Or where he was going. She gave a slight cry of pain as two volunteers lifted her awkwardly into the truck, worried that her uniform was being lifted. She tried to pull it until someone gave her a sheet to cover it. Her crutches and the bag she had prepared for the trip were also handed over to the van. “She is in such a situation that she can not cope on her own and we will not be able to run near her,” said Lyudmila Liandzkich, Boyko’s nephew’s wife. Boyko’s departure was hasty and without ceremony, and represents how many of the vulnerable and elderly Donbass residents are saying goodbye to their homes as fighting intensifies, along with Russia’s steady advance into eastern Ukraine. She is also one of the countless elderly Ukrainians who rely on an ad hoc network of guides and help groups to get them out of the danger zone. CLOCKS Aid teams help elderly Ukrainians escape dangerous areas:
Fear under fire in the Donbas area
Slovyansk, in the war-torn Donbass region of Ukraine, is almost a ghost town. The exception? The brave, the old and the soldiers who defend them. Widowed 20 years ago, Boyko lived alone but relied on her niece’s family for help. Lyadskykh says the concern is that if Boyko does not leave before things get worse, he will be trapped – like those unable to leave – if or when the front line reaches Kramatorsk. Lyadskykh has no idea where Boyko is heading beyond the great city of Dnipro, 250 kilometers west. “They said [she’ll go] in Dnipro, and then the volunteers will send it either to Western Ukraine or somewhere. I do not even know. “
‘It’s my duty’
The Russians already control almost all of neighboring Luhansk Oblast. The struggle there for the key city of Sheverodonetsk was fierce and bloody. On Sunday, Russian troops came one step closer to succeeding when they destroyed one of the bridges that still allowed access in and out of the city. The van and the volunteers sent to collect the Boyko have been sent by East-SOS, a Ukrainian NGO that helps, among other things, to free people from conflict zones. They negotiate some of the most dangerous roads along the front line, both to offer help and to get people out. Driver Edward Skorik decided to volunteer for East-SOS after the team helped his parents escape from Bakhmut, a village near Severodonetsk in the midst of endless artillery exchanges between Russian and Ukrainian troops. “It simply came to our notice then [East-SOS’s] work and I realized that this is what I wanted to do “, he said and added:” It is very dangerous, but I feel it is my duty to do it “. Eduard Skorik is a volunteer guide at the Ukrainian NGO East-SOS, which helps evacuate vulnerable civilians from conflict zones. (Jason Ho / CBC) As the van drove away from Boyko’s house, the garden in front of him in bloom, the sirens sounded as if they were mourning. It could still be heard when the van went up to pick up the next passenger, 80-year-old Alla Lisitska. She was able to get into the vehicle under her own steam, with the help of a cane and a friend named Nina who had come to chase her. Lisitska was dressed for the trip, wearing smart pants and a blouse, her hair perfectly tight. “I have not left my apartment for seven years,” Lisitska said. “And the social workers took care of me all this time.” They were the ones who suggested that it was time for Lisicka to think about leaving. “I was afraid to leave and I did not know what would happen to me. So they were the ones who convinced me.” Alla kissed Nina, who went on to shake her friend’s hand at a time that seemed to stretch the time, before the door closed and the truck moved away again. Alla Lisitska, sitting down, says goodbye to a friend as she is driven from her home in Kramatorsk, Ukraine, to a safer shelter in the west. (Jason Ho / CBC)
Some refuse to leave
More than three-quarters of Kramatorsk residents have fled the city, leaving large parts of it covered, empty and spooky. The superiority of the elderly in the cities and villages of Donbass speaks to the fact that they are usually the most reluctant to leave their homes, while at the same time taking care to send their children and grandchildren to a safe place. Natalia, who chose not to be named, is one of the municipal social workers helping aid groups such as East-SOS identify those who are ready to leave and need help to do so. “The main argument is whether [people] “They are ready to run out of water, gas and electricity.” “We ask, if the bombing worsens and we can not come to help, are they ready to deal with it alone? This convinces them [to go]. “ But not all. Natalia says she still has 60 customers reluctant to leave the city, even though her infrastructure has been steadily deteriorating since the war. Russian missile strikes dropped power in Kramatorsk and the nearby town of Sloviansk on Saturday. Parts of Sloviansk are already without clean drinking water at the taps and humanitarian groups in Kramatorsk say they are making plans to transport water by truck. Public transport continues to operate and there are pockets of life and people who say they will stay whatever happens. Retired Olena Khudyakova, sitting at a bus stop, appeared ambivalent. “We are probably used to it,” he said when asked if he was terrified of the bombing. He said it would remain to be seen whether Ukraine or Russia would emerge victorious from the war. Retired Olena Khudyakova, who appears to be sitting at a bus stop, said she would stay in Kramatorsk regardless of whether Ukraine or Russia emerged victorious from the war. (Jason Ho / CBC) “Where would I go? I was born here and I will stay here. I feel we will not have hostilities. Where [Kramatorsk] it will end up – on which coast it will swim – it depends on high-ranking politicians “. The bus stop where Khudyakova was sitting is directly opposite the train station. Kramatorsk was a major regional railway junction for those fleeing the conflict in eastern Ukraine until April 9. It was then that a rocket allegedly carrying a cluster bomb landed on a crowd waiting outside the station, killing more than 50 people.
“Of course I’m worried”
The only way out of the city now is by road. Edward Skorik drives his passengers about 60 kilometers to a town called Pokrovsk, where evacuation trains depart daily for the west. When he was caught by the CBC, he was parked right on the platform, along with an ambulance carrying others destined for the train and the long journey to Dnipro. Evacuation workers transport Kramatorsk resident Lydia Boyko on a train to the city of Pokrovsk, where evacuation trains depart daily for western Ukraine. (Jason Ho / CBC) Emergency workers remained to help passengers board, using an electric lift attached to one of the train car doors and transporting those who could not walk and were wheelchair-free on cloth stretchers. So Lydia Boyko boarded. Soon after being spread out in a row of seats in a carriage, Alla Lisitska sat across from her and checked her makeup. The train showed its age, like its passengers. The staff was noisy in the narrow corridors carrying walkers and portable toilets. No woman knew where they were likely to end up at the end of their journey. “I was told that there were volunteers who would meet me and I would get a free place to stay, free food and everything would be fine,” said Lisicka, seemingly in good spirits. Boyko seemed relieved to be in one place, saying a thumbs up from her couch when asked how she felt about leaving alone like that. “Of course I’m worried,” he said. “But I’m already alone. I say take me anywhere while I’m among people … It ‘s easier to die when you’re among people and not alone. If you feel bad, someone will give a hand. Someone will give [you] a glass of water.” Lydia Boyko appears on the train after being transported from Kramatorsk’s house in Pokrovsk, Ukraine. (Jason Ho / CBC) A few days later, Lisitska said by phone that both women had arrived at the Dnipro and were in the hands of promising volunteers. The two women were waiting for the doctors to examine them. It would then be decided if they were strong enough to send further west, to unknown places.
