Latest news with #Olha
The Guardian
15-04-2025
- The Guardian
‘It's sheer terrorism': Sumy buries dead after Russia's Palm Sunday attack
On a warm spring day relatives gathered to say goodbye to Viktor Boiko and his wife, Olha. Their open coffins were laid out next to one other. Viktor wore his best suit. Olha was in a flowery blouse, with carnations heaped around her slippered feet. A priest sang prayers. Gravediggers lowered the couple into the ground, and shovelled earth on top. It landed with a percussive thud. 'Give me a weapon. Any weapon. I want to kill those butchers in Moscow,' said Viktor's brother-in-law Anatolii Prykhodko, as his wife stood sobbing next to him. 'They have murdered so many people. Adults, kids, peaceful citizens. If you lose a house or a car in a war, you can get it back. If you lose a person, a loved one, they are gone for ever.' On Sunday morning, the Boikos were on their way to church to celebrate Palm Sunday. Like most hard-up pensioners, they went by public transport. A ride costs eight hryvnia (15p). Their bus, No 62, was driving down Petropavlivska Street in the centre of Sumy, north-eastern Ukraine. On either side were elegant buildings belonging to Sumy state university. It was 10.23am. A Russian Iskander missile carrying cluster munitions plunged down from the sky, exploding next to the bus. A tsunami of shrapnel engulfed the Boikos, other passengers and people in the street strolling past cafes and shops. The couple died instantly. Another missile hit the university's conference centre, 200 metres away, punching through its glass atrium and balcony. Rescuers saw an apocalyptic scene. Bodies lay sprawled on the ground, cars burned, smoke billowed. The blast ripped a hole in the university's economics and business department. It blew out the windows and wooden doors from the 19th-century institute of applied physics across the road. Fragments flew through the institute's garden, shredding tulips and roses. The spot was a popular backdrop for wedding photos. On Tuesday, people visited the scene to lay flowers as firefighters perched on a shattered roof. 'It was Palm Sunday, a holiday, a day off,' one Sumy resident, Tetyana, explained. 'The weather had recently warmed up and people were on their way to church. We have a tradition in Ukraine that we buy willow branches.' She added: 'This is a huge sorrow for the whole city. We are grieving. In my opinion this isn't an act of war. It's sheer terrorism.' Among the dead were two children. One was 11-year-old Maksym Martynenko, who died with his parents, Mykola and Natalia. There were cuddly toys at the spot where he perished, including a bear and a hippo. Someone had left a plastic football with 'To Max' written on it. The organist at Sumy's philharmonic concert hall, Olena Kohut, was killed nearby on her way to a rehearsal. Other victims were students, teachers, a notary and the bus driver. Sumy is situated a mere 16 miles (25km) from the Russian border. It is home to soldiers and civilians. Residents are used to frequent drone and rocket attacks, and to the constant wail of air raid sirens. Sunday's double-tap strike, though, was terrible. It was the most egregious Russian attack this year, leaving 35 dead and 129 injured. Eleven people remain in a critical condition. There are 15 wounded children. Asked for his reaction, Donald Trump appeared to downplay the latest Russian atrocity, calling it 'a mistake'. Subsequently, he blamed Volodymyr Zelenskyy, the Ukrainian president, and Joe Biden, the previous US president, by falsely claiming they 'started' the war with Russia. Serhii Khvostov, the head of the damaged conference centre in Sumy, was unimpressed. 'Trump is a mistake. This is an act by stupid and angry Russians. There's no logic to it,' he said. 'It's easy to look away. But the world has to understand what is happening here.' Khvostov gave a tour of the ruined building. The missile blew a four-metre hole in the ground floor and careened into the basement, a community theatre space. A children's show was due to take place there at 11am, shortly before the attack. Jagged pieces from the Iskander missile landed amid prepared sandwiches, costumes and a collection of puppets, including a dragon and Kermit the Frog. Large holes dinted the venue's black walls. 'It was a miracle nobody was killed,' Khvostov said. After hearing the explosion, he called the centre's elderly security guard. There was no answer, so he ran to the building. The guard was concussed but OK, and had managed to drag one of Khvostov's colleagues from the administration's office, pushing him out of a broken window. A cleaner also survived. No one else was inside. Several people drinking coffee from a mobile kiosk were injured. On Tuesday, staff swept away glass, ducking to avoid dangling bits of ceiling. Khvostov's office was a stunning mess. There were broken computers and desks and a toppled-over safe. 'We can't find the key,' he said, adding: 'It's too early to say if this place can be rebuilt. I hope so.' Outside, a JCB digger scooped piles of debris into a lorry. A tow truck removed a damaged car. Its owner, Tetyana, said: 'My windows blew in and my neighbour was hurt. I gave her a tourniquet.' The theatre's founder and director, Volodymyr Niankin, said one of his friends was planning to leave Sumy due to the attack. Niankin would stay, he said, to take care of his ailing grandmother. Of Trump and Vladimir Putin, the Russian president, he said: 'I think they are stupid old men. They are representatives of a past cold war generation, when it was just the US and the USSR. It seems their plan is to divide up the world between them.' At the institute of applied physics, a clean-up was under way. Volunteers tidied the flowerbeds. The explosion damaged a chandelier in an upstairs lecture room and a charcoal portrait of a Sumy physicist which had been hanging in a corridor. A whiteboard with an equation on it survived unscathed. Next to the entrance, a Quartz wall clock had stopped at the exact moment of impact: 10.23am and 40 seconds. Serhii Lebedynskyi, a senior researcher, examined his smashed office with his wife, Yulia. A shelf of physics books was covered in a layer of thick dust. Ornate plasterwork on the ceiling had disappeared. 'We were planning to go into town with our small son on Sunday morning. He decided he didn't want to leave the house. This probably saved us. We heard an enormous bang,' Lebedynskyi said. He added: 'For more than 10 years the Russians have behaved like terrorists.' An American volunteer, Karl Ahlgren, said the Russians knew exactly what they were doing when they fired two missiles into a crowded city centre. 'What Trump says is atrocious and unconscionable,' he said. 'It's clear he listens to Russian propaganda. I don't know if it comes from Vladimir Putin or from [Trump's special envoy] Steve Witkoff. There was no mistake here. The second strike was meant to kill rescuers.' On Tuesday, Ukraine's armed forces carried out a form of revenge. The country's military said it had successfully hit the headquarters of a Russian missile brigade responsible for Sunday's carnage. '[A base] of the 448th missile brigade of the Russian occupiers was hit, a secondary detonation of ammunition was recorded. The results of the strike are being clarified,' it said in a statement. Back at Sumy's cemetery, a gravedigger spoke fondly of Kohut, describing her as a talented and popular organist. 'She was my friend. A very democratic person. She treated everyone the same way, whether you were important or not,' Valeriy Rodenko said. Rodenko said he had worked for seven years as a carpenter at the city's philharmonic concert hall. 'I got to know Olena well. She was a wonderful person. A bright spirit,' he said. He put down his spade and broke down in tears.
Al Jazeera
24-02-2025
- Politics
- Al Jazeera
As Russia's war reaches milestone, Ukrainians count their personal losses
Kyiv, Ukraine – Olha, a 52-year-old nurse from the southern Ukrainian town of Voznesensk, feels as though the fear of war will never leave her, three years into Russia's full-scale invasion of her country. 'When [shells] fly over your head, you fall and curl up and run and hide like an animal,' she told Al Jazeera. In early March 2022, days after the war ordered by President Vladimir Putin began, her town 'was like a bone in the throat' of the Russian army as it advanced northwards from annexed Crimea. They were on the left bank of the Southern Bug River, 1.5km (1 mile) away from her tiny house that stood next to a military base. Huddled together and horrified, her paralysed mother, 79, disabled husband and teenage son saw, heard and hid from one of the Russian-Ukrainian war's key battles. Ukrainian forces blew up bridges, shot at Russian tanks and infantry, downed a helicopter – and thwarted Russia's advance towards the nearby southern Ukrainian nuclear power station, the cities of Odesa and Mykolaiv. More importantly, the Russians could not reach the Moscow-backed separatist province of Transnistria in neighbouring Moldova, 135km (85 miles) southwest of Voznesensk. Looking back, Olha remembered with pride how the town's residents 'grouped together' to fill sandbags, build barricades, man checkpoints and help each other. Russians retreated, but not far – and kept pummelling Voznesensk with such frequency that her husband was forced to change the roof and windowpanes three times. When hiding in the basement, they had shovels at hand in case they needed to dig themselves out – and checked on neighbours after each shelling. But Olha's elder son was in a worse situation. He lived in Bucha, a northern Kyiv suburb where Russians killed hundreds of civilians, with his in-laws. 'Had I been closer [to Bucha], I would have run to him,' she said. They 'miraculously' left Bucha on March 13. 'We still haven't talked about what happened,' Olha said. On August 20, 2022, a Russian missile destroyed a five-storey apartment building in Voznesensk, wounding 14, including three children. A quarter of the town's population fled and was replaced by refugees from Russia-occupied areas. But Olha's family stayed on, finding solace in tending to their garden. 'There are missiles flying, and we're planting and watering,' she said. 'We didn't know whether we'd be alive, but we built a second greenhouse.' Then there were blackouts and shortages of food and incontinence pads for her mother, who was born during World War II – and died in June 2022 of natural causes. 'Poor thing, she was born during a war and died during a war,' Olha said. Russian forces retreated further south in November 2022, and the shelling subsided. These days, all Olha wants is a 'just peace' – something United States President Donald Trump is not ready for, she said. 'It's scary that a person of such status can afford such cynicism. It's such a spit in the face,' she said. No direction home While Olha has survived in her hometown, almost four million Ukrainians have been internally displaced since the war began. Mykola, a police officer, left his village near the southern Ukrainian city of Mariupol on February 25, 2022, a day after the invasion began. He did not want to cooperate with advancing Russian forces and Moscow-installed authorities – although many of his colleagues did. He has also severed ties with his pro-Kremlin relatives and settled in the city of Pokrovsk, a strategic stronghold in the Kyiv-controlled part of the Donetsk region. Mykola continued working with the police while 'getting used to the sound of shooting and shelling', he told Al Jazeera. In Pokrovsk, which has been under attack for months, he helped elderly residents pack up and leave, often risking his life. Then he packed up and left – and feels no nostalgia. 'I'm much sadder about not being able to go to the places of my childhood,' Mykola told Al Jazeera. He constantly thinks about whether he can ever return or visit – and live next to the people who chose occupation. What scares him the most, though, are fears that Russia will yet again absorb Ukraine. The West 'often disappoints when they can't understand that Ukraine is not just a fragment of Russia but a really separate state and nation', he said. 'A monster state' For Maria Komissarenko, a 47-year-old postal worker, Russia's aggressions have robbed her of two homes and a final farewell to her father. She lived in Horlivka, a southeastern town of plants and coal mines that Moscow-backed separatists seized in 2014. Remembering the surreal atmosphere of the conflict back then, she said locals wandered around, looking at armed men and pro-Russian rallies and 'thinking they were on reality TV'. In April 2014, a municipal lawmaker who protested against the Russian flag that hung over the city hall was found dead in a river with traces of torture. Things rolled downhill, and in early 2015, Komissarenko, her partner and two children left for central Ukraine. Having left the occupied southeast, she was unable to return and attend her father's funeral in 2021. Later, the family fled for Bakhmut, 40km (25 miles) north of Horlivka. She realised with bitterness that most Ukrainians preferred to ignore the separatists. Some 'didn't know what war was' until the full-scale invasion, she said. Her family nestled into a rented apartment she renovated. While her six-year-old daughter adapted to the move, her son,14, missed his friends. He lost newfound friends again after the invasion uprooted the family again when advancing Russian troops razed Bakhmut to the ground. They ended up in Kyiv, 'and here, he never got new friends', Komissarenko said. She keeps in touch with her 76-year-old mother, who remained in Horlivka. But she has stopped talking to her vehemently pro-Russian elder brother. As she works at a company that produces military equipment, she feels pessimistic about the return of occupied territories 'during my lifetime'. These days, she treasures little things – Nordic walking and Kyiv's cultural scene. 'Every weekend, my husband and I go to a theatre or to an art exhibition,' she said. 'My war is 11 years old' On the third anniversary of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, many also remember the events of 2014. Time stopped for Maria Kucherenko on February 20, 2014, when Russian soldiers landed in Crimea to seize government buildings and military bases and guard an internationally condemned referendum on the peninsula's 'return to Russia'. Kucherenko, a linguistics student in the port city of Sevastopol, was 19, at the time. She was scared, but criticised herself as 'young and pathetic'. 'I swore to myself to never be like that any more,' said Kucherenko, now 30 and working as an analyst with the Kyiv-based think tank, Come Back Alive, which supports members of Ukraine's army. Sevastopol was centred around a giant naval base that was rented to Russia's Black Sea Fleet and became, according to observers, a Trojan horse that influenced Crimeans with pro-Kremlin sentiments and corrupted their elites. Just days earlier, a popular uprising in Kyiv ousted Viktor Yanukovych, a pro-Russian president. Kucherenko had hoped that the new government would take Crimea back and save her from all the madness and mayhem. Instead, Crimean police and soldiers were reportedly instructed to just walk away, while pro-Moscow onlookers cheered. Kucherenko hoped that the men around her would volunteer to fight the Russians. But they did not, and she spent hours crying in a park, on the beach, in her dorm. On the night of the March 16 'referendum', she saw Sevastopol's main square. 'It seemed there would be no tomorrow, there would only be that day with songs, dances, dead-drunk people and their chatter to Russian folk songs,' she recalled. Kucherenko decided that she would rather 'die than admit defeat', saying, 'The latter is way more horrible to me.' When the full-scale invasion began, Russian forces landed in the Kyiv suburb of Hostomel, where she rented an apartment. But Kucherenko was not scared any more. 'The most horrible things happened to me in 2014,' she said. 'My war is 11 years old. I will repeat it until I die. After all, I said it in the [US] Congress.' On November 24, the 1,000th day of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, she spoke at special hearings of the US Congress by the Helsinki Commission, a human rights monitor. Then, she told US representatives and senators, 'Russia's war against Ukraine began in 2014, with the annexation of Crimea and military aggression in eastern Ukraine. Yet it wasn't until 2022 that the global community started calling it what it truly is: Russia's war against Ukraine, rather than framing it as a 'Ukrainian crisis,' as had been the norm for the preceding eight years. This mischaracterisation laid the groundwork for the war's current scale.'
Yahoo
14-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
She said yes: soldier from 74th Reconnaissance Battalion proposes to his beloved nine days after release from captivity
Oleksandr Dyrektorenko, a Ukrainian soldier who was released in a prisoner swap between Ukraine and Russia on 5 February, has proposed to his girlfriend Olha. Source: Yuliia Pavliuk, head of the Central Office of the Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War, posted a video of the proposal on Instagram Details: The fighter, from the 74th Separate Reconnaissance Battalion, spent 1,060 days in captivity, and his beloved was waiting for him all that time. "She said yes! 1,060 days of waiting. 1,060 days of fighting for life and love. He came back. She waited. 26-year-old Oleksandr finally set foot on his native land, strong in spirit and full of love. Olha not only waited but fought every day for his return and did not allow the world to forget," Pavliuk wrote. Oleksandr Dyrektorenko joined the army at the age of 18. From the beginning of the Russian full-scale invasion, he served near Vuhledar, Donetsk Oblast, and in March 2022, he and his uncle were taken prisoner. At home, his girlfriend Olha, daughter Yeva and mother Yuliia were waiting for him. The family constantly took part in events to remind the world of the prisoners of war. Olha waited and fought for her beloved for 1,060 days. Photo: german_16olga/Instagram "Hello, my love. I've been dreaming about you for a week now," Olha wrote in March 2024. "You must be missing me. As soon as I close my eyes, I feel your presence; it's so sad. Maybe you got my letter? Maybe it has reached you? You are the light of my world, the music in my heart and the first thought of my new day. No obstacles will stop me on my way to your heart. I love you, and I am happy at the thought that one day you will be mine forever." In an interview with Tochka Skhodu, Olha said that Oleksandr suggested they get married online, but she said she would wait until his return. Background: On 5 February 2025, 150 Ukrainians were brought back from Russian captivity: 108 soldiers of the Armed Forces of Ukraine and 42 soldiers and employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Pavlo Zuban from Poltava Oblast, a father of two and fighter with the 79th Air Assault Brigade, was among those exchanged. Support UP or become our patron!
Yahoo
28-01-2025
- General
- Yahoo
"My dad says 'Take me with you,' but he's our support service": the mother and daughter who serve together in the Khartiia Brigade
Most Ukrainians are used to their mothers telling them to wear a hat when it's cold and eat plenty of soup. But 21-year-old Mariia's mum had a very different suggestion for her – joining the army together. Mariia and her family used to live in Lysychansk, Luhansk Oblast. In 2020, Mariia entered the National Guard Academy in Kharkiv, but in 2022 her parents were forced to move to Dnipro due to the full-scale war and the Russian occupation. In their new home city, Mariia's mother, Olha, found a job as a nurse in a private clinic. But one day she saw an advertisement for military service and decided to change her life dramatically. Mariia advised her mother to join the 13th Khartiia Brigade of the National Guard of Ukraine. Soon after graduating from the academy, she joined the brigade herself. Today Olha, 48, is a junior sergeant and a nurse in a mobile dental unit, and Mariia is an officer in Khartiia's personnel department. [BANNER1] Mariia's older brother also serves as a combat medic in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, and their father, who worked in the State Emergency Service for more than 30 years and has now retired, supports them in the rear. Ukrainska talked to mother and daughter about their "military" upbringing and childhood in Lysychansk, their favourite family service moments, and why recruiting women to the military is so important. Olha in her mobile dental unit Photo: Alina Andrieieva for the Khartiia Brigade Olha devoted over 20 years of her life to working in the maternity ward of a hospital in Lysychansk, Luhansk Oblast. She started working there as a nurse back in 1994, becoming a senior nurse when the neonatal intensive care unit opened. Olha cared for generations of newborns, and had it not been for the war, she would never have left. "I never thought about changing my profession. I really enjoyed working with newborn babies and their mothers," Olha says. "But life turned out in such a way that we left everything behind. Fate decided for us." Olha and Mariia Photo: Alina Andrieieva for the Khartiia Brigade After moving to Dnipro, Olha got a job in a private clinic. At the time, her daughter was a second-year student at the National Guard Academy in Kharkiv, majoring in language support. One day Olha told her daughter: "I saw an ad [for service in Ukraine's Armed Forces – ed.] in the street, and I want to join the army." Mariia was surprised but supportive, and she advised her mum to join the Khartiia Brigade. Olha joined the army in December 2023, and in March 2024, her daughter joined her. Only her 60-year-old husband stayed at home. "My dad says, 'Take me with you, I can't stay at home any longer.' But he is our support. You could say that he works in our supply team: he sends packages, supports us, and visits whenever he gets the chance," Mariia shares. Olha and Mariia Photo: Khartiia Brigade Currently, Mariia heads the personnel department, and Olha is a nurse in a mobile dental clinic where soldiers from the Khartiia Brigade and related units can receive all the dental services that can be provided in the field. The Khartiia Brigade was the first one to introduce a mobile dental clinic. It's really important, Olha explains, because not all soldiers have the time to go to the city. Moreover, dental treatment is very expensive, but at the mobile clinic, it's completely free for the soldiers. "Some of the guys who've been serving for three years often don't have the chance to go to the city for treatment. Some soldiers are scared of the dentist, like children. But we quickly establish a rapport. [BANNER2] What I love most is the support and gratitude I sense from the guys. They bring me little treats, like a chocolate bar or some sweets. Because of my age, I'm like a mother to them. I don't just look after their teeth – I also make them tea and listen to them," Olha says. Mariia also goes to her mother when she needs dental treatment, but she can't visit her office very often. The two women try to meet whenever they can, at least once a month: they hug, exchange a few words, then quickly go back to their duties. Mariia and her father Photo from Mariia's family archive Mariia grew up in a family with almost military-level physical training: she practised karate, entered competitions, learned archery, and went to English lessons every Sunday at 08:30. Mariia didn't enjoy martial arts at the time, but now she has no regrets about her parents enrolling her in such a tough sport – it strengthened her character. "I had a very busy childhood, and sport was always a part of it," Mariia shares. "There was a punching bag, a rope and wall bars in my room. My dad and I played badminton and tennis, and he taught me to ski, skate, and ride a scooter and bicycle. My brother gave me a bow and arrows. We never sat about at home. Every weekend we'd go somewhere and relax by being active. I smile when I look back on those times." Mariia and her father Photo: Mariia's family archive Olha and her husband tried to raise Mariia without gender stereotypes and encouraged both of their children to be independent, always telling them to be strong. "My older son still remembers when he was about 10 years old and playing football, and some boy hit him on the ear so hard that it tore a piece of skin off. He came to me and said, 'Mum, my ear got torn off.' And I told him, 'That's okay, we'll just put a plaster on it and everything will be fine.' He's 32 now and he still laughs about that. Masha started learning English with a tutor when she was three and a half. She did sport as well. I wanted my daughter to be able to stand up for herself, so no one would mess with her later," Olha laughs. Growing up in this family with a strong, almost military character, Mariia started to think about a military career at a young age. After graduating from the academy, she became the deputy company commander for personnel, later moving into brigade-level management. Mariia in uniform Photo: Khartiia Brigade Mariia is an officer in military discipline analysis and disciplinary breach prevention. She systematises information about disciplinary breaches within the brigade, tries to prevent them, and helps soldiers who have gone AWOL to return to service. "I deal with everything that is needed to make service members' lives better: I arrange for them to go abroad to improve their skills, organise the awarding of honours, or just go to see them so we can talk about their problems," Mariia says. [BANNER3] Since Mariia works in a non-combat position, she is not constantly on the line of contact. But she works 24/7. Calls even come in at night, she says. "There's always a lot to do, because I work with personnel," Mariia shares. "It might be someone calling the hotline because they can't go on leave, another person needing methodological assistance in their work, someone else in need of mental health support. There are fun tasks as well. For example, we decided to have a real traditional celebration with carolling for our soldiers on Christmas Eve. I arranged it with a group and organised the logistics, and the carol-singers put everyone in a festive mood." Mariia Photo: Alina Andreieva for Khartiia Brigade Like any mother, Olha worries about her daughter, but she never panics. She says she has always tried to give Mariia as much independence as possible. "We text each other in the morning, and in the evening we might call to say 'Everything's fine, we're all alive and doing well.' No control, no panic. If my mother was constantly calling me, it would be a nightmare – my phone never stops pinging as it is," Mariia says. Olha admits that the most frightening time for her was at the start of the full-scale war, when Kharkiv was on the brink of occupation and her 18-year-old daughter was hiding from attacks in basements. "As a mother, of course I worry about my children, but I understand that they wouldn't have stayed at home," Olha says. "My son also serves in the Armed Forces not far from us, defending Kharkiv Oblast. It's the right thing to do right now. I just hope the war will end and everything will be fine." Mariia Photo: Alina Andreieva for Khartiia Brigade Mariia joined a male-dominated unit where everyone was older than her. She had always been the youngest in her class at school and at the academy, so she was prepared to prove her abilities once again. However, she has never encountered sexism in the brigade. "I've never once regretted joining the military," Mariia says. "Women can and should do it, because firstly, mixed teams work better than all-male or all-female ones. And secondly, it's a challenge – to prove to yourself that you can serve and be useful, not necessarily even in a combat position. My mum never thought she would serve in the army, but she made it. She helps the guys who come to her saying, 'My toothache was so bad I thought about shooting myself'." Mariia notes that the Khartiia Brigade's current recruitment campaign is targeting women as well. Women in the brigade hold various positions, from infantry soldiers to section leaders in management. They are now actively recruiting women for newly created units to serve alongside women like Yuliia Paievska (aka Taira). Mariia and her parents Photo: the family archive "We're constantly telling people that we don't just have assault units – there are other interesting areas of activity as well," Mariia says. "Nothing happens without planning, and service members of all levels are involved in that. We also have very good personnel training and quality medical care. Equipment is not as important to us as people are. Of course, the main problem in the army is the lack of personnel. Because the soldiers are exhausted and suffering physical and mental fatigue from the constant shelling, cases of absence without leave do occur, so personnel rotation is crucial." [BANNER4] Both mother and daughter plan to continue their service, and they dream of finally gathering together as a family at home after it's over. "We're internally displaced, we don't have our own housing, so we just want to settle down somewhere after the war," Olha explains. "Our dearest wish is for a peaceful family life." Translation: Yelyzaveta Khodatska, Tetiana Buchkovska Editing: Teresa Pearce
