First, I want to tell about the first Ukrainian family we met. It happened at the situational refugee center in Sofia just minutes after we set foot there a few weeks ago. Already on the first day of the aggression, Anya collected two bags, got into her little Kia and drove off. Sergey was allowed to leave the country because they have 3 children. They had a house near Kiev, an apple orchard and a vineyard, their own construction business, a parochial school, closeness to their parents, peace of mind.
"We had everything," the woman said, eager to get home again. He speaks excellent English, unlike Sergey, who doesn't understand a word, but is smiling and wants to understand you, we communicate with him in something between Russian and sign language, but his clear eyes and caring hands speak more than words. These are modest, calm, unobtrusive people, they try not to disturb, not to be a burden, they ask, apologize, thank for everything.
We saw each other a few more times at the situation center, where volunteers from the #ZaDobroto foundation welcome hundreds of refugees every day, process documents, house them, help... Even then, we wanted to get this family out of their small attic apartment in Mladost, but something kept getting in the way - sometimes the children got sick, sometimes they, then we, etc...
Only a week ago we managed to organize and go to the "Doctor's Garden" together... It was a sunny, warm afternoon, we met friends, ate pizza, drank wine (they were just for "cheers", apparently they were abstainers :), the children played it was as if they had always known each other.
An hour later our daughter was calling "look, look" and their Mila was saying "come, come...", we adults were talking, then we were walking through blooming Sofia, telling them what was what, and when we passed through "Alexander Nevsky" and we offered to show them the inside, they looked at each other and politely declined with "maybe next time, we've had wine now"…
Then we went home. Anya saw the piano, asked if she could sit down and… she played. Beautiful. Sergey looked into the library, then we sat down to dinner. As if only then we first mentioned the war in Ukraine. They said that their house, on the outskirts of Kiev, was so far unaffected. But her parents' apartment was appropriated for Russian headquarters because it was on the top floor and had an excellent view of the highway. After the soldiers left him, absolutely nothing was left of their possessions—including underwear and dog food. The library of books was of no interest: "What's all this for?" the soldiers had said with a sneer as they entered.
And there was no whining, no cursing, we didn't hear a bad word against the Russians.
Then came the warm chicken soup that Grandma Annie (my wife's mother) had made. While feeding the child, the Ukrainian woman tried it, her eyes opened wide - "Only mom can make such chicken soup" and says to her husband: "Seryozha, try it. This is pure motherly love.” How many emotions this chicken soup brought out!
Then again conversations, more games with the children, putting together puzzles, puppet theater, etc... until late.
Sergey talked about both his work in Ukraine and the apples in the garden, which had to be picked with gloves and individually wrapped in paper to keep them healthy and beautiful.
Later, as I was sending them to the subway, and the street was full of people and it was a warm, beautiful evening, I felt that everything looked better than it really was - even the terrible sidewalks, the broken tiles... And I thought, God, how we are blessed. What a great thing peace is, and how many human generations have passed to get here - to be able to walk the streets at night, not to be afraid of strangers, to hear different languages, to live together in peace... And how terribly difficult for the human race is to live in peace at all.
Somewhere in front of the Courthouse Anya shakes her head and says "For the first time today in a long time I laughed" and touches her cheekbones with her hand. "I think I got muscle spasms, I was so happy." Then he adds thoughtfully: "And now I feel guilty about it."
I'm trying to say that everything will be fine, that the war will end and when they enter the European Union, in ten years their country will be on its feet, they will be able to travel everywhere...
And then you will come to visit us, right?, says Sergey. Sure, I say, then send them to the subway.
A day later, Sergey started work, the children somehow continue to study online, Anya still wants to return to Ukraine, but she understands more and more clearly that this cannot happen just like that.
The cheap rent they were paying for the narrow attic apartment was expiring, so we had to look for some kind of longer-term solution.
Yesterday, with the help of friends (Radena and Lacho), we found a furnished apartment that we liked very much. We went on a tour with Seryozha, Anya and their three small children.
They fell in love with him, and the landlady unexpectedly dropped a lot of the requested rent.
We hope that in it they will find a home away from home.
These are the first Ukrainians we met. The first ones our children played with as if they had always known each other.
This very personal story was told by Zahari Karabashliev on Facebook.
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