Polina
The sixth in a new series of first person interviews with Ukrainians now living in Austria. For privacy reasons, names are often changed, as is this case in this interview, per Polina's request.
Polina (38) reached out to me in August but we did not meet right away. She was going to Lviv, Ukraine to meet with her husband. He is fighting in the Ukrainian army on the front lines. He was given holiday leave. Polina and their two children, a 14 year-old son and a 15 year-old daughter, travelled from Vienna to Lviv to meet him. We agreed to talk after the family had returned. On a hot, sunny afternoon this week, I met with Polina in a downtown Vienna cafe filled with tourists and pensioners. It was a strange location to talk about their epic journey, from war-ravaged Mykolaiv to Odessa to western Ukraine, and then, only eventually, to Vienna, small town Lower Austria, and back to Vienna.
Polina is petite and beautiful and looks much younger than her years. It is hard to imagine she is a mom to two teens. As she recounts to me her journey from the past year and half, it is also hard to believe she was never ever outside of Ukraine before the war began and uprooted her entire life, taking her husband to the front, and she and their children to a new country. Polina is doing a remarkable job navigating it all, although I don’t think that is how she would herself describe it. She speaks matter-o-factly, step by step, as if to say she is only doing what any other person would do in her position. But in fact, she is doing much more than that. She is taking in information, evaluating pros and cons, making decisions, and acting upon them. All by herself, as the love of her life is defending her country, and she is far away in an entirely new environment. Her parents are also back in Ukraine, in a village in Mykolaiv oblast, north of the city, closer to central Ukraine.
Polina begins her story by telling me she was “totally apolitical” and didn’t watch the news before the war. She was focused on her job, and family, and didn’t think something as horrific as war could happen again now in the modern “civilised” world. Her husband, though, did ask her one day where his “military ticket” is. This is a document which Ukrainian men have showing what if any service they already performed. In his case, he volunteered in 2014 but was never called into active service. He did receive some military training back then. Polina couldn’t understand at the time why he was looking for this paper.
By February 2022, colleagues at work were talking about the possibility of war. Polina ran an administrative department of a large agricultural company, one of Ukraine’s major grain exporters. On February 16, her daughter celebrated her 14th birthday. Friends and family came over. The guests were talking about the possibility of war. Polina’s daughter was upset. She remembered the Ukrainian history lessons from her school about the wars of the past. Polina assured her nothing that like would happen now. Yet at school in Mykolaiv, Polina and her classmates were being told about which shelter they would go to should anything happen during the school day. The school had imagined a scenario under which the kids were at school while parents were at work, and families were separated during an attack. Polina got so upset when she heard this she called the teacher and asked if she had lost her mind. To which the teacher replied: do you not watch the news at all?
In late February 2022, the entire family was home sick with covid. Polina and her husband worked for the same company, he in accounting, she in production, and were both on sick leave. On the morning of February 24, the beloved family dog Mary started running in circles. Then, they heard explosions, which Polina at first thought was thunder, but she could not understand how…it was not raining. Could it really be that Russia is attacking?
Then, the phone calls started. Polina turned on the TV and saw it was really happening. Mykolaiv is near Kherson, and Kherson fell quickly during the first few days of the war. Polina and her family lived on the side of Mykolaiv closer to Kherson. She and her husband had only recently bought the apartment. Her husband went to fill the car with gas. There was a 2 kilometre line at the gas station. Polina asked herself what to do…medicine, was her first thought, given they all were still sick with covid, and documents. Next, Polina’s thoughts turned to the company she worked for. There was a physical archive at work of thirty years of land leases and purchases. The company is one of Ukraine’s top grain exporters. Polina decided to put on a mask and go to work to “save the documents”.
I couldn’t quite believe it. How does a mom of two and wife think first about company documents once a war began? I imagine most people would not be so loyal to their employers. But Polina did just that. She was responsible for a department employing twenty people. She called them in. They actually showed up. Their office housed the contracts for land ownership and lease for 24 divisions of the company spread out across Ukraine. The company top management sent a car and driver, and assured Polina they would drive all the documentation to a safe place in western Ukraine. Polina’s husband put her and the kids in the car, and drove her to the office. They waited in the car while she got to work. It took her and her colleagues two days to pack up the entire company archive, but they did it. After that, everyone was ordered to work online only.
Polina and her family left their own apartment, as it was closer to Kherson, and moved to the city centre of Mykolaiv into the house of Polina’s mother-in-law. They lived there with her until March 12th. There was no proper bomb shelter, just a simple underground room which usually stored potatoes. It was cold and they were all still ill, drinking tea, taking medicine, not getting any better. Polina’s husband volunteered for the territorial defence and went out on patrols to enforce curfew hours. One night the Russians bombed Mykolaiv so heavily that all the windows in the house shook. Polina spent most of that night praying. Night is the worst. You scroll through the Telegram channels, seeing the videos and photos of damage, focused on the news. Via Telegram, Polina also got in touch with volunteers and private individuals organising evacuation transport. The train station in Mykolaiv was not working. The road to her parents’ home would go via Voznesensk, which was closed, as there were active battles there, and the bridge had been blown to slow the Russians’ advance. The only way out of Mykolaiv was to take the road to Odesa. Mykolaiv sits between two bridges and both had been mined, just in case. By this point, the news was also coming out about the war crimes which took place in Bucha and Irpin.
A woman replied to Polina’s query. She explained: a driver can meet you on the other side of the Mykolaiv bridge on the road to Odesa. At 7am. Polina’s husband urged her to take the two kids and go. She woke up the kids, and packed a bag. Her husband drove them to meet the driver. Polina gets teary recalling the moment they said goodbye, not knowing how long it would be for. They didn’t know anything at that moment, other than they felt an urgent need to get to a safer place. As they drove towards Odesa, they could see the Mykolaiv airport being shot at. The driver, an Odesa native, told Polina to remain calm. He promised to drive fast. There were several inspection points. Only far into the drive did Polina relax enough to take her winter hat off.
The driver asked her where she was going, and she told him honestly: I have no idea. He offered to let her stay with him for a few days, explaining his own family was alredy in the Czech Republic. Polina asked to be driven to the Odesa train station. She needed to think. She had never been outside Ukraine before, and she and the kids did not have international travel passports. The whole drive only took one and a half hours. In the end, Polina found a church were she and her kids could stay for a few days and plan what to do next. The driver called. He said his best friend lives in Zakarpattia, western Ukraine, and could meet the family. He urged her to go, explaining which trains and buses to take. Polina agreed. The journey took them two days from Odesa, including nights sleeping at train stations. The friend showed up, fed them, took them to register in the village, and the family were given a room in a dorm in this western Ukrainian town, Vinohradov, that had been turned into housing for IDPs.
Polina and the kids lived in this dorm in western Ukraine along with many other families who had fled the east and the south for six months. They did not have to pay rent and they were fed modestly. Polina is very grateful for this help, and says she only met kind, caring people along the way. She met families from all over Ukraine. She became good friends with one woman with two small children, one of which was not yet christened. The mother asked Polina to be the child’s godmother. The local priest agreed, and performed the ceremony, even finding a local male parishioner to step in as a substitute honorary godfather. Afterwards, the parishioner-godfather even invited them all to his home for a celebratory meal. Polina recalls there was meat, and salads, all the homemade, traditional food aplenty one associates with a family celebration in Ukraine.
Polina’s husband came to visit them in western Ukraine when he was on leave from the territorial defence. During this time, she also applied for international passports for her and both kids. Another mother in the dorm told Polina she would go to Austria. She explained there are volunteers who help with transport, and that you could ask for social housing and Ukrainian kids can go to local schools in Austria. This was enough to convince Polina: “housing, food, education” she explains. Those were her modest priorities. Her husband agreed with the decision. He also volunteered for the Ukrainian army in September 2022. He said he did not want to spend the war “sitting on Mama’s sofa”. He is a true Ukrainian patriot. He was on Maidan back in the day. He knows the country’s history, and said “how can I look my kids in the eye if I do not sign up?”.
He is now serving on the front in eastern Ukraine. Polina explains this was his decision, and she saw her role as his wife to support, not question it.
A group of volunteers helped Polina and her kids get on a bus from Lviv to Vienna. It dropped them to Stadion (Train of Hope). They were then immediately sent to a dorm somewhere on the edge of Vienna, near the airport. Three days later, they were told to get in a car which would drive them to a small town in Lower Austria. It was a group transport, yet some of the other Ukrainians refused to get on the mini-bus. They googled the town and decided it was too small for them. But Polina had a look and saw: pizzeria, school, kindergarten. She decided that would be ok. Those are markers of civilisation. When others refused, Polina asked her friend with two children could take their place, and the social worker agreed.
They arrived in the evening in Lower Austria to a property with a large house followed by a courtyard and a smaller house at the back. A local social worker who spoke only German met them. She explained Polina and her friend with the four children would share the small house. The large house was home to men seeking asylum from countries like Syria, Cameroon, Somali. At first, Polina was very scared. A house full of men, and they, two women alone with kids? The social worker told them not to worry. (These conversations are all happening with the aid of Google translate on their phones.) She handed each mom €6 per person for two days, and said she would be back soon with money for a week. She told them the men had prepared “dinner” to welcome the new arrivals. Polina and her friend said they would only go if the social worker joined them.
They walked into the big house and there was a long table with a Pepsi waiting on each place. The kids smiled when they saw that. There was rice, and meat, and vegetables, and salad. The men had all cooked it themselves. The stores were all closed. The family hadn’t eaten all day. They enjoyed the meal together and thanked their neighbours, who had even bought chocolate for the Ukrainian kids.
Polina and her teens lived in this small house with the other Ukrainian family for two months. Then, they were told they would need to move to another property owned by this same private landlord who seems to be, from her description, in the refugee social housing “business” on behalf of Lower Austria. The new house was large, cold, and only heated with wood, not gas. Polina asked if they could move back to the small house. It was winter, and it was cold. After a local charity intervened, the landlord provided more wood to heat. Then, an Arabic speaking family moved into the house. At first they fought over small things like sharing a bathroom and kitchen, and then thy got along. By spring, they were moved again, this time to a new small house where the six of them could live alone.
Polina recalls her experiences living with other nationalities in a very positive light. She explains it does not matter one’s nationality, but rather his/her “human qualities”. Do you share with others in need? Do you speak with respect to others? She says she had only good experiences with refugees from other countries.
Next, I ask about school. Polina’s son (13) and daughter (14) were lucky that they were accepted by a local gymnasium in a neighbouring town. A social worker helped sign them up for school. The school director was extremely kind. The kids speak some English, and they translated for Polina. So the two teens from Mykolaiv started school in Austria in September 2022, and studied for the entire academic year in an “integration” class within a local gymnasium. There were 15 Ukrainians in the class. They had twenty hours per week of German instruction, and could spent two hours per day in “normal” classes with the local students. When they arrived last fall, they were welcomed with little gifts of stationary and candy from the other students. Both kids passed the “MIKA-D” test after six months. They could then spend more hours in “normal” classes with the Austrian students, and had extra German for six hours per week. Polina recalls at the time only about half of the Ukrainian kids passed the language test. When it was open day, Polina happily toured the school. The teachers thanked her for her kids being such good students. She is so grateful they had such a positive school experience.
And yet, she decided to leave the school after one year and move the kids to Vienna. “I don’t know where we will be tomorrow. We have a status here until March 2024. My job is to evaluate from the options available now. Ukraine will in the future need people who speak foreign languages. I want my kids to have a European education. They still continue with Ukrainian school online, as well.” The kids passed the MIKA-D test again in summer, this time with even better marks. They were complimented on their competency for math.
Polina decided, however, that another four years in gymnasium was not the optimal choice for her daughter. Four years felt like a long time with an uncertain outcome. She went to a seminar held for parents in teens in Vienna last spring, where a new class was presented for older Ukrainian teens, which would give them some Ukrainian classes with extra German instruction plus help towards choosing a future profession in Austria.
I immediately interject to ask what the local gymnasium thought of this plan. “They did not like it,” Polina explains. They even went so far as to write her a letter explaining what kinds of schools to turn down. But Polina and her daughter decided a move to Vienna to try this program was the right move for their family. Polina began apartment hunting. On a limited budget and with no Austrian proof of income, her options were very limited. She was lucky to find online a Chechen who was renting out a two-room apartment for a really affordable rent. It was dirty and needed a lot of work, but she came to an agreement and took it. When she handed over a €200 prepayment, she looked the man in the eye, and said “if you screw me over on this, it’s on your conscience. I am a Ukrainian woman alone here with two kids.” He did not screw her over. Polina spent June trying to buy cheap used furniture, and in July the family moved from Lower Austria to Vienna’s 20th district. “I told the kids they will have to wait for a view of the Danube,” she jokes.
Polina enrolled her son in a bilingual new middle school class nearby, and he will already be on a class trip next week (cost €150 and no subsidy was offered). The director had wanted to make him repeat the year he already completed in Lower Austria, but Polina insisted he be moved forward, and a phone call to the director of the school in Lower Austria (which Polina also insisted upon), school director to school director, resulted in a change of heart and her son being able to enter the next grade. He was also playing football in Lower Austria, the only Ukrainian on his team, and was even gifted a signed ball when he said goodbye to his teammates. Polina also quickly found a new soccer team, and her son now trains three times per week with a local team in Florisdorf.
I continue to sit there in awe of how fast this young woman moves who was never outside of Ukraine, ever, before February 2022, and did not speak any foreign languages before coming to Austria. Incredible.
Polina’s daughter is in this special program for older Ukrainian teens, as her mother signed her up immediately after attending the seminar last April. She is 15 and does not know yet what she wants to study. Maybe graphic design. Polina shows me some schools she has googled. She continues to do research. They will see how this year goes. In September, the students will be tested in English, German and Math, and then sorted into groups. They will also receive information about pre-professional apprenticeship paths in Austria. And of course, she continues with online school in Ukraine.
I change the subject and ask about work. Polina tells me shyly that she and her friend both worked at a local pizzeria. They took shifts in turn so they could each watch the other’s kids while she was at work. They were paid for a minimal number of official hours so they would not lose their social housing. The rest was paid cash in hand. I did not ask how much per hour. It was hard work in the kitchen and with the ovens. It was this money that allowed Polina to save up to rent an apartment in Vienna. She shows me burn marks on her wrists which look like the one I have from when I was a kid and didn’t know how to iron properly. “These are from the pizza oven,” she says, matter-o-factly, without a drop of self-pity. “Eventually they let us work on the cash register, too.”
I let out an audible sigh, not quite knowing what to say.
Her friend has since moved to Horn. There is a kindergarten and an elementary school there. She does not need more. The families are still friends, they come to visit in Vienna, attended Ukraine’s Independence Day celebrations together.
Finally, I ask about Polina’s husband in the army. At first, he received training in western Ukraine. Then, he was sent to the north of Ukraine, to Kharkiv oblast. In May, he was sent to Bakhmut. She is in contact with him as long as he is not at “point zero” as they say in Ukrainian, meaning the direct line of fire on the front line. At “zero” the men have to pull out their SIM cards so as not to give away their positions. Sometimes they can pull back then and connect to Starlink. Sometimes, he is unreachable for a week, or buddies from the same unit send messages to the wives and loved ones — don’t worry, your guy is ok.
The family reunited recently in Lviv, as he still does not have an international passport. He was given leave after serving a long stretch on the front. It is hard for Polina and the kids. Really hard. Something she cannot put in words, and I would feel like an asshole trying to get her to describe it. Their marriage is fresh — they only celebrated their first anniversary in February 2022. And already, so many months apart. “I finally met my person, and then this happens…” Polina explains. She tells me about the family’s beloved dog, Mary, who is now with her mother-in-law. Her husband dreamed of getting a puppy and could not believe it when she readily agreed to his suggestion.
Polina pulls out her phone and shows me a photo of a man’s tan hand over green grass and a tiny blue and white butterfly with the most delicate, intricate pattern on its wings sitting on top of the hand. “He just sent me this,” she explains, “it looks a like a work of art, doesn’t it?”
Polina mentions the funeral they saw of a fallen solider while in Lviv. In the west of Ukraine, when a soldier is buried, the entire town comes out to the road and kneels down to pay their respects as the coffin is carried to the church and cemetery for burial. She describes what it was like to see this with her husband who literally just came from the front, and will go back to the front, the very next day. There are no words for this. We talk about the endless cemeteries, the endless rows of Ukrainian flags marking newly buried war heroes. For every beautiful church in Ukraine, there is a cemetery. And in every cemetery there are flags. There are so many flags.
I thank Polina for such an open conversation. I can tell she is not used to talking about herself this way. She says more than once she isn’t sure who this will be interesting for. I explain these individual stories are all like threads in a common quilt. It is perhaps a bad analogy. Because each story is unique, each moment of joy or pain is personal. It is a privilege to be able to share these stories with you.
I walk out of every single coffee shop feeling completely inspired by the strength of character of these Ukrainian women.