On 22 February 2022 Russia attacked and invaded the independent nation of Ukraine. Orkney has welcomed Ukrainian’s to our islands who had to flee their homeland. This is a true account about the impact of the war on one young Ukrainian.
By Snizhana Lys
I was only 15 when Putin’s men invaded my town and split my life into two parts: a sweet dream and the nightmare that still haunts me today. My uncle had never held a weapon. He loved making jokes and taking cars apart. Now I can only remember him while holding back tears: Russia brutally killed someone I loved.
Throughout my childhood, we were told that Russians were our brothers, that we were one people. Ukrainians could never have imagined that these “brothers” would turn out to be monsters who had wanted to destroy us all along. On 5th March 2022, my uncle, Volodymyr (whom we affectionately called Vovchyk), went to Bucha* to see the woman he loved. We didn’t stop him. While we were sheltering on the ground floor of my house in Irpin, my grandmother received a phone call. These were the last words spoken by her
son:
“Mum, I’m in captivity.”
We were terrified. We** didn’t understand what was happening. Russians were our brothers, weren’t they? They wouldn’t do anything terrible… would they? Every one of us was tormented by our thoughts. We waited for my uncle to come home, while fear trapped us inside like rabbits cornered by a predator. That afternoon, at around 4 p.m., a shell hit the second floor of my house in Irpin. From that part of the story, I remember only complete darkness. We sat in silence. I remember the sound of glass as the windows shattered across the tiled floor, the voices of Russian soldiers outside, the smell of gunpowder and the flames we could see through the gap beneath the door
At that moment, I thought:
“We’re going to burn alive, or they’re going to rape us.”
Memories of the people closest to me flashed before my eyes, until they were interrupted by my mother’s whisper:
“Lord, please let my children survive.”
I began to pray too. With our hands clasped together, we remained there for another hour or two. When we finally opened the door, we saw burning cars outside. The fire was not going to reach our shelter, so we lay down and tried to sleep. For another four days, we waited for Vova to return. But our food was running out, and we had already been without electricity, gas, and water for several days. Eventually, we decided to evacuate.
My family had reached central Ukraine by the time Bucha and Irpin were liberated. We heard nothing about my uncle. The police and volunteer organisations had no information about him. While we continued to hope he would come home, news reports began revealing the atrocities committed by the Russian army. A local community group created a chat containing photographs and descriptions of those who had been killed. Hope slowly faded. My mother and I began searching for any information about Vova.
Days passed.
We saw countless bodies.
None of them was my uncle.
Until one evening.
I was getting ready for bed when my mother, holding her phone in trembling hands, asked,
“Was Vova wearing a blue Converse hoodie?”
She already knew the answer. She just didn’t want it to be true. I looked at her. With tears in my eyes, I took the phone and saw the swollen body of someone I loved more than words can say. After that, I remember only unbearable pain, those photographs, and the bullet wound in my uncle’s head. I have lost part of those memories. Perhaps the mind of my 15year-old self decided it was the only way I could survive.
On 5th March 2022, Russia killed Vovchyk.
On 5th March 2022, Russia destroyed my family’s life.
For the past week, I have been staying in the Orkney Islands. Twice, I have had exactly the same dream. I return to Ukraine. I am crying. I keep saying that I want to go back – to the place where there is no war, where I am no longer afraid of dying.
My story is only one among thousands. Putin’s men are still doing this today. They continue to torture Ukrainians.
My country is living through genocide.
*Bucha is a town in Kyiv Oblast that became one of the world’s most powerful symbols of the atrocities and genocidal policies carried out by the Russian army during its full-scale invasion of Ukraine. It is located near Irpin.
** In this part of the story, “we” refers to my mother, my sister, my grandmother, and me.
