One of my nieces has had to flee Ukraine with her two-year-old son after a bomb dropped 20 kilometers from her village. Another niece living near Lviv, who was saw bombs rain down, delivered a new baby girl. That is the reality of my homeland. Both their husbands will at some point be drawn into the conflict of this attack.
This current destruction looks like the Second World War, but it's 2022. It is Russian President Vladimir Putin's war on a peaceful country that just wants to live like the rest of Europe.
I visited Ukraine in the late 1980s when it was a Russian-run economy. The Russian language was spoken in all government offices. There were no formal places to eat in a town of one million people. Street food and a rhubarb drink were the only options.
No one owned their own land. Instead, there were collective pastures for your one cow if you were lucky and had someone in America or Canada to send you a few dollars. My uncle worked a collective with two horses provided, and no machinery.
The forests had been mowed down in the west, and lumber sent to Russia. The land was stripped of its resources.
My one cousin had an ancient car with a crank-start in the front.
If you were fortunate enough to own a house, you had floors made of earth and outhouses.
The apartment buildings in Kyiv were basically one room of 150 square feet for a family of four. There was a central kitchen on each level, and you had to wait your turn to cook. There was a central bathroom for the whole level.
Shopping was a real challenge. We went downtown in Lviv and visited a shoe store that had only one pair of size nine shoes for sale in the whole store. I took a picture, and the employee recognized by my clothing that I was not a local. Thinking I didn’t understand the language, she asked my cousin if I was a crazy woman. I piped up and told her I was taking the picture of the shoe selection in Ukraine to share with my children for the next time they could not decide on shoes.
Upon my departure from Ukraine, I left everything behind me but the clothes on my back and a backpack with a few Ukrainian blouses and souvenirs.
Ten years later, I went back to Ukraine. The Russians were gone. The country was prospering. Ukrainians had their own currency. There were places to shop, lots of markets with goods from other European lands. They now had washing machines, microwaves and more cars.
This time, I got to see so many relatives and so much more of the country of my roots. I could not wait to return home and communicate the changes to my family and friends. I promised, I would come back to see them in an even better place.
When you wait too long for that promised trip, age creeps up on you, then a worldwide pandemic, and now the return of Ukraine's worst enemy. My husband and I now have close to 150 relatives in constant danger.
What Russia does not destroy, they will remove, just like they did when they left East Germany. My aunt, who was in Dresden, says the USSR even took the toilets when they left, and Putin took his, too, as he was stationed in Germany.
I will not make that final trip. I have to watch from afar in the comfort of my home. I watch it all unfold on television, through social media updates and calls and emails. I go to sleep with alarming news reports, and wake up to more war news.
I hate the phrase, “Russia will escalate”. I want to hear, “Russia is leaving”.
I don't even care if they take the toilets. They need to leave before this escalates into something even worse.
Jean Kozelko lives in Greater Sudbury.
