Sr. Bernadette’s long black habit flows behind her as she strides through the long limestone corridors. At the end of the hall, glass doors open into the chapel -an expansive space with tall ceilings, teak wooden beams and a simple alter, marked with a religious cross. “Sometimes our new residents come here to find a quiet moment and to pray,” Sr. Bernadette explains.
These new residents – some 39 internally displaced people – have found a safe haven in this monastery, situated just outside the city of Lviv, in western Ukraine.
This Benedictine Sisters monastery is a newly established community. “When the full-scale war began, our community faced the question: what can we do, what will be our contribution, how can we help people,” says Sister Bernadette. “It was unanimously decided to open the doors of the monastery to people fleeing the war, to people who lost their homes and are now looking for shelter,” she continues. “A week after the start of the war, we accepted the first arrivals. For the first two months it was a constant flow of people coming and going in droves. We were a safe place where people could stop and rest, take a shower, eat, spend the night and move on, if they wished.”
The monastery was never intended to host so many people as its guest rooms hosted families.
One such teenager is 14-year-old Mykyta, who with his grandparents, Tatiana and Oleksandr now calls the monastery home.
Before 24 February 2022, the family lived in a village outside Zaporizhzhia city. “Life before the war was really great. We had a plot of land and a large fruit and vegetable patch, with strawberries in the summertime. We also had animals; chickens, ducks and pigs. And my dog, his name was Barsik. I went to school in the next village, about 7 km away and my aunt and cousins lived nearby”, recalls the teenager. However, this once peaceful village was soon to be rocked by hostilities. Shelling and gunshots could be heard close by, and locals spent long hours sheltering in cold and damp cellars. At night as the attacks continued and temperatures dropped, families huddled behind walls in their homes because it was too cold to go underground.
In early March, a missile landed in Mykyta’s garden, blowing in the windows of the house and destroying its doors. “The explosion was so loud; I wouldn’t wish for anyone to ever hear this noise,” tells Mykyta. The family had been hiding under a large wooden table but Mykyta’s grandfather, who is blind and a wheelchair user, was sitting in his bed. Miraculously the family escaped unharmed. But the attack had left them shaken and they took the decision to flee to another part of Ukraine. A short time later, Mykyta was offered an opportunity by the military to evacuate his village to Zaporizhzhia city. He recalls how the car drove through fields under heavy shelling and gunfire to bring a small group of residents to safety. His grandmother and his grandfather followed shortly afterwards. “We didn’t have time to bring Barsik,” Mykyta adds. And in mid-June, ound themselves on an evacuation train to Lviv.
On arrival in Lviv the family was met by volunteers who brought them to the Monastery, their new home for the foreseeable future.
Mykyta had never been to a monastery before, nor did he know very much about the nuns who lived there. The first few weeks were difficult, and he missed his friends and village. But as time passed, he became accustomed to his new surroundings, enrolling at the local school, some 10 minutes from the monastery. His class is made up mostly of local teenagers, but some pupils have come from Mariupol and Vinnytsia. And the classes offer him an opportunity to continue studying his favourite subject – Ukrainian literature – and the works of his favourite writer, Taras Shevchenko.
As many of the residents of Mykyta’s village have been displaced, he tries to keep in touch on social media with those who have fled to safer parts of Ukraine or found refuge in neighbouring countries. He has one friend who has stayed behind. Scrolling through his tablet, he shows recent photos of his village, including his school, which is now largely destroyed.
Life isn’t the same for Mykyta, his family, and the nuns at the monastery. “The life of our community has radically changed and we have realised our new purpose,” says Sr. Bernadette smiling: “But it has not been without its challenges. Together, we follow rules to keep the place neat and tidy”.
Despite the hardship and suffering that Mykyta and his family has endured, their bond and love for one another is unbreakable. “When he goes away even for a few days on a school trip, we miss him so much,” says grandmother, Tatiana as she sifts through photos of Mykyta and his cousins as young children.
The future is uncertain for many of the temporary residents at the monastery- some of whom –like Mykyta and his grandparents- cannot go home because their houses have been badly damaged or destroyed. Whilst the majority of displaced Ukrainians want to return home, this won’t be possible for many: “We are too old to rebuild” says Tatiana, her voice trailing off. Sr. Bernadette adds: “I remember how at the beginning of winter we worried about how we would survive the winter. And now, the winter is over and the war continues, and the people who live in our monastery are left without homes.”
For people who are unable to return to their homes and are living in collective sites, UNHCR is supporting through improvements or creation of accommodation in identified sites through refurbishment work. To date in Lviv, some collective sites have been refurbished or provided with non-food items like blankets, mattresses and solar lamps. UNHCR’s partners are also providing cash and protection assistance including legal counselling and psychosocial support to those in need.
Share on Facebook Share on Twitter
