My husband was taken prisoner at a filtration camp. I’m fighting to save him, but I just can’t seem to do it.
Source: SVOI CITY
Author: Kateryna KALYUZHNA
The Ordeal of the Blockade
My husband and I lived on the Left Bank in Mariupol. For four years, I worked as a manicurist and had my own salon. Yaroslav ran a small business selling purified water.
We lived like all young families: we made plans, set goals and achieved them, met with friends, and looked forward to a happy future. But on February 24, everything turned upside down.
We held out for the first few days, then moved into the basement. The city was under constant fire; it was very scary to leave our shelter. But we had to, because we needed to cook something over a campfire and find water. Every time Yaroslav went out, I didn’t know if he would come back.
Mariupol was being shelled with such intensity that the walls in the basements shook, buildings were literally collapsing, and the bodies of civilians
lay in the streets During our two months under siege, we had to find new shelters several times. The buildings where we were hiding were being set ablaze by shells. Under shelling, we couldn’t always find a shelter: people didn’t let us in everywhere because we always had our dog with us. He’s quite large, and not everyone was happy to have him around. Lately, we’d been hiding in the basement of our building, right beneath our burned-out apartment.
We were taken away to an unknown destination
On April 22, we were awakened by a commotion from our neighbors. They told us that everyone had to go out into the street, and all the men had to bring their documents. “DNR” militants arrived. They checked everyone’s documents, and some men were randomly asked to undress. They were looking for traces of assault rifles, body armor, and tattoos. Then they searched the house, while we sat in the shelter. We couldn’t leave the shelter until we received permission.
As soon as the soldiers left, we went out into the street. At that moment, it dawned on us that we had to leave. Mariupol was completely destroyed; the life we had dreamed of so much could no longer exist there.
The next day, Chechens replaced the “DNR” militants. And they took all the people who had been in the basement (there were 60 of us in total) to the “Mariupol” store. From there, we were taken by bus to the Pozhivanovskaya Church. There, we were told that we could stay in the city, and anyone who wanted to could leave or seek shelter in nearby villages. Everyone had to go through screening.
We were taken to the village of Bezymenne for screening. My husband wasn’t even allowed into the screening area. At the camp entrance, soldiers checked our bags and randomly inspected our electronics. They immediately took Yaroslav’s passport and started asking where he had served and whether he had a combatant status certificate. They relayed his information over the phone and told him to wait—they would come for him. The questions directed at him arose because from 2016 to 2019, he served as a dog handler in the “Azov” battalion. When his contract ended, he took a civilian job and started his own business.
Around 1:00 a.m. on April 24, the military came for him. Yaroslav only had time to put on a jacket and grab a small bag with his belongings. I can’t describe what I felt at that moment.
I’ll never forget how he said, “The main thing is that a new life is about to begin for you. Mine will end here.”
I spent another day at the filtration camp. I hoped that any minute now—my Yaroslav would walk in. But that didn’t happen. I asked everyone what had happened to him, where they’d taken him. The response I got was that I shouldn’t hold out hope.
I went through the screening process. They checked my belongings and my phone, looked through all my messages and photos, and took my fingerprints. Then they gave me a piece of paper that allowed me to leave the occupied territory.
Life in a state of hopelessness
To this day, I still don’t know where my husband is. I pieced together the events up until the end of May. Thanks to volunteers and released prisoners, I learned that Yaroslav had been seen at the penal colony in Olenivka. Later, he was transferred to a pretrial detention center.
I heard my husband’s voice for the first time on May 18. He called me from an investigator’s phone and told me he was in Donetsk. That was the end of our conversation. To this day, I don’t know what has become of him or what condition he’s in.
I’ve reached out everywhere I possibly could. But no one can help in any way. This month, volunteers reported that Yaroslav has prisoner-of-war status, though no one has officially confirmed this information.
Right now, I feel completely helpless. Despite my attempts to find out something or do something—nothing is working out. And the worst part is that there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. It hurts me that he’s there, alone, going through all of this. Meanwhile, I’m here fighting my own battle, but I just can’t save him.
The only thing keeping me going is my strong belief that my Yaroslav will definitely return soon. I hope that we’ll learn to rebuild our lives together from scratch. Although it will be very difficult for all of us to recover after what we’ve been through.
Author: Kateryna KALYUZHNA
The Ordeal of the Blockade
My husband and I lived on the Left Bank in Mariupol. For four years, I worked as a manicurist and had my own salon. Yaroslav ran a small business selling purified water.
We lived like all young families: we made plans, set goals and achieved them, met with friends, and looked forward to a happy future. But on February 24, everything turned upside down.
We held out for the first few days, then moved into the basement. The city was under constant fire; it was very scary to leave our shelter. But we had to, because we needed to cook something over a campfire and find water. Every time Yaroslav went out, I didn’t know if he would come back.
Mariupol was being shelled with such intensity that the walls in the basements shook, buildings were literally collapsing, and the bodies of civilians
lay in the streets During our two months under siege, we had to find new shelters several times. The buildings where we were hiding were being set ablaze by shells. Under shelling, we couldn’t always find a shelter: people didn’t let us in everywhere because we always had our dog with us. He’s quite large, and not everyone was happy to have him around. Lately, we’d been hiding in the basement of our building, right beneath our burned-out apartment.
We were taken away to an unknown destination
On April 22, we were awakened by a commotion from our neighbors. They told us that everyone had to go out into the street, and all the men had to bring their documents. “DNR” militants arrived. They checked everyone’s documents, and some men were randomly asked to undress. They were looking for traces of assault rifles, body armor, and tattoos. Then they searched the house, while we sat in the shelter. We couldn’t leave the shelter until we received permission.
As soon as the soldiers left, we went out into the street. At that moment, it dawned on us that we had to leave. Mariupol was completely destroyed; the life we had dreamed of so much could no longer exist there.
The next day, Chechens replaced the “DNR” militants. And they took all the people who had been in the basement (there were 60 of us in total) to the “Mariupol” store. From there, we were taken by bus to the Pozhivanovskaya Church. There, we were told that we could stay in the city, and anyone who wanted to could leave or seek shelter in nearby villages. Everyone had to go through screening.
We were taken to the village of Bezymenne for screening. My husband wasn’t even allowed into the screening area. At the camp entrance, soldiers checked our bags and randomly inspected our electronics. They immediately took Yaroslav’s passport and started asking where he had served and whether he had a combatant status certificate. They relayed his information over the phone and told him to wait—they would come for him. The questions directed at him arose because from 2016 to 2019, he served as a dog handler in the “Azov” battalion. When his contract ended, he took a civilian job and started his own business.
Around 1:00 a.m. on April 24, the military came for him. Yaroslav only had time to put on a jacket and grab a small bag with his belongings. I can’t describe what I felt at that moment.
I’ll never forget how he said, “The main thing is that a new life is about to begin for you. Mine will end here.”
I spent another day at the filtration camp. I hoped that any minute now—my Yaroslav would walk in. But that didn’t happen. I asked everyone what had happened to him, where they’d taken him. The response I got was that I shouldn’t hold out hope.
I went through the screening process. They checked my belongings and my phone, looked through all my messages and photos, and took my fingerprints. Then they gave me a piece of paper that allowed me to leave the occupied territory.
Life in a state of hopelessness
To this day, I still don’t know where my husband is. I pieced together the events up until the end of May. Thanks to volunteers and released prisoners, I learned that Yaroslav had been seen at the penal colony in Olenivka. Later, he was transferred to a pretrial detention center.
I heard my husband’s voice for the first time on May 18. He called me from an investigator’s phone and told me he was in Donetsk. That was the end of our conversation. To this day, I don’t know what has become of him or what condition he’s in.
I’ve reached out everywhere I possibly could. But no one can help in any way. This month, volunteers reported that Yaroslav has prisoner-of-war status, though no one has officially confirmed this information.
Right now, I feel completely helpless. Despite my attempts to find out something or do something—nothing is working out. And the worst part is that there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. It hurts me that he’s there, alone, going through all of this. Meanwhile, I’m here fighting my own battle, but I just can’t save him.
The only thing keeping me going is my strong belief that my Yaroslav will definitely return soon. I hope that we’ll learn to rebuild our lives together from scratch. Although it will be very difficult for all of us to recover after what we’ve been through.
This is an automatic translation generated by DeepL.
