Lesia* an aid worker running classes for children in the city of Sumy, Ukraine, explains the importance of her work for children's mental health and development, and why she has decided to stay despite the frontline of the war getting closer every day.
When you live in war for so long, you have to take comfort from whatever little control you have over your decisions.
My city in northwest Ukraine is now just 20 kms away from the frontline. We all know that frontline has been getting closer in recent months. Every two or three days there are reports that one village, another village, and a third village, have been occupied. Cluster munitions have already directly hit the city centre.
There are constant sirens, some lasting as long as two whole days straight. We have got so used to them that we don’t spend the whole time in basements because, over time, people’s minds adapt. We stay outside and continue to live, knowing we are risking our lives, knowing this coffee might be the last one.
For many families in Sumy, like mine, the critical decision is whether to flee to a safer area. When this is your home, your roots, your loved ones, everything you’ve built — especially if family members aren’t planning to leave — then it becomes a very complex decision.
My daughter and I are staying put – though she has been sleeping in the hallway for the past few months, feeling safer there than in her bed next to the window.
But with the school year now over, some families with the option are leaving the city – a summer camp, a grandparents’ house – before re-assessing the situation. Some have packed up and left for good.
I feel the children’s absence in the classes I facilitate through local organisation League of Modern Women, supported by Save the Children. One day the child is enjoying the lessons, the next day they’re gone.
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These classes continue bringing joy to children - giving them some sense of normality, moments of joy and a glimpse of a real childhood. For children who have been limited to online learning for months, even years, it is the only opportunity they have to interact with other children in person. And they are supporting one another, building resilience.
The classes for small children encourage them to draw, express emotions, feelings, and dreams through art and painting. They also play team games and sports and learn mindfulness and breathing techniques to keep calm during crises.
With teenagers, we ask them to work together and come up with project ideas to improve their community. For example, one girl wants to create a drama club, a boy wants a library for Japanese manga comics. We teach them how to write a project proposal, create a budget, and offer mentorship. It’s so refreshing, and important, for children to be able to escape, to expand their imaginations beyond the reality of war.
This is a reality that is eroding childhoods. The constant sirens have turned a decent nights’ sleep – critical for children’s health and development – into a distant memory.
This is a reality that has separated children from their fathers. One girl in my class was in a bad mood for a long time. Finally she said: “I want to see dad, he is in military service.”
This is a reality that has kept children from socialising – something parents around the world will remember from the days of the COVID-19 pandemic. One boy whose only interaction with other children for a long time was through a computer screen started my classes struggling to communicate with others. Gradually he has come out of his shell. Many children have had to say goodbye to friends on the move, time and again.
In one class, a boy and his friend had a ukelele and wanted to sing for everyone. We said, “Of course, go ahead!” These were fourth graders – nine, 10 year-olds. They stood up, started playing and singing, and their classmates turned off the lights and lit up their phone flashlights. They turned the shelter classroom into a concert hall for five minutes. It was such a joy to see them enjoying life, even if just for a few moments in a city under attack.
For me that makes my decision to stay in Sumy worthwhile. We cannot abandon the families and children here. Children need hope and that is what our classes give. You could leave Sumy and something could happen somewhere else. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a border city, or the capital – moving in Ukraine is like playing the lottery. Safety is not guaranteed.
For those of us who have made the decision to stay, every day, the significance of our decision becomes clearer. If we all left, there would be no Sumy – and there would be no one left to protect.
