October 16th – Kherson Region, Ukraine

The drive changed the moment we crossed into the deoccupied areas of Ukraine.

We were heading out for the day with the Fortress of Good NGO church team to visit a devastated but liberated village in the Kherson region. Our driver was Andriy, a volunteer and local farmer whose childhood home was in one of these villages we were visiting. As we drove, he told us how his sunflower crop had failed this year due to drought—there’s no irrigation here anymore, not since Russia bombed the Kakhovka dam in 2023.

Then the landscape shifted. Severe damage to houses became the norm. And everywhere—absolutely everywhere—white ticker tape tied to vegetation. The density was hard to fathom: markers every square meter in some places.

At first, I was curious about the tape. Then I learned the truth: each piece marks where a landmine has been found.

This doesn’t mean the area is clear. It’s more of a warning that landmines have been found here, which means uncleared areas still commonly exist. We watched specialised demining equipment working through agricultural fields. Andriy himself had paid to have his paddock cleared. After the clearance, he worked his field with his tractor and dislodged a mine. Seven more were found later. He was thankful he didn’t get blown to pieces, but as he said, an element of doubt will remain for years—in some areas, forever. Mushroom picking in certain forests will likely never happen again. Landmines are banned in many countries for very good reason.

A Village I’d Been Praying For

This particular village had been in my thoughts and prayers since I’d visited with Pastor Oleg back in July 2023. I could still recall the names of all the villagers I’d met. I’d even written about them in The Weekend Australian. Back then, it had only been a few months since people had returned to their houses—or what was left of them.

This area had been the site of fierce battles. Russia invaded and occupied it in March 2022. For around a month, most residents were trapped in their basements under fire, fearing for their lives, until eventually they were able to evacuate under very dangerous conditions. Ukraine counterattacked, and many Ukrainian heroes lost their lives liberating this land. Residents felt tinged joy to have their stolen land returned. Hope grew that some semblance of their lives might be rebuilt—though this was obviously going to be a mammoth task.

When I first visited in 2023, they’d barely just begun. They still lived in rubble and under tarps, cooking outside. Their fields were full of mines, war debris, and unexploded ordnance.

Entering again in 2025, the damage was still hard to fathom. In the cities, Ukrainians are legendarily quick at cleaning up after Russian attacks—it’s like they refuse to let the visual effects linger any longer than necessary. But in the villages, with such widespread devastation and loss, this just can’t be done as quickly. I’d shared photos with Ron from my visit two years earlier, but he said nothing could have prepared him for being there in person.

Life Returns, Despite Everything

But life was returning, regardless of everything, though threats still remain courtesy of Russia. Some destroyed houses were still waiting to be cleared and deemed safe due to unexploded ordnance and landmines. Reconnaissance drones fly overhead. An explosion occurred not far away—we think it may have been artillery fire, but no one seemed sure, or even that interested.

Yet five or six houses were being or had been rebuilt, thanks to international NGO Razom’s help. The legendary Kherson watermelons were being grown again out of a cleared paddock. There was a sense of community still, even though it was a skeleton of the past. The recovery path for this village is yet to be seen—they have a long way to go and have experienced severe trauma. But they are there, restarting their lives. Quite an outstanding testament to human resilience and determination.

On the way, we went through two checkpoints where we got questioned about what we were doing. One checkpoint was covered in drone nets, which I found curious—I’d thought (hoped) we were well out of drone range there.

At one point during the day, we heard an explosion and looked to the horizon to see smoke rising. Lola, one of the Ukrainian team, looked at us shocked and asked, “Aren’t you scared?”

I didn’t quite know what to say. Ukrainians ask us that all the time, but they live here. And it’s still a lottery, like everything else that can kill you. Driving the highway in Australia is a lottery. While very few people particularly like exposing themselves unnecessarily to risks, I guess it comes down to what you see as necessary. If death or disability comes to me compliments of russia, I can currently see no better reason than standing up to such clear brutality and barbarism beside a people who didn’t ask for it. My faith leads me to know that it’s more important what you do with your life than how long you live.

The Sting of Exploitation

As we drove, Andriy warned us not to take photos. I was curious about this—when I visited in 2023, they were almost begging me to film and photograph everything. Then I learned something that broke my heart.

This village, but Tania and Serhei in particular (perhaps because they lived at the entrance), had been deeply hurt by exploitative journalists and photographers intruding on their lives, taking photos, and then leaving without any care for the people who lived there.

Serhei seemed particularly scarred and didn’t stop to say hello—either because he was too traumatised or because he was busy working on his house, maybe both. But Tania greeted me with a hug and gratefully accepted the warm jackets we’d brought, assuring me that both she and Serhei remembered me.

What seemed particularly special was seeing that they were now growing watermelons again. When I came in 2023, their fields were full of mines and they couldn’t grow their famous, award-winning watermelons. Tania wanted to give the melons to us, but it was a great pleasure to support the return of their business by buying some.

Stories That Need to Be Heard

We joined in a little church service in one of the renovated cottages, with singing and prayer. One of the old ladies who’d been laughing and telling jokes suddenly looked more serious as she shared the horror of their time under battles and occupation. Another lady shared how she and her husband ended up trapped in a basement for a month with a car on top of the entrance, sleeping on sacks of potatoes in their cellar and fearing that the cellar would become their tomb.

Another old lady, Valya, remembered me well and seemed thrilled that I still had photos on my phone from my visit to her house in 2023. In typical Ukrainian generosity, they cooked a simple but generous and delicious meal for us in their home. She then showed me around her house, trying to show me both what they’d rebuilt and repaired since my last visit and the remaining bullet holes and damage.

I commented on the rosehips she had drying on a table. Next thing I knew, she was insisting on giving me a bag of them and wouldn’t take no for an answer!

I ended up providing some medical advice for Valya and her husband Grisha. It turned out that Grisha had serious disability of his arm because of a problem that probably could have been fixed, but they were too frightened to go into the city because of the missiles and also couldn’t afford the tests needed. They happily accepted the warm jackets we’d brought too.

Small Victories

I saw Ira and her son Sasha. Last time, Sasha was so traumatised that he could barely look at us. This time, he took my gifts and smiled, showed me his cats and their names, and proudly showed me his simple room. Ira proudly showed me the simple but comfortable house they’d been able to rebuild out of the rubble I’d seen before.

There were still landmine signs around. Demining machines were still working there.

The Ripple Effects Continue

As we drove home, the team shared more stories. After the Russians destroyed the Kakhovka dam in June 2023, the water in Kryvyi Rih went from being drinkable from the tap to being so brown they couldn’t even wash or cook with it. Now they buy filtered water at stations that have been set up around the town. The water looked like herbal tea. The bore levels dropped, and those who could afford to had to dig deeper bores—down to 60 meters!

We went back to our apartment and wrapped ourselves in our blankets as there was no heating and much of the time no power. This was all thanks to russia’s bombardment of power and gas stations. It was so cold and winter is not even here yet – it is going to be such a tough time for Ukrainians this winter….

Why This Work Matters

The next day, I had a meeting online with Australian doctors about Ukraine aid and got an incoming KAB bomb alert, so I had to continue the meeting from the hallway closet. Thankfully, air defense got it.

Later, I taught a family doctors group at the church. What an incredible group of doctors—super motivated to help their patients and improve their health system even while living in a city bombarded almost daily by the Russians. I was moved almost to tears when, after our great interactive session, the doctors said that this had given them more motivation and strength “to stay.”

These doctors are brave and resilient. They choose to stay to help their country. Knowing I could play a small part in encouraging them meant so much. We’ve established connections and will continue collaborations into the future. They’re excited about our upcoming medical education platform that will provide ongoing support.

And as is so often the case—even though they’re the ones going through so much—they gave me some lovely gifts.

This work continues because of people like you who believe that standing beside Ukraine matters. The medical training vehicles, the supplies, the education platform—all of it is possible because of donor support. If you’d like to help these brave doctors stay and serve, or support villages like this one as they rebuild, you can contribute here.