Tell me, Agata, how could I possibly take you to a meeting with a man whose wife and little daughter were raped right before his eyes?
Agata Grzybowska, a photojournalist from RATS Agency, went to Ukraine less than a month after the outbreak of war with Russia. She chose to focus on people who stayed in the country, who decided against leaving.
Five minutes after I had arrived in Lviv, the air raid sirens went off and I got stuck in a bomb shelter for another few hours…
Inhabitants of Malaya Rohan, a village liberated from the Russian occupation. Their house – as the only one in the area – still has windows. Dressed in jackets, they just sit on the sofa, they do not even go to the basement.
‘If we’re gonna die, we want to die at home,’ they say.
Hanna Kotelnikova is a survivor from Mariupol. She has managed to escape from the besieged city in her car with six other people, including her parents, and three dogs.
Hanna Kotelnikova is a survivor from Mariupol. She has managed to escape from the besieged city in her car with six other people, including her parents, and three dogs.
Inhabitants of Malaya Rohan, a village liberated from the Russian occupation. Their house – as the only one in the area – still has windows. Dressed in jackets, they just sit on the sofa, they do not even go to the basement.
‘If we’re gonna die, we want to die at home,’ they say.
Elders do not leave because they have no family scattered around the world, because they do not know anyone out there. ‘We have been living here our entire lives and now what? Are we supposed to flee to an unknown place or to a shelter, live in the underground station, keep hiding? If we are to die, we’d rather die in our own beds,’ they say. And they stay in their homes.
Inhabitants of Malaya Rohan, a village liberated from the Russian occupation.
Chelsea and Cherry, two beagles. They have been staying with their owners in the underground shelter since 28 February.
Inhabitants of Saltivka, a heavily damaged residential area in Kharkiv which suffers from constant shelling. They have been living permanently in the basements for over two months.
Julia and Zenaida, inhabitants of Saltvika, a residential area in Kharkiv.
Julia and Zenaida, inhabitants of Saltvika, a residential area in Kharkiv
Inhabitants of Saltivka, a heavily damaged residential area in Kharkiv which suffers from constant shelling. They have been living permanently in the basements for over two months
Chelsea and Cherry, two beagles. They have been staying with their owners in the underground shelter since 28 February.
Inhabitants of Malaya Rohan, a village liberated from the Russian occupation.
‘We are renting a flat on the 19th floor, so when the first news about the war came, we were overwhelmed with fear that we would be living so high up. If there are air raids, a high-rise building like this can easily collapse.’
‘We are renting a flat on the 19th floor, so when the first news about the war came, we were overwhelmed with fear that we would be living so high up. If there are air raids, a high-rise building like this can easily collapse.’
I first met Svitlana in Medyka. She was taking her thirteen-year-old son Elizeus to Italy, to the house of complete strangers. She said that she would not stay there, she would come back to Ukraine. At first, it was beyond me to understand her decision: She could find refuge in a safe place, in another country, close to her child, and instead she was driving her son to some people she did not even know because they offered their help and support. Svitlana had worked in humanitarian aid before. In 2014, she delivered medical supplies to soldiers in Donbas, she still does it. Her husband is a minesweeper, one of those who liberated Bucha.
She used to sew wedding dresses, now she makes Molotov cocktails. So just imagine: her parents in Ukraine, fighting for the country, her son at the other end of the continent.
‘Svieta, correct me if I am wrong, are you saying your parents are pro-Russian?’ I ask.‘Yes, in fact they are. But I think they will soon change their minds about this Russian Mir [territorial community] nonsense, because they have already experienced shelling in Zhytomyr. They can no longer turn a blind eye to the atrocities Russians are committing against Ukrainian people.’‘But it must be very hard for you to function in such a divided family.’‘No, not at all. I know my values. I know what I believe in. And I believe in Ukraine and nobody and nothing can change that.’
‘Aren’t you concerned about these things?’ I ask Mariya, Svitlana’s aunt, a literature lecturer who lives in Zhytomyr and has been collecting everything related to Ukrainian history for the last 25 years: books, bric-a-brac, folk costumes.
She has set up a tiny museum at the university. ‘If push comes to shove, I will throw everything into bags and carry them away to some safe place,’ she replies.
I first met Svitlana in Medyka. She was taking her thirteen-year-old son Elizeus to Italy, to the house of complete strangers. She said that she would not stay there, she would come back to Ukraine. At first, it was beyond me to understand her decision: She could find refuge in a safe place, in another country, close to her child, and instead she was driving her son to some people she did not even know because they offered their help and support. Svitlana had worked in humanitarian aid before. In 2014, she delivered medical supplies to soldiers in Donbas, she still does it. Her husband is a minesweeper, one of those who liberated Bucha.
She used to sew wedding dresses, now she makes Molotov cocktails. So just imagine: her parents in Ukraine, fighting for the country, her son at the other end of the continent.
‘Svieta, correct me if I am wrong, are you saying your parents are pro-Russian?’ I ask.‘Yes, in fact they are. But I think they will soon change their minds about this Russian Mir [territorial community] nonsense, because they have already experienced shelling in Zhytomyr. They can no longer turn a blind eye to the atrocities Russians are committing against Ukrainian people.’‘But it must be very hard for you to function in such a divided family.’‘No, not at all. I know my values. I know what I believe in. And I believe in Ukraine and nobody and nothing can change that.’
Aren’t you concerned about these things?’ I ask Mariya, Svitlana’s aunt, a literature lecturer who lives in Zhytomyr and has been collecting everything related to Ukrainian history for the last 25 years: books, bric-a-brac, folk costumes.
She has set up a tiny museum at the university. ‘If push comes to shove, I will throw everything into bags and carry them away to some safe place,’ she replies.
‘May I take a photo of you?’ I call out to a woman who is looking out of the window and shouts a few words from time to time to join in the conversation outside. I ask if I can come upstairs to see the state of their flat, what it looks like.
‘I would offer you some coffee, but look, there’s no water, gas is off. I cannot even put the kettle on. All the windows are taped so that the glass would not shatter inside.’
Zinaida starts to cry.
‘You think the tape will help?’
‘It will or it will not. I just hope that the glass will not shatter into the flat and cut our cat into pieces. At night we go downstairs to sleep in the basement, but the cat stays at home. Yes, to the basement, but in the other building. We have been sleeping there since 7 March. When the curfew is over, we come back to our flat.’
Saltivka, Olga Griegorovna, she has been living in the basement for two months.
Premature infant at the hospital in Zhytomir. The neonatal ward has been transferred underground.
The hospital was being shelled, so the doctors and nurses decided to move the whole neonatal ward to the basement. No sooner had they finished doing this than a bomb hit the building opposite. All the windows in the hospital were blown out, but no infants were hurt. The girl I photographed was only five minutes old. It was also her birth and her life that the doctors were fighting for.
A couple who has been living on the platform of one of the underground stations in Kharkiv for the last two months.
Preparing meal in one of the underground stations in Kharkiv.
Saltivka, Olga Griegorovna, she has been living in the basement for two months.
Premature infant at the hospital in Zhytomir. The neonatal ward has been transferred underground.
The hospital was being shelled, so the doctors and nurses decided to move the whole neonatal ward to the basement. No sooner had they finished doing this than a bomb hit the building opposite. All the windows in the hospital were blown out, but no infants were hurt. The girl I photographed was only five minutes old. It was also her birth and her life that the doctors were fighting for.
A couple who has been living on the platform of one of the underground stations in Kharkiv for the last two months.
Preparing meal in one of the underground stations in Kharkiv.
‘My house is no longer there, it burnt down,’ she said. ‘My parents’ house too. All the photographs my father had ever taken are gone; he will never find them again.’
‘My house is no longer there, it burnt down,’ she said. ‘My parents’ house too. All the photographs my father had ever taken are gone; he will never find them again.’
Borodyanka
Borodyanka
Horses burnt to death on the road to Hostomel
Horses burnt to death on the road to Hostomel
Zhytomir
Zhytomir
‘40 days ago, we were all much happier.’
Wedding ceremony of volunteer doctors Nastya and Anton. When they got married, Serhiy Zhadan said: ‘With their love, these strong and courageous young people are fighting back against the dark reality that surrounds us.’
Jana, Dnipro
Inhabitant of Malaya Rohan, a village liberated from the Russian occupation.‘Nobody steps on us now, but when Russians were here it got bad. They forced us to wear white armbands and all the cars had to be marked with a white flag. Everything had to be marked with their colours.’
Maryna, IT specialist working for the Territorial Defence Forces
Wedding ceremony of volunteer doctors Nastya and Anton.
When they got married, Serhiy Zhadan said: ‘With their love, these strong and courageous young people are fighting back against the dark reality that surrounds us.’
Jana, Dnipro
Inhabitant of Malaya Rohan, a village liberated from the Russian occupation.
‘Nobody steps on us now, but when Russians were here it got bad. They forced us to wear white armbands and all the cars had to be marked with a white flag. Everything had to be marked with their colours.’
Maryna, IT specialist working for the Territorial Defence Forces
Jana is a psychotherapist from Kyiv. She has not finished her studies yet, but she is already providing psychological help for the soldiers in Dnipro. She visits them in the hospitals, at times she waits until they wake up after a limb amputation, and she is there for them in the worst moments. She does not know exactly how she can really help in these situations, but she spends time with them and just listens to them. It is also a kind of fight. Although I only have her portrait and nothing else, she has become a very important person for me. When I first met her, she was enthusiastic, full of energy, she said she did not want to leave because it was just unacceptable to her that her country had been invaded, that people were being killed, raped, robbed. When I met her ten days later, her gaze was blank. ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked. She nodded. After a while she sighed: ‘Agata, I don’t know if I can help you in any way. I do not know what you could photograph, really. Me sitting on the sofa, staring bluntly at the wall? Or me talking to people who have survived and trying to be there for them?
How could I possibly take you to a meeting with a young woman who tells me about the hell she has gone through? Who was gang-raped by Russian soldiers - multiple times? Whose mother was raped by the very same soldiers and then killed right in front of her? She is one of the survivors from Mariupol…
Tell me, Agata, how could I take you to a meeting with a man whose wife and little daughter were raped before his eyes? She was just a child - do you get it? And then the rapists shot them both dead – also before his eyes. And he has survived. Nobody knows why. Why did they spare him? And I am just trying to be there for him. When you asked me if I was okay, how I was doing, I told you I was all right. But to be honest, I am far from being all right. I feel like my eyes are empty from the burden I carry; I feel totally hollow inside.’
I often entered buildings that were burnt and abandoned, blocks of flats with walls ripped apart, I entered neglected houses where all the drawers had been pulled out, clothes scattered all over the flat, houses that had been plundered. I saw someone’s family albums lying on the bed, as if that person had rushed through their pages to find that one important photograph of their loved ones, to tuck the picture of their family, their beloved into a pocket and flee the building on fire, the building that could collapse in a second because the bomb had just hit the block next door.
I often entered buildings that were burnt and abandoned, blocks of flats with walls ripped apart, I entered neglected houses where all the drawers had been pulled out, clothes scattered all over the flat, houses that had been plundered. I saw someone’s family albums lying on the bed, as if that person had rushed through their pages to find that one important photograph of their loved ones, to tuck the picture of their family, their beloved into a pocket and flee the building on fire, the building that could collapse in a second because the bomb had just hit the block next door.
‘Many people will never find their families because the dead are often buried under fire, somewhere between blocks of flats. Several of my friends have disappeared, I haven’t seen or heard from them since the first day of the invasion. That means there is no signal where they are, they are dead, or they have been deported to Russia. Mariupol is being used as a hostage. Mariupol is the most horrifying symbol, because nobody knows what is going on there, we have nothing but silence. Bucha has crushed us, it has left us completely petrified, devastated. Perhaps nothing will be more terrifying than the images from Bucha. Even if everything is cleansed, even if they incinerate all the evidence of their crimes, the vacuum will remain, and that vacuum gaping with the darkest and most frightening terror will be the proof of genocide.’
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