World Central Kitchen and their aid in Ukraine

In crisis zones, I’ve often noticed the news is too distracted to notice the nuances.  

They’re busy talking in front of a camera. They’re busy telling about the fatal destruction, that they forget to notice the subtle stream of optimism, the joy of living despite it all. This, this is what flows within the Ukrainians.

It’s the soldiers playing fetch with the dogs left behind, as the sun sets on their checkpoint. It’s the refugees braiding each other’s hair, or building forts from their suitcases. It’s a girl sneaking an Easter cake into her mother’s purse.

Yes, women could leave, but I found hundreds of female warriors who stood strong - lawyers who became potato peelers, nuns who sewed sleeping bags

We were riding from Kyiv to Chernihiv, a scenic back road that lead us to feed hundreds in a recently liberated city.

“One day, I’ll rest. One day, I’ll be a big fat babushka - with a whisky in one hand and a cigar in the other. I’ll tell all my grandchildren about the time we would count the rockets in the fields like flowers” announced my good friend Tatiana, as she pointed to another missile poking it’s head out from the wheat field beside us. “My babushka survived WWII, and told me the same story.” it’s funny how we live in circles.

“Are you scared?” It was a question I heard a dozen times myself.

“No. Scared of what? Death? Something we all will get to?” she said looking me straight with her deep, blue eyes.

She was right. When I first came to Ukraine, I wanted to run to the border with the first air raid alarm - but soon, you hear it 7 times a day. You hear mines boom, and trace the smoke of where missiles hit.

Maybe it was my danger threshold expanding, but soon, I began to joke about it with dark humor. Not because we found any of it silly, but to help us find comfort amongst the daily attacks. If you can dance in a bullet-proof vest, maybe this war won’t kill you.

“Pee between the mines!” our guards would yell from the road as we stop the caravan for a bathroom break. “Don’t get hit by the shooting stars!” I’ll yell back