The driver turns up the volume of the car radio as soon as it’s news time. We understand that there were still “fights in the Kyiv districts”, as well as “extremely strong strikes in Kharkiv”, and that Ukrainians continue to “escape from hell”. Oleg, seated in front, seat 6D, shakes his head as he watches the scenery of the plains rush by at 100 km/h to his right: “Ever since the Russians attacked us, I only think about this war. I can no longer focus on anything. I’m no longer effective in the office. So it’s good that I have to go home to Kyiv.”
The 42-year-old Ukrainian has been on board this fluorescent green bus from Flixbus for two hours now, Wednesday, March 2. He went to Krakow, a large city in southern Poland, where he lived for seven years with his wife and daughters. Officially, he assures us, it is precisely in order to see his parents stuck in the Ukrainian capital that he travels these 900 endless kilometers. Proof: He found a place in his suitcase to bring them medicine. The financial analyst also took his laptop “just in case” “to be able to view emails from work and respond to them if needed.” But it is clearly not only this: “I am also going there to help.” “I never touched a gun,” he says, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. But that doesn’t bother me, trust me.” His travel plan: cross the border between Poland and Ukraine, stop in Lvov, then travel to the capital Kyiv “by train, car or bus.”
Oleg on a Flixbus bus connecting Krakow, Poland with the Ukrainian border, on March 2, 2022. (RAPHAEL GODET/FRANCE INFO)
According to the Selectivv DMP database, 1.25 million Ukrainian citizens live in Poland (link in Polish). How many, like Oleg, have already crossed the border towards their native country to lend a helping hand in battle? Official data has not been released. But the number of buses, minibuses, shuttles, the number of car-sharing ads offering to drive anyone to the border is a good indicator. Thus, from Krakow, as well as from the capital, Warsaw, from Wroclaw, Poznań, Lublin, Katowice…
These buses, which many people usually ride on holidays or for cheap weekends, are now used for military purposes. Forcibly they are recognized by our Polish driver Wojtek Szczygel, “everyone who is not a tourist”. “When I see a guy alone, with an army-colored bag, I say to myself: “Okay, he will fight,” he says at the Rzeszow station, puffing on a cigarette. On Tuesday I did take a group of five or six young Ukrainians. The ones, they came back to help.”
“The guys are there, at -5 ° C, in the dark, at the bus station, before leaving for the war. Every time a sea of emotions. I have a family here, my life is calm.”
Wojtek Szczygel, bus driver
on Franceinfo
The day before, at the Warsaw Western Bus Station, a short man, barely 1.70 meters tall, was waiting to board a West Travel bus. Vasily, 36, was preparing to “return to the country to defend it.” A ticket “to war” cost him 110 zlotys (23 euros). “I come back when everyone is running away,” he sums up, grinning, hands in his pockets. I looked at the schedule and routes and made an order.” In his huge bag of things for several weeks. But first of all, a jar of spread “for parents”. On the bench, Viktor, wearing a khaki jacket on his back, seemed to be promising someone a bakery in honor of his return to Ukraine. To his right, another passenger, in his thirties, is holding a plastic ticket and a 40-kilogram bag tightly. But he is worried about the vegetable basket, which he must return to the family: “Will there be a place?”
On a Flixbus bus connecting Krakow, Poland to the Ukrainian border on March 2, 2022. (RAPHAEL GODET/FRANCE INFO)
Oleg’s two daughters, Maria and Alexandra, aged 15 and 18, most of all would like to leave their father on the pier. “Neither they nor my wife understood what I was doing,” he admits, fiddling with his smartphone. – They were against it. It wasn’t easy to get away from them.” And his boss? Nothing more… “When I explained my plan to him, he said to me: “Huh? But you are crazy! Why are you doing it? Stay in Poland!” But I feel like this is what I have to do, it can’t be explained.”
Oleg promised his colleagues, who again expressed their support for him no later than at the beginning of the week, that he would see them again soon, “maybe in a month.” Truth ? I haven’t taken my return ticket yet. Vasily also promised his Polish friend, who accompanies him before his big departure, that they would meet again “quickly”. “See you later,” he told her as he climbed the bus’s four small steps before settling into his seat by the window, making a “V” with his hand in victory, then turning to wipe a few tears.
Vasily greets a friend at the bus station in Warsaw-Zapadna, Poland, before leaving for Ukraine, March 1, 2022. (RAPHAEL GODET/FRANCE INFO)
16:25 Our Flixbus stops again. Bus station in Rzeszów, the capital of the Lower Carpathian Voivodeship, 200,000 inhabitants. Last stop before the border. On the platform opposite ours, a white bus is packed. “It’s normal that there are people,” our driver points out to us. It makes sense between the border and the center of Poland.” In ours, only two passengers join us. “Sit where you want, there’s room,” he sympathetically suggests to them. Dimitro, seat 11C, has already started packing. He won’t go any further. “I live in Poland in Wroclaw, but I am also Ukrainian, so I could return … but I don’t want to, I can’t,” he says, affected. fight. But… It’s not that easy. My father died last May and now I am the master of the house. I can’t do this to my mother and sister. Leave, perhaps never to return. Impossible.
“My mother and sister tell me about explosions every day. It’s impossible. I have to protect them. You understand me?”
Landscapes continue to scroll. A pub with local beer, a blue sign pointing directly to Lviv, livestock, factories, woods and more livestock. In the front seat, 10B, Ivan will also be content with waiting at the border on the Polish side of his few relatives who flew out of the Drohobych region a few days ago. “I have friends who are now in the ranks of the territorial defense. They tell me: “Stay in Poland. When we need you, we will call you!”
Polish bus driver Wojtek Szczygel, March 2, 2022, near the border with Ukraine. (RAPHAEL GODET / FRANCEINFO)
18:00, the sun has already set in Przemysl and at the Medyka frontier post, one of the busiest since the beginning of the Ukrainian exile. Our bus won’t go any further. Terminal of the world. Then Ukraine and the war. Oleg was about to “grab” his suitcase and his next bus when Wojtek Szczygel, our driver, who didn’t know him three hours ago, ran up to hug him tightly for a few seconds: “Good luck, good luck,” he whispered to her. Then there was a long handshake. After that, Oleg left forever. A few hours later he contacted us on Messenger. This was to tell us that he had arrived safely. His last words: “Now let’s be quiet.”