Ukraine's evacuees try to keep 'some feeling of home'

"Leaving one's own house is really hard. The fear of having to go to a different city can sometimes be greater than the fear of death," says Hennadiy Yudin, an officer working with a special police unit called the White Angels, who help Ukrainians evacuate from conflict zones.

Accompanied by Yudin and three of his colleagues, we are driving through the streets of Myrnohrad, a mining town in the Donetsk region, southwest of the Russian-occupied city of Avdiivka in eastern Ukraine.

The Russian military is getting closer to Myrnohrad every day, and the front line is now less than 10 kilometers (6.2 miles) from the city. Myrnohrad regularly comes under fire and as a result, the city's population has dropped from around 47,000 to less than 2,000, according to local authorities.

The White Angels police unit is bringing people out of the city in an armored minibus. Inside the vehicle are bulletproof vests and helmets of all sizes, for children and for adults. 

"There's practically no children left here now," says Yudin. "There are still two families who have children and they're looking for accommodation [elsewhere] but they'll leave on their own."

The authorities can't force inhabitants to leave, Yudin explains. He himself had to leave his hometown, Avdiivka, so he knows how hard it is for people to give up their homes.

"I'll say Avdiivka is a good example — there's neither a functioning hospital there anymore nor any ambulance service. Nobody is there to help with an evacuation," says Yudin. This is how he often convinces locals to evacuate.

Russian drone attacks on the rise 

Today, the White Angels are on their way to pick up two men who do want to be evacuated. They live on the southern edge of the city, which often comes under Russian drone attacks.

But when the team gets there, they can't find the men. They try to reach them by phone. While they do so, we hear the loud barking of a neighborhood dog. There are a few dogs on the streets, most likely left behind when their families evacuated. 

It turns out that one of the men, Vitaly, is making his way to Pokrovsk on foot; that's where evacuation trains are leaving from. The police team catches up with him and helps load his bags into the minivan. Then they find the other man, Sergei, at a bus stop. He's there with three women, but they say they're staying — for now.

"We can still handle it," one of them tells the team.

The police officers drive further, toward Pokrovsk. The two men in the vehicle seem sad and hardly speak. There's a bus waiting for them in Pokrovsk, which will take them to Pavlohrad in the eastern Dnipropetrovsk region. After that, they'll head to a shelter for displaced people in Kropyvnytskyi.

City's population dropping

Pokrovsk is southwest of Myrnohrad. According to regional authorities, there are still 26,000 people in the city, which once had a population of around 60,000. Of those remaining, about a thousand are children.

In the mornings, Pokrovsk is still fairly lively. Locals stroll along streets where markets and vegetable stands sell their wares. One of the sellers there, Natalya, says she'll think about evacuating once she's sold everything.

"Where would I go?," she asks. "Not everyone can afford to rent another apartment."

Another of the traders, Sergei, says he'd like to stay but he wants his child to be brought to safety.

Around midday, Pokrovsk's train station starts to get busy. A couple of pensioners sit on a bench on the platform, surrounded by large bags.

"See what's happening here?" Volodymyr tells us. He means the shooting and the bombing. That's why he and his wife, Halyna, are leaving the city.

"It is so sad that our city is being given up," Halyna adds.

The couple have rented a house in a village in the Dnipropetrovsk region and they're moving there bit by bit. "But you can't take everything with you at once," Volodymyr shrugs. He's also worried their pension won't cover their living costs in their new home.

A 24-hour trip west

Also waiting at the station is 80-year-old Lyubov. "I don't know if I'm going to survive all this," she concedes, as she explains how it will take her 24 hours to get to the city of Lviv in western Ukraine. From Lviv, she'll head for the Carpathian region.

The older woman is being helped on her journey by a soldier sitting next to her. He's also waiting for a train to western Ukraine. He and a number of his comrades managed to get out of the city of Novohrodivka, which was overtaken by the Russian army in late August.

Rescue workers and volunteers are helping those with limited mobility board the train.

"It would be better to die than to live as an invalid," says Ludmila, 85, who comes from Rodynske. Near her on the train are her daughter, Nelya, and Nelya's mother-in-law, Kateryna, who's 85.

Nelya says the three have decided to leave because "it's getting pretty loud here and the police already called us [about evacuating]." Her teenage son and older daughter are waiting for them in the Ukrainian capital, Kyiv. From there, they want to go together to Finland.

"It's sad to leave the place where you were born and where you grew up," Nelya continues. As she speaks, her mother begins to cry. The trio had earlier decided not to leave home but as Rodynske became empty of people, they agreed to evacuate.

Essential workers remaining

The time has come. Anybody who isn't coming along for the trip has to get off the train now, the conductor says. Victoria, a student, jumps onboard at the last minute. She has just left her mother Svetlana behind on the platform. Svetlana is crying because she, too, wants to be on the train. 

"But we have to stay one more month," explains Svetlana, whose farm is in the village of Novovasylivka. "We have to get the combine harvesters onto the fields and sell the cows."

She says she feels huge regret about having to leave their farm, but she knows how dangerous staying would be.

Another man on the platform looks through a carriage window: his wife and son are seated inside, his son is waving. The man can't leave yet, he has to keep working at a coal mine for the time being. "One day, two days, a week — nobody knows how long the mine is still going to be operating," he says.

As the train pulls away, another older man remains on the platform. "I'll take the next train. This one is full already," he says, even though he knows that there are still plenty of seats inside.

"Smile," he encourages his wife as she looks at him through the window. As the train starts to move, he waves at his wife, then leaves the station quickly. As he does, he covers his face with both hands.

'Take some feeling of home with me'

The curfew in Pokrovsk starts at 3 p.m. and after the train leaves, the city streets start to empty out quickly. Now and then military or police vehicles drive past.

"Earlier this city was such a beautiful, lively place. It was the best," says Dmytro, a local man.

His wife and his 18-year-old daughter have already been evacuated and he says he'll probably leave soon too. He just wants to pack up a few more things before he does.

"I want to take some feeling of home with me," Dmytro explains and then invites us into his home to show us the possessions that are so close to his heart.

"This is where my roots are," he says sadly.

This article was originally written in Ukrainian.