At the end of the summer of 2022, 14-year-old Bohdan Usik was sent to Russia for a three-week convalescent camp, protected from the bombings. Thanks to the efforts of his mother Olha, he will not return home until spring.
When Bohdan came back, it took Olha Usik a long time to believe it. After dark, as before, the Ukrainian sometimes checked if her son was sleeping well in his room. After months away, the teenager has returned to the small town of Balaklia “much more mature” and has naturally begun helping his mother around the house. “I would have liked him to grow up in a different way,” breathes Olha. “It was the first time in my life that I let him go and it lasted seven months. It was really very traumatic.”
On the eve of his 14th birthday, at the end of August 2022, Bohdan Usik left his occupied city To escape the dangers of war, he spent three weeks at a convalescent camp on the Black Sea coast of Russia. A proposal by the Russian occupying power that will make him a seven-month separation from his people. According to a recent report (PDF) from the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE), “there is ample evidence that a large number of Ukrainian children,” possibly 6,000, “were transferred to Crimea or the Russian Federation.” temporary stays in so-called convalescent camps”. Some of these children, like Bohdan, “were held up much longer than expected”.
“I didn’t really have a choice”
On February 24, 2022, the war quickly reached Balaklia, about a hundred kilometers southeast of Kharkiv. The first explosions damaged the windows of the family house, “and then the Russian army entered the city,” Olha recalls. The Ukrainian describes a “more or less livable” situation that is gradually getting worse. In the middle of summer, the strikes are getting closer and more intense. “There was shelling every day, it was very loud. I tried to hide somewhere, I was afraid,” breathes Bohdan.
In the city, Olha sees children leaving the city for a few weeks and then returning without incident from the recreational camps offered by the Russian occupiers. The offer made at the Russian-manned aid distribution point stands. Bohdan’s mother is reluctant, but she sees her son “pacing around” and “very scared” every time the knock is heard. “Bohdan was really exhausted from the shelling. “I would say I really had no choice,” she admits. “A child’s interest comes first.” I put the question to my son and he said, ‘Yes mom, I want to go’.”
“I didn’t want to be separated from my mother, but I just didn’t want to hear the shelling anymore. I had enough and told myself I would rest.”
Bohdan Usik
at franceinfo
When the bus sets off on a journey of almost 900 km, Olha immediately decides that she has to pick up her son and then thinks about it. The Ukrainian fears a shootout, a bombing that could kill her child along the way. For Bohdan, the journey begins in fear, gunshots can be heard in the distance. On August 28, the teenager experienced a “pretty sad” first birthday away from his family. At his side are companions and other children from his region, including 11-year-old Sergey. “I was happy to discover new places, but I didn’t want to leave dad. As soon as the bus left, I started missing him,” says the child.
“I didn’t really understand where I was”
There Bohdan learns that he is staying in the Krasnodar Territory, not knowing that he is staying more precisely in Gelendzhik. “It was a bit strange, I didn’t really understand where I was,” he says. The Ukrainian describes “a normal summer camp”, with a comfortable room that he shares with five other young people and the sea nearby. The days pass between singing competitions, sports activities, food and a bit of dancing in the evening. In September, the children start courses in mathematics, computer science, Russian or geography.
The tone changed on September 8, when the Ukrainian army’s counter-offensive liberated Balaklia from Russian occupation. “They told us that the Ukrainian army had entered the town of Balaklia and we couldn’t go back,” Bohdan recalls. “I didn’t understand, I had to stay three weeks… That’s all the nurses knew.”
“I didn’t think for a second that maybe they wouldn’t give the kids back.”
Olha, who is unable to communicate with her son due to the lack of a network, is eagerly awaiting his return, but after 22 days “I understood there was a problem,” she says. Around September 20, she finally manages to reach Bogdan, in a moment of emotions “difficult to describe”, between laughter and tears. Is he in good health? Is he treated well? Her boy calms her down. Before saying goodbye, the Ukrainian promises him that she will do “everything” to bring him back. “Be patient, I’ll get you back.”
“It’s your responsibility”
Early fall, Bohdan will be transferred to Anapa, still in the Krasnodar Territory. “I stayed there for a very, very long time… until the New Year,” says Bohdan. The accommodation conditions remain comfortable, but the distance weighs heavily, despite daily contact with his mother. “I felt quite withdrawn, I was very sad.” Earlier in the year, Bohdan was again moved further north to Yeisk. The rooms are smaller, the food is not as good, and fewer and fewer Ukrainian children – around twenty, according to him – surround him. The Ukrainian sees how the young people of Balaklia are gradually returning home.
At home, Olha watches the return of several children. “Nobody talked about anything. For me it was a question of money,” she says. Mothers are allowed to pick up their children, but with a very long and expensive journey. The Ukrainian, who works odd jobs to care for her daughter and whose husband is an electrician, is struggling to raise the money. “I went everywhere and said, ‘I want to get it back, but I don’t have the money to make this trip,'” she says. For months she appealed to local and regional authorities. “I was told, ‘You made that decision, it’s your responsibility.'” Every night on the phone, Olha never stops reassuring Bohdan. “I told him I loved him, that everything would be fine.” Behind those comforting words lies a deep pain.
“It was like half my heart had been ripped out. It was extremely difficult, one of the worst tests of my life.”
The Ukrainian is expanding contacts with volunteers and at the same time continues to put money away with her husband. At the end of January she finally manages to collect a little more than 500 euros for the trip. Then begins a journey that will take them to Lviv and then through Poland, Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia for a chance to cross a border with Russia.
Hopes for reunification end at the same border when Olha is denied entry into Russian territory. Border guards remind him of his expulsion from Russia in 2018 after the family stayed too long without the necessary permits. The Ukrainian, who thought this ban had been lifted, negotiated for hours. Vain. “I cried. I was depressed.” Over the phone, she tells Bohdan the news. Always with the same promise: “I will come, we will find a way to get you back.” At that moment, the teenager recalls, “I became even more self-absorbed.”
“The trip lasted a week”
Back in Balaklia, Olha is tested. Journalists put her in contact with Darya Kasanova from the association SOS Children’s Villages Ukraine. “We help families with reunification, even after reunification,” says the head of program development. While accompanying Olha, Darya Kasanova learns that another family is trying to bring their child back from Yeisk. For months Oleksi and Anastasia have been trying to bring Sergei back to his house in Morozivka near Balaklia. “The father couldn’t go there because the men [de 18 à 60 ans] have no right to cross the border,” the club manager recalls. “However, this family could get a power of attorney and bring the two children back.”
SOS Children’s Villages Ukraine then creates an itinerary for Anastasia and then finances all the tickets (600 euros). She also needs to fly via Lviv and Poland, then reach Belarus and fly to Moscow. “There are 300 kilometers as the crow flies between my homeland and Voronezh [où les enfants l’attendraient]. “This trip took a week,” says Anastasia.
“I remember the day Mom told me someone went to get me. I jumped for joy.”
Bohdan Usik
at franceinfo
Anastasia’s arrival in Moscow begins with a two-hour interrogation at the airport. The agents “began to doubt whether I was bringing the right child back to Ukraine,” she says. They offer the young woman to go with Sergey, but leave Bohdan, whose tears begin to flow. Eventually, the Belarusians release the three, but Ukrainian agents are again suspicious. Fears dissipate by calling Olha and Oleksi.
In Balaklia, Olha is waiting anxiously. “Even though I knew he was already in Ukraine, I couldn’t believe it,” she says. The family rushes to the train station to welcome him, but seven months have changed the teenager. “When I get off the train, I see them, but they don’t recognize me,” explains Bohdan. I ran towards her. I was very, very happy.” “He had grown a lot. He kissed us, put his arms around us, his grandparents cried,” says Olha. For their first dinner together, the Ukrainian had prepared pizza, Bohdan’s favorite dish. At that moment “the meaning of my life returned”.