THE END OF FEBRUARY marked one year since the Russian invasion of Ukraine began. There were gatherings and protests around the world in observance, many showing support and solidarity with Ukraine. The United States snuck the president into the capital city of Kyiv—a covert trip and the first time in modern history a sitting president has visited a foreign state amidst an active armed conflict of which the US was not in control—to meet with the Ukrainian president, signaling the US’s continued commitment to its cause. Billions of US dollars are being sent in support of the war effort. The European Union passed its 10th round of economic sanctions against Russian since the conflict began, which Ukraine says need to be tougher. In Germany, a gathering of some 10,000 people rallied with demand that the German government stop supporting Ukraine and start negotiating with Russia. In Britain, a march calling for peace talks was met with protesters carrying banners in support of continued arms support for Ukraine. China released a neutral statement calling for an end to the fighting but without demands or condemnation of Russia—including a noted omission of that word ‘invasion.’ The president of France responded favorably to China’s statement in favor of peace efforts, maintaining his stance that compromise will be necessary to end the conflict. The world’s attention then turned to a high profile diplomatic meeting scheduled between the Chinese government and the president of Russian-allied Belarus.
Both Russia and Ukraine have vowed to continue the fight until the war is won without any clear picture of an end in sight.
Some 5000 miles away in Bremerton, I’m standing at the entrance of Illahee State Park–reading the story of Pearl Harbor Hero Doris Miller on the park’s info board with the Naval artillery monument to military sacrifice through the trees over my left shoulder–waiting to meet up with the Zapliusvichka family.
April will mark one year the family has lived in Kitsap since fleeing the war.
I’d offered to buy them a cup of coffee and walk along the shoreline at Lion’s Park, but they suggested Illahee instead. Hanna waves me over as they arrive by car and motions for me to get into the backseat. After smiles and greetings, Sasha, 15, looks back at me from the front passenger seat with a grin that says, “I know something you don’t know.” He holds up a French press full of hot homemade coffee and waits for my reaction. I am stoked. We laugh and drive down to the beach. On the way, I remember Sasha had told me that Illahee was one of his favorite places that he’d found since coming to Kitsap. One of his favorite things to do is walk around Bremerton.
Every Monday after school, he and his sister Albina, 14, and his mom Hanna come to Illahee and drive down to sit at the beach.
“We come here to clear our minds,” Sasha says as we sit at a picnic table on the bulkhead above the beach. Albina pours a cup of coffee for Hanna and I. “No thinking about work, or school, or…” That sentiment lingers in a comfortable silence as the sun sets behind the trees, painting the sky pink and orange, reflecting off the still waters of Port Orchard bay on a dry crisp afternoon. We all sit and take in the serene setting for a moment without words. The park is quiet.
We are not going to talk much about war.
We talk about school and work and life.
We talk about how my two kids are almost the exact same age as Sasha and Albina. They go to the same school but haven’t met yet. Hanna and I talk about how strange it is to see kids growing up constantly connected to and scrolling through smartphones. When she was a kid, she used to go the park and throw rocks and feed birds when she was bored. Same, I reply. We talk about the Dnipro River, the largest river in Ukraine which flows through their home city, and how it compares to Puget Sound and the bay we are currently looking at. Sasha notes the Dnipro has much stronger currents. Sometimes people die trying to swim across it, he says. We talk about Albina’s favorite food, pancakes, and how the thin, stuffed, rolled Ukrainian style pancakes differ from the fat stack of buttery syrupy American style. And how they are both delicious. We talk about how Albina has been getting into pottery at school and Sasha has been learning graphic design. They recently designed a campaign of posters with a group at school, aimed at connecting people with ways to help Ukraine through donating food, clothing, supplies or dollars. “Even one dollar means so much to our country,” Albina says. “And if 1,000 people gave one dollar, or 10,000 people…” Sasha finishes the sentence, “Or 100,000 people.” We link up on instagram for the details.
We talk about how Sasha and Albina spend a lot of time at the YMCA after school and how work is going for Hanna at the Burrata Bistro and Paella Bar in Poulsbo. Hanna shows me her notebook of the kitchen’s recipes translated to Ukrainian in her handwriting. We get excited that we have finally figured out how to copy-and-paste through google translate so we can communicate with each other through text in our respective native languages. The kids laugh at us for being old. Albina talks about how parents are different in Ukraine, more controlling and allowing their children less choice than in America. She says her mom is good in letting her and Sasha have choice, except when it comes to the tattoo she wants to get, a Ukrainian flag on the back of her neck. Mom thinks she should wait until she is older before she makes a decision that will be with her for the rest of her life. I tell them you have to be 18 in America to get a tattoo, they say it is the same in Ukraine. I show them my tattoos and tell them I am in a punk rock band. Hanna recognizes those words and her eyes light up. She likes rock. She loves The Scorpions. Sasha is wearing a Pink Floyd sweatshirt and asks my favorite Pink Floyd song. I hum the first few bars of ‘Money,’ we exchange favorites, and then he tells me that he had just bought that shirt last week and was wearing it for the first time today. Everyone was asking about his favorite song, so he had to google what ‘Pink Floyd’ was, he laughs. His favorite song is ‘Breathe.’
We had all been talking and laughing and making jokes, trying to feed day old bread to shy seagulls for quite some time when the tone of the conversation changed completely and switched to exclusively Ukrainian. Hanna, Sasha and Albina are talking about something serious. I can’t understand a word of it but they are glancing in my direction occasionally. Albina pulls out her phone and reads something in Ukrainian. They all look at me again. They look concerned. I have no idea what’s going on. Following a pause, Albina says, “We just saw the sign…”
The sign that says not to feed the birds.
Aware of how many Americans regularly and often blatantly ignore state park signs, I laugh and try to reassure them that it’s probably going to be ok.
Sasha responds saying they don’t want to make any trouble with the ranger and all the thoughts that have been in the back of my mind—about how far these three are from home and what an incredibly intense situation this moment in time is—come back to the front. I think about what it would be like having to live and work and go to school in a place where no one speaks your language. I think about their father and older brother who are still in Ukraine, running the business that has been in the family for generations, while Russian airstrikes and rocket attacks are almost daily occurrences. I think about the attack that leveled an entire apartment complex a few months back in the Zapliusvichka’s home city Dnipro. I think about how their city is only a hundred-or-so miles from the frontlines of the war in Eastern Ukraine and only 500 miles from Moscow. I think about all the reports of atrocities from the war that have come across global media over the past year. I think about a year of sadness and pain and hardship for so many. I think about how many more immigrants and refugees like this family are stuck with their lives on hold, hanging in the balance. I think about how Hanna, Sasha and Albina have repeatedly told me they plan to go back to Ukraine once war is over. My heart breaks as I wonder when that might be. I think about my own family, where we would go and how we would get there if we had to pack everything we could carry and leave our home to flee from war.
My mind snaps back to the present as dusk sets in and the park is getting set to close. I say thank you for the coffee and Hanna replies, in perfect English, “You’re welcome… Or bless you?”
We all laugh and tell her that she got it right the first time. // BILLMAN
