An old yellow van bobs along an icy road in front of us. The body leans disconcertingly to the right, no doubt a result of several decades of punishment on the potholed roads common in Eastern Ukraine. Both our ambulance and the van have been loaded to the ceilings with humanitarian aid. It is early in the morning, and we’ve been driving to a cluster of villages that were formerly occupied and mostly destroyed by Russian forces earlier in the war.

Earlier this year I spent six weeks operating an ambulance in Eastern Ukraine on behalf of Kiwi K.A.R.E., working with another Australian, Ritchie. On our days off we helped deliver aid to villagers – some who had been liberated from Russian occupation, and some who were in the path of current Russian advances. The tenacity and resilience of the Ukrainians we met was inspiring and uplifting.

After an hour or so we turn into our first village, Kam’yanka. It was once a cosy village where the Hrekivka and Siversky Donetsk rivers meet. Low brick houses with tin roofs hug both sides of the road against a backdrop of fertile fields – in some ways its reminiscent of small country towns in rural Australia. But the village is not as it once was. It is difficult to spot a house that has not been shattered by war – most have collapsed roofs; many have been spattered with shrapnel or machine gun fire. Garden fences that are still standing have been cordoned off with red tape and triangular signs warning of mines and unexploded bombs.

The yellow van takes a turn and then stops near two houses that look largely intact and fly Ukrainian flags in the gardens. Most houses on this street have either been burnt out from the inside or reduced to a pile of bricks and corrugated iron. Nikolai, a man in his seventies, alights from the van dressed as Father Christmas, and three locals soon emerge from the fortunate house – Tatiana, Alexander, and Vasim.

Greetings and hugs are exchanged. They know Nikolai, but two Australians are an unexpected sight in the depths of winter and the source of some amusement. The air is minus 10 degrees and unloading the vans is cold work, although the three locals seem unbothered despite wearing thin track pants and foregoing gloves. Boxes of clothing, bags of food, bottles of vitamins and medicines are unpacked to grateful smiles. Tatiana and Alexander invite us inside their home to warm up. The house is a contrast to outside, a pot belly stove keeps the house warm and cosy. Two twin boys of around four years old play in an armchair and are delighted to receive presents from Father Christmas.

Vasim joins us. He lives in the house next door, also with two children. He does not mention his wife and given all that has happened I decide against asking where she is. The two families returned to their homes shortly after the Russians were ejected from the village in late 2022. There are no services in the town, no shops, no schools, no gas. The stove must be lit around the clock to keep the bitter cold at bay. All the cars in the village were either stolen or destroyed during the occupation so there is no way to easily leave the village. They have been teaching the children the alphabet on a whiteboard in the corner of the kitchen. Despite the hardship and the destruction outside, it is their home and their land, and they are determined not to give up.

Kam’yanka is in the eastern province, or “Oblast,” of Luhansk. The Russian border is less than 100km away and in early 2022 Russian forces made swift progress in capturing Kam’yanka and other small villages. But in September that year, Ukraine launched an unexpected counteroffensive. Russian forces had been expecting a counteroffensive in the south-west of the country and were caught off guard and poorly prepared. In less than 30 days Ukrainian forces liberated roughly 12,000 square kilometres of territory, and more than five hundred villages. Kam’yanka is a typical example. As I come to learn, the courage, tenacity, and determination of people like Tatiana, Alexander and Vasim are the hallmarks of many people who I meet in these villages. Many of whom have returned to rebuild their lives despite the hardship, and some of whom refused to leave their homes despite the occupation.

Not far from Kam’yanka is the village of Shandryholove – Ritchie, Nikolai and I are there to deliver packages of children’s winter clothing. We are greeted in perfect English by Yelena, a 20-something woman, and the local teacher. Chatting with her is a nice break from using voice translation apps. She enjoys new languages and is currently learning Korean “just for the enjoyment of learning.” As the children try on new winter jackets, Yelena tells us that the village was evacuated early in the full-scale invasion. But since the liberation, villagers have started to return. She explains that there are no jobs and not much comes in or out of the village. But villagers grow food in their gardens and share what they have. Some hunt in the nearby forests, but many animals fled the fighting so game can be scarce. Their region was once famous for forests and wildlife, but she is not sure how pristine they are now given the fighting that has gone on. I’m curious why she and others have chosen to return, do they know that Russia is once again pushing west in an effort to recapture her village and others. “Yes, it can be difficult to be here, and yes, we think about the dangers. But this is our land and our home. We cannot replace it.”

While many villagers are returning to their homes, there are some who never left. We drive to another town nearby where Nikolai has heard some people may still be living. Mala Komyshuvkha is smaller than the other villages and it is hard to find an undamaged house at first. Eventually Nikolai spots one and we are greeted by Yuri and Hara, a couple likely in their sixties. They have not left the village in some time – cars in this village were also either stolen or destroyed – and they are glad to have some visitors. They’ve been subsisting mostly on potatoes and Hara is overjoyed to receive a box of sweet biscuits, kilograms of pasta, and bags of rice and grains. Ukrainians pride themselves on their hospitality, and it is insisted that we visit their home. The main kitchen and living area have been damaged and gaps around the windows mean the stove struggles to compete with drafts of frigid winter air. The ceiling is built from old fashioned plaster, a mix of straw and clay or mud, and pieces of straw are visible across much of the kitchen ceiling. Yuri talks about the occupation and is excited about showing us the basement. It is small, dark, and dusty. Drying racks store potatoes, and there’s room for a makeshift bed, but not much else. Yuri explains that unlike most residents of Mala Komyshuvkha, he and his wife did not flee the fighting. They stayed during the Russian occupation but were too afraid of the Russian soldiers to sleep upstairs in the house. During the Ukrainian counteroffensive, the Russians hid in nearby houses, attracting Ukrainian artillery fire. Once Russian forces had been pushed out, they then shelled what remained of the village in frustration. In all, Yuri and Hara lived in the basement for almost a year.

Secure in Australia it’s hard to imagine their experience. Hard to imagine whether we would make the same choices. But people like Yuri and Hara aren’t uncommon. There are a variety of reasons why people stay put. Some lack transport, and some are too frail to travel. Some cannot imagine what it would be like to leave the place they have spent most of their lives. And for some, staying is an act of stubborn defiance, perhaps in the hope that at least their home will not be occupied.

Kam’yanka, Shandryholove and Mala Komyshuvkha were occupied for less than a year. But in some parts of Ukraine the war has been at people’s doorsteps for a lot longer. Two weeks later, and one hundred kilometres south, we find ourselves just outside Avdiivka, Donetsk Oblast. We have been asked to help evacuate a husband and wife, Alex and Anna. Very few volunteers could enter the city at the time due to the intensity of Russia’s attempt to capture it, so the White Angels charity and one of our friends have evacuated the couple to a nearby town where we meet them. Many civilians remain in the city, and from his own pocket Ritchie has purchased enough food to last fifty families a few days. We donate the food to the White Angels, and load Alex and Anna’s belongings into the ambulance. It’s minus 15 degrees, but it’s the cloudless sky and possibility of Russian FPV drones that drives us to work fast.

It’s an eight-hour drive across Ukraine to Anna’s mothers’ home, and along the way we learn about their life in Avdiivka. Alex worked in the coking plant, the largest in Europe he proudly points out, and was responsible for maintaining the machinery. Anna was a nurse. They have lived in Avdiivka all their life. In 2014 when Russian proxies seized nearby Donetsk city, they decided to stay put and see how things would play out. Even though the front line settled down in 2015, fighting never really stopped and shelling of the city remained common. By 2022 they had grown used to it in a way, and decided that they were determined to stay put, even after the full- scale invasion intensified Russia’s assault on Avdiivka.

Like many Ukrainians, Alex and Anna’s home is on a large block, big enough for a garden where they grew most of their own food. Anna shows me photos of trees laden with fruit, and tomatoes and cucumbers that would be the envy of any green thumb. This type of self-reliance is common outside the major cities, it’s almost a point of pride, and in war it gives people the ability to hang on despite the odds. The closure of the coke plant and other facilities in the town put Alex and Anna out of work some time ago, but their garden keeps them fed and healthy. Until recently they still could not bear the thought of abandoning their home, Anna’s mother is their only surviving relative, and she lives in a tiny Soviet era apartment. But the intensity of Russia’s assault on Avdiivka has become too much even for them. Anna shares photos of their home, mortars collapsed the roof and the garden fence some time ago, but still they hung on. It was not until a shell blew open the entrance to the basement that they were willing to leave.

It has been years since Anna’s mother last saw her daughter, and she greets her and Alex with the most intense hugs and cries of joy. It is a bittersweet reunion, Anna and Alex are not sure how they will make a new life in a big city. They hope to go back to their home, but with US aid for Ukraine blocked in Congress, nobody is sure when Ukraine will be able to liberate more towns and cities like Avdiivka.[Editor’s note: This was written earlier in 2024]  In the meantime, Alex has decided he will volunteer “I will find a place and help other people who have also had to leave their homes. Perhaps one day we can all return home.”