On the Belarusian border, a final crossing point remains open between Ukrainian territory and the opposing camp. Every day, dozens of Ukrainians pass through this humanitarian corridor, often at the end of a long journey, to flee the occupied territories and return to the “free zone”.
Natalya only has a suitcase and a sports bag when she crosses this border post in north-west Ukraine on foot. Inside is his life, at least his last three years. The Ukrainian has just crossed the border between Belarus and Ukraine, coming from a village in the Kherson region, occupied by Russia.
Before the Russian invasion, Natalya had moved to the Kherson region to care for her sick father. War broke out, trapping the mother on the occupied side of the front line. But when her father died, she decided to head back.
Living under occupation
A volunteer welcomes her with tea and biscuits. As soon as she sits down, Natalya bursts into tears. “I feel joy and at the same time I cry. It’s impossible to describe in words,” she tells RTS.
Residents had to register their properties and cars in the Russian administrative system. If they did not take the Russian passport, they could not be treated in the hospital
Now, she is delighted to be reunited with her daughter and her husband whom she has not seen for three years. She leaves behind her father’s home and the daily life of life under Russian occupation.
“In my village, all the young people left, only the retirees remained,” she explains. “The Russians started paying pensions to the elderly. But the residents had to register their properties and cars in the Russian administrative system. If they did not take the Russian passport, they could not be treated in the hospital . I couldn’t have buried my father.”
Doubled retirement, the price of freedom?
Natalya is preceded by another woman, Olena*, who comes from a small town in southern Ukraine, also occupied by the Russians. She willingly tells her story, but requests anonymity because she plans to return home and is afraid of possible reprisals.
She describes making a 48-hour journey, skirting the occupied towns along the Sea of Azov, then going north into Russia, and finally west into Belarus. A long journey around free Ukraine, a journey which cost him 300 dollars.
She comes to see her daughter in kyiv, but wants to return home, where she also receives the Russian pension. According to her, double the Ukrainian pension she received before. “But there were more freedoms under Ukraine,” she says. “Now I have to filter the words that come out of my mouth.”
Some stay, many leave
Many Ukrainians have become accustomed to this silence. As a volunteer who provides support to displaced people, Sergij is regularly confronted with this. “There, they saw the violence, the humiliation. So when they arrive here, they are afraid to express themselves because they have not yet adapted to this new situation,” he analyzes.
This humanitarian corridor, according to the name given by the authorities, is open only to people of Ukrainian nationality and only in the direction of Ukraine. On average, up to thirty people pass through there every day, according to border guards. But many only come there to carry out administrative tasks, whispers a volunteer. They then return to occupied territory passing through other countries.
Volunteers spend their days in cabins set up beyond the border. In particular, they provide food and drink, as well as Ukrainian SIM cards to contact relatives. Displaced people can also obtain a certificate and information. Those who do not know where to sleep are welcomed into a shelter in town. They thus begin a new life, returning to their country, yet so far from their home.
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*First name changed
Tamara Muncanovic