Between Two Worlds: Just Wait!

That morning I was to go in to Kherson State University for lectures in Journalism. Then I was to see Andriy Fedorovych, and as usual, toss around a few jokes, then afterwards to hang out with some classmates on Arestanka Quay, on the banks of the Dnipro.

“Wake up Sabina, the war has started!”

That was the phone call from my mother that lasted all of 30 seconds. Chaos in my head. My body made of cotton wool. The burgundy-coloured suitcase. The back-pack. The railway station… The Antonivsky bridge.

“It hasn’t been blown up yet. We’re going to make it across. The Russian paratroopers are not here yet!”

The mood in public transport was very tense, the air felt like it was crackling. There were a few incoherent bursts of memories and I was home in Suvorovka. The two tall poplars standing at the entrance to the village, the bus-stop all in blue and yellow, and four streets in a row. Oh God, now I can breathe easy. But actually no, now comes the hard part.

I spent the first night almost without sleep. I would set the alarm clock for every hour, so I could react quickly if something “terrible” was about to happen. But my mind was betraying me. I didn’t feel like doing anything. I didn’t want to feed the chickens, or wash the dishes, or cook up some mash for the dogs. What was the point if I was going to die soon anyway. I packed an emergency backpack - a phone charger, a pen, my documents in a folder, some cat food, my wallet, concealer make-up. Why concealer? Don’t know, but I guess І needed it.

And all on that same day, as it was getting dark, Russians in tanks and armoured vehicles drive up to the village. And that’s how it began. Panic attack: are we really going to die this evening? Where are our guys? Is anybody going to protect us?

A friend of mine was herding some cows out in a field, through which the enemy drove. He was wearing military camouflage, not because he was in the military, but because in the village, it doesn’t particularly matter what you wear.

“Sabina, they drove past me… I stood there and didn’t know what to do. How was I going to prove that I wasn’t military?”

The occupiers kept going to the army base, fired some shots at it with their tanks and then drove back to nobody knows where. Right then I could feel the first seeds of hate within me. The whole village was frightened. People came out into the streets, because it was better that way, being together. When the Russian tanks drove away again, everybody went back home.

1st of March, 2022. The first Russian cluster bomb was shot down over our village. Some people were killed, others maimed, and injured. I couldn’t understand anything, all these sounds were new. I could only distinguish what was outgoing and incoming.

I got a text message from a friend: “Sabina, I love you very much. I hope you are still alive.”

I was alive, Daryna, but only in the physical sense.

Sitting in the cellar of a country house with its spiders, stores of homemade preserves, mesh bags of potatoes and onions, the smell of damp and of rotting potatoes, our neighbour praying. Who was she praying to? At that time she didn’t know that damned Russia would take her son…

A rural basement with canned food for shelter from Russian missiles, Kherson region, 01.03.2022. Photo: Sabina Ibrahimova

Life as such came to an end, and the period of survival started. It was like some overly realistic video game. Today your mission is to “Find some flour.” Tomorrow it is “Take cover from the shooting”. The day after it is “Hide all objects which could betray you as pro-Ukrainian.” Not achieving any of these missions would mean a forever “ban” from the game in the form of death. At that time I was 17, but after a week, I started to feel like a 35 year old. I learned how to make three loaves of bread from a kilogram of flour. How to make dumplings from industrial corn, how to make a small piece of cheese stretch to last 3 to 4 days. In those days, that was a luxury. The one thing I didn’t learn was how to stop hating Russians.

Did I live with impenetrable darkness all around me those six months during the occupation? No. We laughed just as loudly with friends, we listened to music, we sang songs with guitar, we played cards. Sometimes we simply lay on the road and looked up at the starry sky.

“Look, there’s something flying up there. Do you think they’re ours?”

“Yep, probably ours. Let’s give them a wave.”

I hated them every day I spent under occupation. I often thought about fighting them. How? I can’t shoot. I’m not going to go out and fight a huge army alone. What can I do? I could send their location coordinates to our Special Forces. I know where they live. And what if they find me? Together with my friend we tried to figure out how to do this.

Simply sending coordinates through Telegram was too dangerous. They could easily find me that way and take me away to their “podval”. I needed a reliable VPN. However I couldn’t find the sort of reliable service that I needed from open sources. Hang on - my sister works with some IT guys, and what if… Within an hour I had a reliable VPN file installed, set up especially for me. Now we could really start working.

It was night, we were going to bed. I understood I had to do it right away. For some reason, right then. I knew exactly where they lived and where they kept their equipment. Google Maps - Telegram - StopRussianWarBot - and the deed was done. The most difficult part remained, which was waiting until they took me away. I was sure that I would wake up in the presence of a few Russian soldiers standing around my bed and then they would take me away to answer for my deeds. To some extent I was even psychologically prepared for this, only I was very worried how my close family would handle it. Thanks to my reliable VPN and the IT guys who set it up for me, I woke up instead to the sound of the rattling of empty jars, which my mother was saving for the preserves she would make. I had never been so happy to wake up at 7am to the sound of empty jars rattling!

The 70-metre tower

Then we had no internet or phone service for 8 days. I had all kinds of thoughts crowding into my head. Maybe they had isolated us and had dropped a nuclear bomb onto some other part of Ukraine. Or maybe they had started something like a Holocaust and had cut us off from the rest of the world to finish us off like a snack afterwards. Or maybe it was a sign that our guys were coming to liberate us? All this was driving us crazy. We understood that our relatives did not have an iota of information about what had happened. And what’s more, I was imagining all sorts of horrors about what was happening to them. We had to do something about this.

It was a warm evening, the cherry trees were blooming, and the young crowd was hanging out in the street. I was among them.

“Hey Sabina, do you want to climb the tower with us?”

“Who me? I’m scared of heights. What for?”

“Maybe we can get some sort of reception. Hey, maybe it’ll work.”

I just nodded silently, and off we went. Just the four of us. Maksym, Irka, Nazar and I. While going there along the road, I realized it was very risky, but damn it, what a brilliant idea! When you’re up there, way up high, you could probably get some sort of signal reception. We were so optimistic and even, I could say, quite sure that we would soon hear some dear familiar voices on the other end of the phone line. This was our ultimate plan. We were sure that we had cracked the system.

Then we got there. So who was going to climb up first?

“I’m scared. Let Max go,” said Nazar nervously.

“No problem, because Sabina’s going to follow me.”

It was night. It was a 70-metre tower, and there were four junior geniuses who were trying to climb the tower. Max raced up so fast as if he had no fear at all. For me, each rung on the way up seemed to be like conquering Everest, my knees were getting shakier each minute, my hands were simply refusing to hold on to the upper rungs due to the cold, because it was colder higher up than it was below…. And high up there, as it turns out, was permanently windy! And a pretty strong wind at that, so it felt like it was making you sway as well as this giant tower.

We crawled up to the mini balcony. I stood there on my knees, because standing on my feet would have been too high. What if my legs crumple and I fall? Reaching with my hands, which were still refusing to obey me, I got my phone out of my pocket. I was expecting to see one bar of cellular signal on my phone. Two would have been too much, and definitely not all of them. Just one bar. Damn! There was nothing. This cannot be!! Don’t tell me I climbed this damned tower for nothing!

”Max, are you getting anything?”

“Nope. And you?”

“Nothing. Now what do we do. Hey, shout down to Nazar and tell him not to come up because there’s nothing here.”

I climbed down, angry and offended at the whole world because I couldn’t catch a signal. No one was ever going to find out that we were here and that we were alive. It was just that the Russians had taken away all means of communication.

The blue and yellow plane

It was an ordinary paper aeroplane, the kind that everybody makes during boring lessons at school.

A self-made blue and yellow paper aeroplane, May 2022. Photo from the personal archive of Sabina Ibrahimova.

Around the village there were whole fields of stunning golden yellow rapeseed in riotous bloom. Impossible not to take photos of this beautiful sight, because this landscape was the only “permitted” combination of blue and yellow that we could view. The tricolour flag of the heathens was already making my eyes sore, but the combination of Ukrainian flag colours was like a refreshing gulp of fresh, cold water. I made a little paper aeroplane out of those same two colours. Daryna took my photo with this background. For having this photo we could both be made to disappear from home for a few weeks. We went home. I brought my paper aeroplane in my backpack, then I stuck it on top of a cupboard and simply forgot about it.

A few months passed. The Russians came to our home, obviously, not to drop in for a cup of tea, but to harass us. And as soon as the first Russian stepped into my room, I remembered that I was going to be in big trouble, because of the aeroplane… It was just lying there, I could see it, and I had forgotten about it! The “soldier” carefully passed his gaze around the walls of my room, touched my sheets with his hands, examined the neon lamp on my windowsill. I stood behind his back, feeling barely conscious. I could only hear the blood rushing in my ears and the thumping of my heart. He did not notice the little aeroplane. Then he left, but I was still shaking until evening. He no doubt has forgotten about this, but I still remember.

In the little kitchen

When fear takes hold of you, it shakes you like a rag doll. When I’m in a frightened state, I’m capable of doing risky things. That’s what happened when the next search happened in the village. The Russians drove in with their vehicles and equipment, which is usually surrounded by a cloud of unbelievably smelly, ancient diesel fuel. In the place where their armoured personnel carrier or other armoured vehicle was parked, their vehicles usually leave a huge, caustic puddle of oil or fuel, which you then need to cover with sand. There’s a big puddle like that in front of our yard. Their vehicles were moving through the village, slowly. Grandma and Grandpa lived a bit further on in the village, on the next street. And Grandpa owned a hunting rifle with bullets. In a second I ran to my bicycle. Because if the Russians find out that my Grandpa has a weapon, they’ll take it out on him with all the cruelty they’re capable of, no holds barred. I ignored the fact that a few of their vehicles, along with their soldiers were standing on the street outside my yard. While their colleagues were harassing the neighbours, I grabbed my bicycle and raced through the length of the village. And here was Grandma’s house. I rushed into the little kitchen, where Grandma and Grandpa were calmly eating lunch. What a relief!

“Come sit with us, have something to eat. I’ve made your favourite mashed potatoes.”

“No thanks, Gran. For some reason I’m not hungry. But you should hide Grandad’s rifle! The Orcs are back in the village. They’re walking around, searching, checking everything.”

”What? Really? You don’t say! Vitya, quick, go think of something… I have had it up to here with them! I hope they all drop dead…”

Back to reality

They came to terrorise the family of my best friend. The raid happened, the beating up of their Dad who is my uncle Yura, all members of their family were being questioned by the FSB (the Russian Federal Security Service), their home was being searched.

“My God, they were digging around in my underwear drawer. What were they looking for? And how did they know that my boyfriend was from Sadove?”—Daryna’s voice was still trembling, and I didn’t know what to say to her. How could I let her know that I was very afraid for her and I would like her to forget all this, as if it was just some awful nightmare. I could recognize her emotions inside me all too well. I was still shaking, well into the evening, and I couldn’t stop my tears. It would have been better if I could have been with her. But wait, really, could I have helped at all?

Then I received a call from “Podruzhaika.”

“Sabina, pack your things. You have 24 hours, time to leave.”

I let go a flood of tears right from the very first second. I couldn’t accept this thought. I felt despair. I tried to bargain. Eventually I accepted it. The whole next day passed in a fog. I behaved like a little girl, who was going to be kidnapped from her home. I couldn’t tell anyone except close family that we were leaving because it was too dangerous.

I already knew that I would be going to sunny and relatively safe Odesa, but the thought didn’t cheer me up much.

“Ma, will you promise me that you’ll follow and join me?”

“Of course, I will, dear. I’ll follow you, don’t you worry.”

Now I understand that she just said this to calm me down, because she knew that it really worried me that she was staying to live alone under occupation.

9th of August, 4 am. It was dawn. That same burgundy suitcase, leopard patterned bag, backpack, guitar. My whole life was packed into those seven words. Grandpa came to give me one last hug and to tweak my nose. His hands smelled like fuel oil and his face was shiny with after shave lotion. Then he gave me such a strong hug, as he had never hugged me so tightly before.

“Sabina, make sure you call. I’ll pass the telephone to Grandma, and we will all talk. Best of luck!” and he patted me on the shoulder, looking quite concerned. Grandpa lowered his grey head, took up his bicycle and stood there, watching, how my mother and I moved further and further away from the house. We were going towards the bus stop, where we had arranged the pick up, and he just stood there….  I could feel his gaze through my back.

Zhuchok the dog was also upset. He was virtually jumping up and down on the spot.

There was not much time for long good-byes. We quickly got into the car, put our things into the trunk, a hug for my Mum and off we went. Mum walked away from the car, she was wearing a grey shirt with small checked pattern. She wiped away some tears.

”That’s it, dear. Don’t cry, I’ll be off now.”

Then the familiar streets of Suvorovka flicked past for the last time. It was our last dawn there.

Dawn in the author's native village, Kherson region, 09.08.2022, 5:32 a.m. Photo: Sabina Ibrahimova.

Then there were many Russian check-points. There were the ravenous gazes of the occupiers, and a feeling that I was just a piece of meat to them. We arrived in the zone where they were to release us into freedom. There was an endless queue of cars and people, who were just sitting there in the field, and the children among the crops. There were Russians in front of us, and behind us as well.

It was the fifth day of waiting, I took out my guitar and played a few chords. Waiting in line to exit the Russian occupation we started to sing popular Ukrainian songs like “Chervona ruta”, “Bilya topoli,” “Dodomu” and tracks by the Ukrainian group Scriabin. At that time we weren’t even thinking what that meant and what the consequences could be. It only dawned on us later.

Then the grey zone. There were land mines lying right on the roads. On the shoulder of the road there was a car, still burning. Some unexploded shells, still stuck in the road. None of the buildings had roofs any more. No people left in the village, not a living soul, just our queue of thirty cars. In our car everyone was silent, now was not the time to talk. The level of tension was rising, but Uncle Yura kept moving the car forward with certainty. He’d often break into coughing. Because of the stress his thyroid gland was acting up. There was a full moon in the sky. The Russians could open fire on the grey zone at any time. The Russians could. Ours would never do this, knowing that there were civilians in the grey zone. 20 more minutes of driving like this and we became free people. That’s how it was and that’s how it will be. Now we could shout all we wanted: “Yes! I love Ukraine! I was born here and I want to live here!”

Then there was the first encounter with the first UKRAINIAN military at the first UKRAINIAN check point.

“Good evening! Could we see your documents, please?”

“Oh my God! You are REAL!”

The doors of the car opened. I leaped out of the car and simply hugged him. His camouflage uniform absorbed my tears. He simply looked pleased, not surprised at all. Every day there must be at least 10 Sabinas that throw themselves at him like this, that simply cannot control themselves.

“Relax, you’re home now. Here, hold onto this water. “

“I can’t believe it!  You are so nice… and they…. Tortured us, mocked us, hated us. They just wanted to kill us. You could see it in their eyes.”

“They haven’t got much longer…”

I was so tired that I could barely feel the ground beneath my feet. I was standing near the car although I could have been sitting. I wanted to stand on this soil! Our people walk on this soil every day and now I can walk here as well!

“You have a spider in the car, did you see?”

He reached inside through the window and pulled the spider out.

“Mum, we’ve arrived, we’re near Zaporizhzhia already!”

“Oh thank God, because I’m just about dying from not knowing. I’ve been imagining all sorts of things! How are you dearie, are you all OK? Do you have something to eat?”

“Nobody’s been harmed, we’re all OK. Mum, our guys are here! I gave one a hug just now and they gave me some water!”

Mum was silent. I could hear a sob She was choking back tears. I knew that she wanted to feel the freedom as well.

I promise you, Mum, it will be soon.

I still see a scene that I made up myself on constant replay in my head: in an empty house, my Mum goes to make herself some coffee in the kitchen, takes her favourite ceramic Turkish coffee pot with the sunflowers, makes her aromatic brew, goes up to the window and sadly waits for her children. But instead she sees the rude, smelly, dirty, uncouth Russians, who only have one goal: killing. Mum, I’ll be back soon, and I’ll bring you some of your favourite Snickers bars, just wait.

Just wait…