“I feel confused by the ineffectiveness of the authorities” When we escaped the war, we dreamed of somewhere where we wouldn’t hear the bombs or live in fear of being killed by Russians. So, on the one hand, we achieved our goal and we should be happy, but it’s not always that easy or simple. First, we lived for weeks under Russian occupation. We then traveled to Europe as we waited for a UK visa. We are now faced with the overwhelming challenge of settling in Britain, which has left me conflicted. “I burst into tears in the hallway of the hostel” When we arrived in Brussels to travel by Eurostar to London we were told: “Sorry, no cats allowed”. They don’t let any animals on the train, not even a goldfish. We were told to go to Holland or France and get on a ferry or bus. I tried calling the shipping company again and again but no one ever answered. In Calais, everywhere was closed, but a woman I met on the street said she would introduce me to another Ukrainian woman who had also applied for a pet passport. She was staying in a hostel and surprisingly when we got there I saw that it was my friend Alina. We met when I worked in the Kyiv region and our daughters even went to the same school. “You need a European passport, with stars, for a cat,” he told me. “Otherwise they won’t let you on the ship.” Once I applied, no one was able to tell me how long the wait would be. Maybe tomorrow, maybe five days, no one knew. The uncertainty of if and when we could actually go to London hit me completely. I burst into tears in the hallway of the hostel. A vet suggested blood tests on the cat to check for antibodies and expedite the cat’s ‘visa’. They offered this service for free, but Venera is no ordinary cat. After many attempts and many scratches, they said she would have to be sedated. After that visit, I cried all day as Venus finally slept peacefully in her pram. After many calls and emails to the UK Animal and Plant Health Authority (APHA) we finally got permission and with it the green light to travel to Britain. Venus the cat is getting used to her new environment. Photo: Olha/Guardian Community “My children are very lonely” One of the first questions I asked the local council was about the school. My children have not been able to study since the war started on February 24th. I imagined that my children would go to school immediately upon arrival as there were over two months left until the end of the school year. But no. They sent me a page with a list of schools, but it’s not easy to choose from a list of something you know nothing about. After waiting for answers, we started visiting our neighborhood schools, but they turned us away. I asked the council for help many times. Getting my kids into school is the main priority right now. Some schools suggest I wait until September to see if they have places, but my children are very lonely, they can’t talk to peers, they can’t integrate. A lamp decorated by Olha’s daughter. Photo: Olha/Guardian Community Finally, my daughter received a letter. It was a card with a clear inscription in capital letters: “Work allowed.” Has the world gone mad? After five weeks of waiting, a 12-year-old received a work permit instead of a school permit. The school situation is negatively affecting my ability to get a job as well. The job center staff know my kids don’t start school until September and I can’t work until then. I have three degrees in different specialties and the job center staff told me to apply for cleaning or shelf stacking jobs at Tesco. “The world is just gray” It seems that the system should work according to an algorithm – to get A, you need to do B, and in extreme cases C. Psychologically, it would be easier if there was at least a warning of problems and some kind of time frame. Instead of the supposed “few days”, the expectation becomes “week by week” without a specific end point. If I had come to London a year ago, I would have been enchanted by its beauty and architecture, but now I feel nothing. The world is just gray. Every morning is a struggle to get out of bed. Then I remember that I have so much to do for my children. Continuous forms, email writing, appointment tracking. If I have a free day, I try to find Ukrainian books (I visit the library but there are none in my language) or access the local gym, which is free for Ukrainian refugees. Leaves spread on a familiar Ukrainian coat of arms. Photo: Olha/Guardian Community I’m worried I’ll never see my parents again. The worst days were when the Russians cut off communication for people in Kherson and I couldn’t talk to my family. But now the internet is restored, we can talk. I am sending pictures of their grandchildren. In return, they send me a photo of a burning car outside their house. Shot with people in it for breaking curfew. I’m getting more and more frustrated with forced inactivity. It’s impossible to find comfort when your friends and family are on the front lines and busy. I feel an overwhelming desire to do something useful and help Ukraine even from here. I take part in various demonstrations, helping with translation and raising money for the war effort. It’s volunteer work, so I’m not getting paid, but until I can work, it’s all I can do to help my people.
