by O. Del Fabbro
I met Kseniia during my second visit to Ukraine, in June 2023. The moment I met her, I knew that this thirty-four-year-old woman is a special one. Kseniia belongs to the type of women who made Molotov cocktails to help defend Kyiv in March 2022. “I had some romantic idea to create these Molotov cocktails, because I heard that it might come to urban warfare, and I wanted to help. We spent a whole day making them, but the smell of petrol was awful.” Nevertheless, Kseniia made several boxes.
The concept of women making Molotov cocktails was something I only knew from news reports, and I distinctly remember the impression that such women made on my perception of the willingness of Ukrainians to not only resist but also fight the aggressor. To suddenly be sitting in front of such a woman seemed surreal to me.
The more I listened to Kseniia’s numerous stories, the more it occurred to me that she was much more than just a simple activist. Kensiia is a hub of different intense experiences: sadness, happiness, danger, beauty. Kseniia, I believe, has seen it all; and her stories speak for themselves.
The Saddest Experience
Kseniia opened and still runs two aid organizations. One supplies the military and civilians with food, clothes, drones, night vision goggles, whatever people contact her for. The other organization repairs roofs of destroyed houses, especially in the countryside, and supplies the military with used cars. So far, the later organization called ‘livyj bereh’ – which means the left bank of the river – has repaired two hundred roofs and donated more than forty cars to the military. In total, she raised more than half a million euros. “Pink Floyd sent us some money too,” says Kseniia with a little pride. The controversy around the provocative statements on the war of the former Pink Floyd member, Roger Waters, is something Kseniia has no clue about and also does not care.
Kseniia is dedicated to her cause, that’s it.
One day, in February 2023, she got contacted by a commander of a unit, who ordered around one hundred shoes. Kseniia had met him earlier in autumn 2022 and was impressed by his care for his soldiers. His unit had about one hundred and fifty soldiers and Kseniia provided them with winter clothes, sleeping bags and so on. “In February, the unit was fighting in Soledar, but the situation there was hell. They managed to get out alive and needed one hundred pairs of shoes.”
Kseniia immediately started a fundraiser, but unfortunately, it progressed very slowly. In March, she was finally able to buy about thirty pairs of shoes. Quite happy to finally have gathered some material, she wrote the commander saying that the next seventy pairs would be arriving the following week.
The commander’s reply: “There’s nobody left to give these shoes to.”
The whole unit was dead.
Once the unit got out of Soledar, they were stationed near Bachmut for a month. From one hellhole to another. Their mission was to hold the position, but the Russians killed them all with artillery.
“That is my saddest story,” Kseniia tells me tearing up a little.
She knew some of the soldiers personally because they had come to the headquarters of her organization in Kyiv. Eventually, the shoes ended up with another unit near Bachmut, Soledar and in the Luhansk region, because there is always a high demand.
Kseniia was devastated, and hearing that many of her fellow humanitarian workers had similar experiences only made things worse. “It’s not about my efforts, it’s about losing those soldiers.” After that incident Kseniia admits that she needed a lot of therapy sessions. She was afraid that such an event would repeat itself; meaning that while she was collecting money, people would just die off.
The solution to her problems: “Raise more and more money and keep going,” she says laughing. The fear of repetition never really went away, but at the same time she realized that she needed to go on and fight. “It worked out. Everything is ok now.”
The Most Dangerous Experience
On February 24 2022, when Kseniia woke up to explosions, she immediately understood that the war had started. She also knew that she wanted to help her country to fight the enemy and to win the war. Since that day, Kseniia has constantly been active and driving to liberated territories to restore destroyed roofs of houses. While Kseniia has mostly been active around Kyiv and in the Kharkov region, in March 2023 she and her friend decided to drive to the Kherson region to see whether there was any need for help.
Contrarily to Kharkov, Kherson is closer to the frontline and much more dangerous to drive around. After exploring for a day, the aim was to get to Mykolaiv and spend the night there, because it’s safer than Kherson. Yet, their GPS sent them through Kherson. Upon recommendation by locals, Kseniia and her friend took another route that led them through the countryside on bumpy and narrow roads. However, due to electronic warfare that blocks the usage of all electronic devices such as drones and phones, their GPS stopped working. Kseniia and her friend kept driving until they realized that they were in the midst of a mine field. They saw abandoned Russian positions and explosive remnants. The road was too narrow to turn around and the danger of hitting a mine too high. “We had no other choice but to keep going in one direction.”
For forty minutes Kseniia was on an emotional rollercoaster: laughing, crying, and thinking about life. Then, they arrived at a crossroad and saw a sign that said that the territory they were coming from was prohibited to enter. Red and white ribbons actually would have told Kseniia that it is a mined field, but the wind blew them all off. “That’s why we entered the field, because we didn’t see the ribbons.”
By now it was almost dark and that means curfew starts. A second field had to be crossed but Kseniia didn’t care anymore. Exhausted from all the adventure, she would have even gone to Kherson to sleep.
“This is the most dangerous experience I had, but also the craziest one.” She has never been that close to the frontline. She heard many explosions of artillery. “In that moment I understood that I could die. A lot of adrenaline, my heart was speeding, and I realized that every next meter could be the last one.” What made it worse emotionally was that she ended up in that dangerous situation by accident. Her friend on the contrary was rather calm and quiet and didn’t say much. He was also scared, but he concentrated on driving and made jokes from time to time. It helped Kseniia to accept the situation and get used to it and make the most of it.
But the scenery got more dramatic. On another thin country road their car got hit by an Ukrainian military truck that ripped off the side mirror of their car. On top of that, it had started to rain heavily; and then there was, still, the roaring sounds of artillery lighting up the dark sky. The atmosphere was sinister. “When we finally arrived in Mykolaiv we were done, exhausted.”
Kseniia does not believe in God but is also no atheist. She believes that some power, some energy exists in the universe. Sometimes there is disbalance, but the force always balances it out. Amidst this constant re-balancing is Kseniia, the adventurer and explorer. “I like to discover, to meet new people, to explore new places, to have new feelings. I like to travel.”
“But isn’t it something different to travel through a minefield than going to the Bahamas?”
“I’m a patriotic traveler,” she says smiling.
“I found out that I am adrenaline addicted. If I stay too long in Kyiv and do paperwork, I get bored and I need to go somewhere to explore.” Whoever follows Kseniia on her Instagram knows this. But Kseniia also has a warning system. “There is a button inside of me that says: ok it’s enough. We need to go back.”
The Most Beautiful Experience
Kseniia loves flowers. Before the war, she was the co-owner of a flower shop where she worked as a florist. Then everything changed. Today, the store is the headquarters of her volunteer organizations. Reopening the flower shop is not an option. For one, all of her former clients left Kyiv, and secondly, people don’t have the money to buy flowers. “It’s not the first thing you want to buy during the war.” But even if it would be possible to re-open the store, Kseniia still believes that with her help the victory of Ukraine will happen quicker. Selling flowers is useless.
One day, shortly after the Khakovka dam was blown up at the beginning of June 2023, she got contacted to help in that region and so she went there, yet, at some point Kseniia realized, while driving through the countryside, that she ended up on the same road that she experienced a couple of weeks earlier as her most dangerous and craziest experience. “Same villages, same road, and the same friend driving. The only difference was the car.” Kseniia was back in Kherson region, and it took them six hours for one hundred fifty kilometers because the road was bumpy and muddy.
“But why is this the most beautiful story?”
“Because the fields were mined and untouched, and therefore bloomy. So for six hours I was looking at the most beautiful fields I have ever seen in my life. Red poppy, yellow rapeseed, violet salvia, blue chicory, colored the fields. It was really beautiful.”
This time Kseniia was also better prepared. The connection worked and she had a map drawn by locals. She knew where she was going. “I was relaxed and I looked at the beautiful flowers.”
At the same time Kseniia got closure – psychologically speaking. The frightening experience of last time was now overshadowed by the beauty of these picturesque fields.
“But doesn’t it also have a degree of tragedy? The flowers, the endless Kherson steppe, yes, but it’s full of danger, and possible death.”
“Yes, it’s beautiful and tragic. Last summer all these fields were under Russian control, but thanks to our military it has been freed. Yet unfortunately, it can’t be used and who knows when it can ever be used again. It’s tragic, yes.”
The Happiest Experience
Kseniia’s happiest experience is a tricky one. Contrarily to all other experiences, she somehow cannot decide which one to choose. “It sounds crazy but I had so many happy moments during the war.”
And yet, it seems clear that Kseniia is the happiest when she can help people. “For example, we rebuilt a school in Chernihiv region. The principal of the school was very happy and the children as well, because the school could be re-opened.” Kseniia’s organization redid the windows, bought equipment for the cantina in the school. It’s the third school they rebuilt. “When we help in the villages, the villagers share their happiness with us and we accept it. I grew up in a village near Dnipro. I am very fond of village culture, the beautiful fields and forests. When people are happy with their new roofs, new hospitals, new schools, we share the happiness and enjoy it at the same time.”
What also makes Kseniia happy, is when she closes a fundraising. “I’ve been collecting money for sixteen months now, and a few days ago, I closed a huge fundraising, that was running for ten months. I felt happiness and relief.” It was so important for Kseniia to close it that she decided to create a bouquet for the highest donation; and three other bouquets as lottery. “Accidently, the flowers helped me to close the fundraising. It gave me joy that it ended like this, because I was able to create beauty.” A serendipitous moment, also because it awakened old memories and habits for Kseniia. “I went to my old suppliers and we cut the flowers together.”
Kseniia tries to be optimistic in her life and to see all the beauty around her. “War is a terrible thing and yet you have many happy moments in a terrible environment. This is my way of seeing the world. I don’t see it through pink glasses though. Not everything is fine. But I try to keep the happiest moments close to me and enjoy them, without cutting off the saddest.”
That’s what keeps her going.
Many times, Kseniia thought about joining the military, and she still does. But she is good in what she does. Fundraising, organizing reconstruction and so on. She thinks that she is more useful like this. “But if something would happen to one of my closest friends or family, I would go and fight. To avenge.”
“But don’t you already know people that died?”
“Yes.”
“Many?”
Kseniia is silent. Then she utters softly: “Unfortunately.”
***
These were Kseniia’s most intense experiences. She would have many more to tell, and no matter which Ukrainian you would ask, she or he would probably also have an intense experience to share – maybe because war simply is intense. But maybe also because “… apart from the experiences of subjects there is nothing, nothing, nothing, bare nothingness.”[1] That is why listening, publishing and reading about Kseniia’s experiences is important, and, after all, her stories speak for themselves.
[1] Alfred N. Whitehead, 1978, Process and Reality, An Essay in Cosmology, New York: Free Press, p. 167.