Only a few columns remained of the building where Haliana Ivanivna kept her inn in Mariupol. Before the war, the former Soviet dormitory, a nine-story building made of concrete and steel columns, was used to house employees in the city’s traditional metallurgical industry.
On February 27, as the Russian invasion was just beginning, a city official spoke to Haliana to see how she could help. Russian and Ukrainian troops were fighting each other in Sartana, a community 18 km from the center of Mariupol, and the day before, at least ten civilians had been killed in an air strike, prompting the local government to seek a safer place for the population.
The conflict was nothing new for Haliana, 63. Her husband died in Donetsk in 2017 during a battle against pro-Russian separatists. Now, she said, it was her turn to sacrifice herself for Ukraine.
Thus, the dormitory that used to house 60 workers received 172 people, including 50 children, many women and a few men, mostly elderly, all residents of Sartana who were displaced due to the fighting. The municipality of Mariupol had promised to guarantee food, water and medicine to everyone, but what was supposed to be a safe zone soon became a target.
The streets were deserted, and the explosions came closer. Those in bedrooms were taken to the basement, which had not been used in decades. “There was a lot of dirt, a lot of dust, there was no heating and we couldn’t prepare food. We managed to take some beds, mattresses, blankets and electric heaters, but with so many people we didn’t even have space to walk”, says Haliana.
She then decided to leave her home, located on the western outskirts of the city, for fear of not being able to reach her dormitory due to the bombings. She arranged with the municipality, which provided 1,000 liters of drinking water and enough vegetables for them to eat for at least two weeks.
Haliana’s daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren also moved there, both to help her and to make sure the family didn’t get separated. Outside, Ukrainian soldiers installed themselves in a nearby building and fired on the invaders. Fearing a Russian counterattack, she tried to speak to the military, warning that nearly 200 people were in the basement near where they set up the base.
There was no time. On March 2, bombs hit the dormitory. That day, the sheltered were without electricity and gas, and part of the food was destroyed under the rubble where the kitchen was.
Even at the risk of further bombing, Haliana and her daughter began to cook outside the building twice a day, burning the wood they found in the remains of neighboring buildings.
Every day, 60 liters of rassolnik, a typical Russian soup made from barley, pickles and potatoes, was carefully divided. Two and a half shells for women with children, one shell for men. Even with all the economy, without receiving more food or water from the city hall they soon ran out of food.
The momentary solution was to melt snow to get water, but the food available no longer satisfied people’s hunger, especially the children who were crying more and more. On the day the Ukrainian military tried to deliver supplies, heavy bombing prevented the items from arriving.
On March 15, as Haliana, her daughter and other women were cooking the soup that would be served, an attack with dozens of rockets hit the place where they were gathered. Haliana, even though she was hurt, saw her daughter running with a wound on her face, her left eye blown out by a shrapnel from the explosions.
He could also see that the basement entrance had been hit, but he couldn’t get closer to check what had happened to whoever was inside. “If I could, I would come back to help them. I dream every night that the children are fine, that the mothers are fine, that they all survived,” she says.
Ambulances and fire trucks arrived at the scene, and she was taken to a still functioning hospital downtown. The clinic was full, the doctors couldn’t take care of everyone. There was no electricity, and many people were left on the floor, lying on blankets.
Haliana, who was unable to walk, left the hospital two days later when she heard that the Russians would allow the wounded to leave the city. She, her daughter, her two grandchildren and her son-in-law watched the first cars with civilians leaving and thought about waiting to see if they came back. In the days before, those who tried to flee Mariupol returned as soon as they realized that fleeing would be even riskier than staying.
Still, they continued with the plan. The car’s windows were broken, and the icy wind that hit their faces added to their discomfort. When they arrived at a Russian checkpoint, the military, seeing the bandages covering the face of Haliana’s daughter, asked what had happened.
They said that they should go back to the hospital, ignoring that the place had been bombed by the forces they represented and that the medical center was no longer able to receive patients.
Even with the mishaps, Haliana arrived in Zaporíjia, where she was admitted to a hospital. This Tuesday (22), she says, was the best day of her life, because she was finally able to walk again. She took advantage of her improvement to visit her neighbors in bed, all women from Mariupol with stories similar to hers.
To Haliana, war tastes like hot salt water, because the soup she made for those sheltered in her dormitory after the potatoes ran out tasted like hot water.
