9. Slava from Charkiw

I settled into the threadbare chair at the volunteer centre, my cup of lukewarm tea between my hands. The weight of another long night pressed on my eyelids, pulling them down. Across from me sat a little boy, Slava, his face taut with the unnatural gravity only trauma could etch into a boy of his age.

The room was dimly lit, and shadows of displaced families moved like dancing ghosts on the walls. In the midst of it all, Slava’s pale eyes stared back at mine, deep wells holding stories that should never belong to a child.

He began to speak, his voice a soft whisper, and I leaned forward to catch his every word.

“We lived in Charkiw,” Slava began, “Then, the sirens would scream at all hours, and we would be yanked from our beds to huddle in the basements.”

The way he spoke transported me to those harrowing moments. I could almost hear the eerie wailing of the sirens, and feel the chill of the basements where families hid, clutching their loved ones close.

“We didn’t have much food. Mostly just canned beans and stale bread,” he continued. “Sometimes we sang songs to distract ourselves from our hunger and the sounds outside. We could hear the rumble of explosions.”

I reached out and held his hand, feeling the chill of his fingers. The weight of his experience seemed to be channelled into our connected hands.

“One day, they announced that a bus would come,” he said, tears forming in his eyes. “But there were only two seats left. Grandpa and Grandma had to stay.” His voice was quite, and he seemed distracted, as if trying to understand his own words. Then he whispered, “We still haven’t heard from them.”

A few silent minutes later he whispered again, “We haven’t heard from Papa either…”

The surrounding room seemed to fall silent, Slava’s story hanging in the air, as I pulled him into a gentle embrace, trying to offer him some comfort. “You’re brave, Slava,” I whispered just as quitely. “Your family is also brave and strong. This war will pass, and you will see them all again.”

He nodded, wiping away his tears, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope. Of course, I lied. I couldn’t possibly know that his family would be safe and sound. However, at that moment he simply needed hope, and I couldn’t deny him that. Hope was the only thing that mattered.