am not sure what that is at the moment, but I know that together we have made really great things happen, and I am confident we can do it one more time. Together.
School. Sports. Summer camp. Apartment. Job.
That’s it. That was the list I wrote down as I bid Natasha and Pasha farewell after nearly three hours, and promised I would let them know what I find out as soon as I can. I asked for their permission to write this blog post. I drove the psychologist back to Vienna, left her in front of the Ukrainian embassy. She is religious and offered me blessings. I am not but I accepted them and thanked her for everything she is doing, not just for Natasha and Pasha, but many other Ukrainian families in that small community.
What incredible people.
Thank you for reading and thank you in advance for your ideas and help. Today I will end here. Tomorrow more news updates and an update on the grocery card project. Today, just Natasha and Pasha. I didn’t take their photo. I didn’t want to expose them like that. I gave Natasha a big hug and promised her I would try my best. It’s all one can do.
Dear Tanja! Why is your story absolutely one-sided?
I am an ukrainian volunteer in Austria and after 3 month of desaster with ukrainian refugees to read such one-sided story is really terrible. For how many refugees did you find apartment, school, dentist etc?
I will say you what we did...about 500 in the small town with about 10 volunteers.
3 month working 24/7....
Sorry but only thing what you do with your story - you cancel job of many many peoples who did everything every day in last three months to bring ukrainian peoples feelings of safety and welcoming in Austria.
Professional journalist will always give the possibility to their readers to have a whole picture.
Unprofessional one writes only one side.
Millions of Ukrainian women are now refugees. Many have gone through grief, violence, bombing, death of loved ones. They gratefully accept shelter, even when living with 10 people in a room. Nobody complains. It is written in the article, Natasha and her son were given a separate apartment. This is a great luxury in today's conditions really. They are still dissatisfied. It's strange. Perhaps they want to use the situation to their advantage? Then it is an unfair to the other of refugees. There are sports and schools in every city in Austria. Go and get busy! Maybe they want a nanny for themselves?Such requirements greatly spoil the image of Ukrainian refugees. But I hasten to reassure you - there are only a few who demand an exclusive attitude towards themselves through the press. Ukrainians are all grateful to Austria for the help it provides for them