He has blue legs and limps. “Azov” “Acacia” is spending his second birthday in Russian captivity
Source: SVOI CITY
Author: Hanna KURTSANOVSKA
His wife, Natalia, had remained silent all this time; she wasn’t ready to share her pain and grief with those around her. This is her first interview about her husband in the media. Natalia is currently abroad, having managed to leave Mariupol—her hometown, which was destroyed by Russian soldiers—in May 2022.
In the war from the very beginning
Ruslan Sereda lived in Kamianets-Podilskyi, raising two children on his own. Ruslan was a creative soul; in civilian life, he was a blacksmith. He was meticulous, particular, and hardworking. Natalia is from Mariupol, a single mother of three. They met in September 2015 at a bus stop in the city on the shores of the Azov Sea; at the time, Ruslan was serving in the 93rd Separate Mechanized Brigade. When they saw each other, they knew they were meant to be together.
“Ruslan has been at war since it began, back in 2014. He joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine. He served in Shyrokyne, Pavlopil, Yasynuvata, Debaltseve, Vodyane, Shchastya, and Zolote. We stayed in constant contact and supported one another.”
Since the soldier had suffered several concussions and his health was deteriorating, he was discharged from the army in October 2016. Natalia moved to Kamianets-Podilskyi to be with her beloved.
“Ruslan had to undergo long-term treatment in hospitals and medical centers; he even began having epileptic seizures. From exposure to the cold and colds, Ruslan developed a hole in his lung, which the doctors managed to treat. It was emotionally difficult for both of us back then, because Ruslan would scream and thrash about at night. These are the consequences of war. He always missed his friends from his brigade. Many of them couldn’t adjust to civilian life after being discharged, because their second family was there, on the front lines. After a while, I also began to miss my hometown, my children, and my grandchildren, so we returned to Mariupol.
I tried to persuade Ruslan to continue working as a blacksmith or to learn another civilian trade. But he was eager to return to his glorious and heroic 93rd Brigade
; and his friends were calling him back, too. To avoid hurting each other, we found a solution that worked for both of us. Ruslan couldn’t stand on the sidelines while the guys were defending the Motherland, and I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—let him go far away for long, so we decided that Ruslan would join “Azov,” where my son from my second marriage was already serving at the time.”
Next to Ruslan, Natalia felt like a girl
in love And he didn’t give up blacksmithing—in his free time, he pursued his passion. He received a diploma at one of the festivals in Mariupol. Ruslan’s works can be found at vacation resorts in the Carpathians—wrought-iron chandeliers, staircases, gates, windows, doors, and more. In his hometown of Kamianets-Podilskyi, many of his works can be found in the parks. Thousands of people walk past them every day without even realizing that all these works were created by a defender of Mariupol who has been held captive by the Russians for over a year and a half.
“In Mariupol, our feelings blossomed like roses. “Veselka” Park, the observation deck on Nakhimov Street, the pier on the shore of the Sea of Azov, along the river at “Extreme Park,” and many other places where we loved to walk and were happy. But our favorite place was the zoo: we’d go there for walks with our granddaughters and feed the animals. Walking through the city with Rusik by my side, I always felt like a young girl in love. We always walked hand in hand. Sometimes I’d stand in front of him and close my eyes; Rusya knew he had to kiss me because I wouldn’t move. At first, he was shy about it—even holding my hand—and would say, “Come on, we’re not kids; what’s with all this sudden tenderness? We’re out in public.” But I always told him that we’d already spent nearly half our lives without love, so we had to live for it now, in these very moments.”
The couple supported each other and kept each other from falling into despair—first Natalia supported her husband during his treatment after he returned from the war in 2017, then Ruslan supported his wife during her terrible illness and three surgeries. The following year, Ruslan asked Natalia to quit her job because he could see how she was literally burning out at work, and she was also having health problems.
“He said he wanted to come home and see me engaged in my favorite activities, energetic, smiling, and happy. He said to live for our mutual joy. And so I quit my job.”
She could have left Mariupol the day before the invasion, but she refused
. The “Azov” fighters were preparing for a possible Russian invasion: starting on January 17, Ruslan Sereda had been at the base and, as usual, didn’t return home to spend the night. The couple missed each other, so once a week Natalia would visit Ruslan at the base in Urzuf.
“On the eve of the invasion, my husband and then my son called and said that ‘Azov’ was preparing buses to transport the families of servicemen out of the city. They signed me and my younger daughter, Lina, up.
But I flatly refused. First, I didn’t want to leave my boys behind, and second—I couldn’t believe such hell was coming. On February 24, I woke up at 4 a.m. to the sound of explosions. I opened the window—it was raining, and I could see the glow
Rusik managed to call around nine. He told us to leave; my daughter insisted as well. But I refused again. I told my daughter to go, but she didn’t want to leave without me, and I couldn’t leave without my husband and son. Of course, now I really regret my decision.”
I drove all over half the city with my daughter to find cigarettes for the boys
Natalia says that through one of the mobile apps, she could check where each family member was at any given moment. As long as there was a connection, she could track her loved ones’ movements and know that they were alive and well. Whenever possible, the couple talked on the phone constantly: Natalia and Ruslan constantly declared their love for each other, apologized for some of life’s difficulties, and each promised to survive at all costs, because otherwise there would be no point in going on.
“Because the enemy advanced very quickly and shelled the bases, the guys didn’t receive any food—they only had rations. My daughter and I prepared a hot meal, coffee, warm clothes, and blankets. I called Rusik and told him I was bringing food. At first, he wouldn’t give the go-ahead—he said it was dangerous and that I needed to ask the commander. Now, thinking back on it, I’m in tears, but at the time I was resolute and said I’d walk three kilometers to deliver the food. I’d even grabbed a small portable stove, since there were 12 soldiers there and I’d prepared a lot of food. The commander couldn’t give the go-ahead right away, but after thinking it over and knowing my temperament, he set a meeting place and told me not to go any further from there. Then Rusik called and said the guys needed cigarettes—at least one pack each—because they were on edge. There were crazy lines at the stores; people were sweeping everything off the shelves. We drove all over half the city to collect individual packs of cigarettes, since there were no cartons available. When it got dark, we met at the designated spot. The commander told us not to get out of the car; they’d park nearby and he’d take everything through the window.
I remember the look of surprise in their eyes when we handed it all over—the guys hadn’t expected there to be so much. When we got home, Rusik called and said that homemade pelmeni with homemade sour cream were incredible
. Just that morning, Anya—a girl from the village who wasn’t afraid of the shelling—had brought some dairy products, and I was happy because I had something to pass on to the guys. Rusik’s comrades are like children to him—the guys are between 20 and 30 years old, no older.”
The soldier “Acacia” sensed the war coming, so he got everything ready at home. He found some kerosene lamps somewhere, fixed them up, set up a gutter from the roof to drain into a large tub, welded a potbelly stove, and sharpened an axe and a saw.
“Before the war, I didn’t understand why he’d been spending so much time in the garage for the past six months. But when we were left without water, electricity, or gas, it was a great joy. Everything I touched reminded me that he’s such a wonderful provider and how much he loves us.”
They hugged and promised to survive this hell
. The couple last saw each other on March 17. At six in the morning, the shelling subsided, and Natalia and her daughter lay down to take a nap, when suddenly the woman heard a familiar voice. At first she thought it was a dream, but then she realized it was Ruslan calling her. Natalia ran out into the street and saw her beloved standing by the gate.
“I started pushing aside the barricade at the gate and tugging at the gate, but it wouldn’t open. Ruslan said to me, ‘Natalia, there’s another lock.’ He came in, looking so handsome in his gear, with a flashlight on his helmet, and I fell even more in love with him—my warrior, standing guard over our native Mariupol. We pressed ourselves against each other, hugging and kissing. He was so strong yet so sensitive—I felt like bursting into tears. And when I saw the tears in Ruslan’s eyes and heard his words in a trembling voice: “I was so afraid you’d been killed! I’m so happy you’re alive. Promise me you’ll survive…” Then he asked where our daughter was; I replied that she was in bed. Ruslan ran into the room, fell to his knees, hugged our daughter—wrapped in two warm blankets—and began to cry.
When he fell to his knees, it made a loud noise because of his heavy gear, and my daughter got a little scared. She thought the ceiling had collapsed again. Rusichka said he only had two minutes because the guys were waiting outside the house. I rushed to pack him some sugar, cookies, apples, chocolate, dates, coffee, cigarettes—everything I had—because I knew how hard it was for them. He took everything except the water. I still blame myself for not insisting on it, since the guys had absolutely no water. And God had sent us a little rain. He begged me not to bring the guys food under shelling anymore. And I promised not to do it again, and I kept my word. We hugged and kissed and promised to survive that hell. He got into the car; I heard and saw Ruslan tell his comrades about what I’d given them and show them the items. They reacted with such joy, as if they were little children.”
At “Acacia,” his health is poor; while in captivity, he is being tortured
Natalia and her daughter were only able to escape from hellish Mariupol in early May. And as soon as they managed to get in touch, they immediately started watching and reading the news. Then they learned about the evacuation from “Azovstal” into captivity.
“My daughters, granddaughters, and I watched all the videos of the evacuation countless times, but we didn’t see Rusik in any of them. About a week later, my children brought a photo of my husband; they were only able to recognize him after zooming in on the frame. We cried, laughed, and shouted with joy. I called everywhere—dozens of different agencies—but it was all in vain. Later, I managed to let Ruslan know that we had survived; he was in Olenivka at the time. Because I was told that Ruslan felt there was no point in living in the penal colony—he thought we had died. And we just kept on living—constantly in anguish, with days and sleepless nights dragging on and blending into one another.
And then came that terrible terrorist attack in Olenivka, where our heroes were killed. I searched everywhere for lists, calling people while sobbing; I nearly died
myself back then. After going through the list of the wounded and the dead, I didn’t find Ruslan’s name, thank God. But there was no word that he was alive either. I only found out that he was alive in September 2022, when the officers were exchanged.”
On December 31, the woman received a text message that read: “Natalia, I was in the same cell as your husband. My phone ran out of battery; I’ll call you back soon.” Natalia waited about four hours, which felt like an eternity to her. It was a message from “Flayma,” a member of the Azov Regiment who had been exchanged on New Year’s Eve.
“I learned from Artem that my husband is in a penal colony in Taganrog and what kind of torture they’re subjecting him to. I still haven’t received a single call or letter, and I don’t know where Ruslan is right now or how he’s doing. From fellow soldiers who were exchanged, I learned that my husband was wounded while carrying out a combat mission at Azovstal.” In March, after another prisoner exchange, I was told that Ruslan was limping badly, that his legs were blue, that he was coughing, and that he’d lost weight—he’s down to just sixty kilograms from 120. After his service, he had a hole in his lung, which took us a long time to treat. And then there were the concussions. I can’t even imagine what condition he’s in after 19 months of captivity and what his health is like now.”
We’re waiting for our Dobrynya
to return from captivity Natalia recalls the peaceful and happy times in Mariupol, Ukraine. On weekends, friends would often come over. Ruslan would grill meat and vegetables on a barbecue he’d built himself. And they always sang.
“Ruslan has a beautiful voice; he loved to sing songs about love, Ukrainian songs, and chanson. He also built a smokehouse, and we made delicious sausages, smoked pork, and lard. In the fall, we made juice and wine from grapes. We had our own small garden near the house, where we worked together. We loved our life.”
Ruslan “Acacia” Sereda has three daughters, two sons, and four grandchildren waiting for him to return from captivity. They all need him very much. Their greatest wish is to see Ruslan alive and unharmed as soon as possible and to give him a big hug.
“My granddaughters—the children of my eldest daughter—call Rusik ‘Dobrynka.’ They love him so much—they cry and can’t wait for the prisoner exchange so their grandpa will be free. Rusik is my rock, and without him it’s hard for me—I feel like a swan without a wing. We’re one, even from a distance.”
Author: Hanna KURTSANOVSKA
His wife, Natalia, had remained silent all this time; she wasn’t ready to share her pain and grief with those around her. This is her first interview about her husband in the media. Natalia is currently abroad, having managed to leave Mariupol—her hometown, which was destroyed by Russian soldiers—in May 2022.
In the war from the very beginning
Ruslan Sereda lived in Kamianets-Podilskyi, raising two children on his own. Ruslan was a creative soul; in civilian life, he was a blacksmith. He was meticulous, particular, and hardworking. Natalia is from Mariupol, a single mother of three. They met in September 2015 at a bus stop in the city on the shores of the Azov Sea; at the time, Ruslan was serving in the 93rd Separate Mechanized Brigade. When they saw each other, they knew they were meant to be together.
“Ruslan has been at war since it began, back in 2014. He joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine. He served in Shyrokyne, Pavlopil, Yasynuvata, Debaltseve, Vodyane, Shchastya, and Zolote. We stayed in constant contact and supported one another.”
Since the soldier had suffered several concussions and his health was deteriorating, he was discharged from the army in October 2016. Natalia moved to Kamianets-Podilskyi to be with her beloved.
“Ruslan had to undergo long-term treatment in hospitals and medical centers; he even began having epileptic seizures. From exposure to the cold and colds, Ruslan developed a hole in his lung, which the doctors managed to treat. It was emotionally difficult for both of us back then, because Ruslan would scream and thrash about at night. These are the consequences of war. He always missed his friends from his brigade. Many of them couldn’t adjust to civilian life after being discharged, because their second family was there, on the front lines. After a while, I also began to miss my hometown, my children, and my grandchildren, so we returned to Mariupol.
I tried to persuade Ruslan to continue working as a blacksmith or to learn another civilian trade. But he was eager to return to his glorious and heroic 93rd Brigade
; and his friends were calling him back, too. To avoid hurting each other, we found a solution that worked for both of us. Ruslan couldn’t stand on the sidelines while the guys were defending the Motherland, and I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—let him go far away for long, so we decided that Ruslan would join “Azov,” where my son from my second marriage was already serving at the time.”
Next to Ruslan, Natalia felt like a girl
in love And he didn’t give up blacksmithing—in his free time, he pursued his passion. He received a diploma at one of the festivals in Mariupol. Ruslan’s works can be found at vacation resorts in the Carpathians—wrought-iron chandeliers, staircases, gates, windows, doors, and more. In his hometown of Kamianets-Podilskyi, many of his works can be found in the parks. Thousands of people walk past them every day without even realizing that all these works were created by a defender of Mariupol who has been held captive by the Russians for over a year and a half.
“In Mariupol, our feelings blossomed like roses. “Veselka” Park, the observation deck on Nakhimov Street, the pier on the shore of the Sea of Azov, along the river at “Extreme Park,” and many other places where we loved to walk and were happy. But our favorite place was the zoo: we’d go there for walks with our granddaughters and feed the animals. Walking through the city with Rusik by my side, I always felt like a young girl in love. We always walked hand in hand. Sometimes I’d stand in front of him and close my eyes; Rusya knew he had to kiss me because I wouldn’t move. At first, he was shy about it—even holding my hand—and would say, “Come on, we’re not kids; what’s with all this sudden tenderness? We’re out in public.” But I always told him that we’d already spent nearly half our lives without love, so we had to live for it now, in these very moments.”
The couple supported each other and kept each other from falling into despair—first Natalia supported her husband during his treatment after he returned from the war in 2017, then Ruslan supported his wife during her terrible illness and three surgeries. The following year, Ruslan asked Natalia to quit her job because he could see how she was literally burning out at work, and she was also having health problems.
“He said he wanted to come home and see me engaged in my favorite activities, energetic, smiling, and happy. He said to live for our mutual joy. And so I quit my job.”
She could have left Mariupol the day before the invasion, but she refused
. The “Azov” fighters were preparing for a possible Russian invasion: starting on January 17, Ruslan Sereda had been at the base and, as usual, didn’t return home to spend the night. The couple missed each other, so once a week Natalia would visit Ruslan at the base in Urzuf.
“On the eve of the invasion, my husband and then my son called and said that ‘Azov’ was preparing buses to transport the families of servicemen out of the city. They signed me and my younger daughter, Lina, up.
But I flatly refused. First, I didn’t want to leave my boys behind, and second—I couldn’t believe such hell was coming. On February 24, I woke up at 4 a.m. to the sound of explosions. I opened the window—it was raining, and I could see the glow
Rusik managed to call around nine. He told us to leave; my daughter insisted as well. But I refused again. I told my daughter to go, but she didn’t want to leave without me, and I couldn’t leave without my husband and son. Of course, now I really regret my decision.”
I drove all over half the city with my daughter to find cigarettes for the boys
Natalia says that through one of the mobile apps, she could check where each family member was at any given moment. As long as there was a connection, she could track her loved ones’ movements and know that they were alive and well. Whenever possible, the couple talked on the phone constantly: Natalia and Ruslan constantly declared their love for each other, apologized for some of life’s difficulties, and each promised to survive at all costs, because otherwise there would be no point in going on.
“Because the enemy advanced very quickly and shelled the bases, the guys didn’t receive any food—they only had rations. My daughter and I prepared a hot meal, coffee, warm clothes, and blankets. I called Rusik and told him I was bringing food. At first, he wouldn’t give the go-ahead—he said it was dangerous and that I needed to ask the commander. Now, thinking back on it, I’m in tears, but at the time I was resolute and said I’d walk three kilometers to deliver the food. I’d even grabbed a small portable stove, since there were 12 soldiers there and I’d prepared a lot of food. The commander couldn’t give the go-ahead right away, but after thinking it over and knowing my temperament, he set a meeting place and told me not to go any further from there. Then Rusik called and said the guys needed cigarettes—at least one pack each—because they were on edge. There were crazy lines at the stores; people were sweeping everything off the shelves. We drove all over half the city to collect individual packs of cigarettes, since there were no cartons available. When it got dark, we met at the designated spot. The commander told us not to get out of the car; they’d park nearby and he’d take everything through the window.
I remember the look of surprise in their eyes when we handed it all over—the guys hadn’t expected there to be so much. When we got home, Rusik called and said that homemade pelmeni with homemade sour cream were incredible
. Just that morning, Anya—a girl from the village who wasn’t afraid of the shelling—had brought some dairy products, and I was happy because I had something to pass on to the guys. Rusik’s comrades are like children to him—the guys are between 20 and 30 years old, no older.”
The soldier “Acacia” sensed the war coming, so he got everything ready at home. He found some kerosene lamps somewhere, fixed them up, set up a gutter from the roof to drain into a large tub, welded a potbelly stove, and sharpened an axe and a saw.
“Before the war, I didn’t understand why he’d been spending so much time in the garage for the past six months. But when we were left without water, electricity, or gas, it was a great joy. Everything I touched reminded me that he’s such a wonderful provider and how much he loves us.”
They hugged and promised to survive this hell
. The couple last saw each other on March 17. At six in the morning, the shelling subsided, and Natalia and her daughter lay down to take a nap, when suddenly the woman heard a familiar voice. At first she thought it was a dream, but then she realized it was Ruslan calling her. Natalia ran out into the street and saw her beloved standing by the gate.
“I started pushing aside the barricade at the gate and tugging at the gate, but it wouldn’t open. Ruslan said to me, ‘Natalia, there’s another lock.’ He came in, looking so handsome in his gear, with a flashlight on his helmet, and I fell even more in love with him—my warrior, standing guard over our native Mariupol. We pressed ourselves against each other, hugging and kissing. He was so strong yet so sensitive—I felt like bursting into tears. And when I saw the tears in Ruslan’s eyes and heard his words in a trembling voice: “I was so afraid you’d been killed! I’m so happy you’re alive. Promise me you’ll survive…” Then he asked where our daughter was; I replied that she was in bed. Ruslan ran into the room, fell to his knees, hugged our daughter—wrapped in two warm blankets—and began to cry.
When he fell to his knees, it made a loud noise because of his heavy gear, and my daughter got a little scared. She thought the ceiling had collapsed again. Rusichka said he only had two minutes because the guys were waiting outside the house. I rushed to pack him some sugar, cookies, apples, chocolate, dates, coffee, cigarettes—everything I had—because I knew how hard it was for them. He took everything except the water. I still blame myself for not insisting on it, since the guys had absolutely no water. And God had sent us a little rain. He begged me not to bring the guys food under shelling anymore. And I promised not to do it again, and I kept my word. We hugged and kissed and promised to survive that hell. He got into the car; I heard and saw Ruslan tell his comrades about what I’d given them and show them the items. They reacted with such joy, as if they were little children.”
At “Acacia,” his health is poor; while in captivity, he is being tortured
Natalia and her daughter were only able to escape from hellish Mariupol in early May. And as soon as they managed to get in touch, they immediately started watching and reading the news. Then they learned about the evacuation from “Azovstal” into captivity.
“My daughters, granddaughters, and I watched all the videos of the evacuation countless times, but we didn’t see Rusik in any of them. About a week later, my children brought a photo of my husband; they were only able to recognize him after zooming in on the frame. We cried, laughed, and shouted with joy. I called everywhere—dozens of different agencies—but it was all in vain. Later, I managed to let Ruslan know that we had survived; he was in Olenivka at the time. Because I was told that Ruslan felt there was no point in living in the penal colony—he thought we had died. And we just kept on living—constantly in anguish, with days and sleepless nights dragging on and blending into one another.
And then came that terrible terrorist attack in Olenivka, where our heroes were killed. I searched everywhere for lists, calling people while sobbing; I nearly died
myself back then. After going through the list of the wounded and the dead, I didn’t find Ruslan’s name, thank God. But there was no word that he was alive either. I only found out that he was alive in September 2022, when the officers were exchanged.”
On December 31, the woman received a text message that read: “Natalia, I was in the same cell as your husband. My phone ran out of battery; I’ll call you back soon.” Natalia waited about four hours, which felt like an eternity to her. It was a message from “Flayma,” a member of the Azov Regiment who had been exchanged on New Year’s Eve.
“I learned from Artem that my husband is in a penal colony in Taganrog and what kind of torture they’re subjecting him to. I still haven’t received a single call or letter, and I don’t know where Ruslan is right now or how he’s doing. From fellow soldiers who were exchanged, I learned that my husband was wounded while carrying out a combat mission at Azovstal.” In March, after another prisoner exchange, I was told that Ruslan was limping badly, that his legs were blue, that he was coughing, and that he’d lost weight—he’s down to just sixty kilograms from 120. After his service, he had a hole in his lung, which took us a long time to treat. And then there were the concussions. I can’t even imagine what condition he’s in after 19 months of captivity and what his health is like now.”
We’re waiting for our Dobrynya
to return from captivity Natalia recalls the peaceful and happy times in Mariupol, Ukraine. On weekends, friends would often come over. Ruslan would grill meat and vegetables on a barbecue he’d built himself. And they always sang.
“Ruslan has a beautiful voice; he loved to sing songs about love, Ukrainian songs, and chanson. He also built a smokehouse, and we made delicious sausages, smoked pork, and lard. In the fall, we made juice and wine from grapes. We had our own small garden near the house, where we worked together. We loved our life.”
Ruslan “Acacia” Sereda has three daughters, two sons, and four grandchildren waiting for him to return from captivity. They all need him very much. Their greatest wish is to see Ruslan alive and unharmed as soon as possible and to give him a big hug.
“My granddaughters—the children of my eldest daughter—call Rusik ‘Dobrynka.’ They love him so much—they cry and can’t wait for the prisoner exchange so their grandpa will be free. Rusik is my rock, and without him it’s hard for me—I feel like a swan without a wing. We’re one, even from a distance.”
This is an automatic translation generated by DeepL.
