that’s what it must feel like to know you’re going to die’
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Jeniffer (32) fled with son Nathan (8) to the Netherlands from Ukraine last March. She also fled from the Donbas to the Ukrainian city of Sumy in 2014, with her baby.
“When people see me, they are amazed: a woman of color who has fled Ukraine? They don’t know I’ve lived there for over twelve years. I went there from Nigeria as a young adult to study medicine. It quickly became my home, the place where I saw a future.
Alone with the baby
I finished my studies in 2014 when the conflict with Russia flared up. Nathan had just been born; we have always been just the two of us. So I fled alone with my baby, not yet recovered from my caesarean section, to Sumy in eastern Ukraine. I did a management study there and set up my own hair product line. And although I was still struggling with everything that had happened in the war, life was going well. I had plans to write books, had just found a lab that would make my products.
“I fled alone with my baby, not yet recovered from my cesarean section, to Sumy in eastern Ukraine”
Nathan was also doing well. He is care intensive, but I couldn’t find a suitable place for him, so taught him everything myself. The doctors told me he needed a lot of structure, but I put that aside, because life isn’t predictable. I deliberately didn’t eat at set times and often introduced new meals to build in flexibility. Of course he found it difficult at times, yet he gradually became familiar with capriciousness. Now I’m glad I did, because in war nothing is predictable.
Also read – How do you talk to your child about the war in Ukraine? >
On the run
Sumy is near the Russian border, it was one of the first cities to be attacked. I still get goosebumps when I think of how quiet it was one night in Sumy. Far too quiet, after nights of missile strikes. I could have slept for a few hours for the first time.
In that silence I sat on a chair, Nathan was sleeping next to me, in his coat and with shoes on, in case we had to leave quickly. The tears ran down my cheeks. I thought: that’s what it must feel like to know you’re going to die. I closed my eyes and saw a biblical vision – I’m a believer, that kept me going. Then I thought, very clearly: it ain’t over till it’s over. Just then, a rocket hit our apartment.
“Just at that moment a rocket hit our apartment”
I don’t know why we survived, how I managed to find help and finally get to Lviv by train. That flight was not easy either: I almost lost Nathan in the train. And I’ve been sick to death in Lviv.
Impact
With the support of aid organizations I eventually ended up in the Netherlands. Nathan remained calm all the while. And that while we were going from one city to another, sitting in crowded trains and going to strange houses. Other than that I can’t talk about what the war has done to him. That touches me too much. I’ll be talking to a psychologist soon, because I think I have PTSD. Recently I was in the kitchen when the dishwasher made a strange noise. Immediately I was outside, looking at where the rockets had hit.
“I live in the moment, because I know that suddenly everything can be completely different”
I heard this week that I have to move out of our temporary home. That sometimes worries me, but it often leaves me untouched. So much has happened already, nothing touches me. Sometimes I want to make plans, taste new food, work on my books again, revive my business. And on other days I just want rest. That is why I live in the moment, because I know that suddenly everything can be completely different.”
This article appears in Kek Mama 09-2022.
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