Two years ago, RFI met a family separated by the war in Ukraine. Volodymyr and Nataliia had lost their home near Kyiv, and Natallia left for Paris with their children. Now, like many Ukrainian refugees, she has decided to return home, despite the ongoing war – and the other, more unexpected, challenges going back entails.
Nataliia greets us with a big smile and gifts: her favourite Ukrainian sweets, which helped her get through her exile in Paris. We first met in February 2023, when she was living in the French capital her two children, Hanna and Ivan. The family had fled Ukraine days after the Russian invasion, and the destruction of their home. Nataliia's husband, Volodymyr, had stayed behind in Bucha, a suburb of the Ukrainian capital. Forbidden from leaving the country, he set about rebuilding a home for his family.
Today, we meet Nataliia in the centre of Kyiv. She wants to show us the old town. "It's a bit like Montmartre," she says as she takes us down Andrew's Descent, a street renowned for its artists.
Last July, she packed the family's bags, sold their furniture and left Paris to return home, despite the war that is still raging.
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In front of the sky blue St. Michael's Golden-Domed Monastery, destroyed tanks sit as a reminder of the Ukrainian resistance that prevented Russian forces from entering the capital. "This represents our success," says Nataliia. "There are also civilian cars. I think these are vehicles that were bombed by the Russians in Bucha or Irpin, when people were trying to evacuate."
‘I'm on home ground'
Since her return, Nataliia hasn't had much time to herself. So, after more than two years away, this walk around her city means a lot. "I'm on home ground, I'm in my hometown," she says, excited. "And it's important for me to be able to bear witness to life in war, to remind us of our history, who we are and why we're fighting: for this freedom, for our children's future."
It's hard to know how many Ukrainian refugees, like Nataliia, have made their way home. According to the UN's International Organization for Migration and the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, of the 14 million Ukrainians who have fled their homes since 24 February, 2022, almost 4.3 million have already returned – around a quarter of them from abroad.
Nataliia says she will remember the moment she and her children crossed the border back into Ukraine, on the train from Warsaw, for the rest of her life. "The children were asleep and I started to cry with joy – at last, I'm home! It was crazy."
At the station, her husband was waiting for her with a bouquet of flowers. "Before the war, he didn't give me many flowers! And then my mother had prepared plenty of food, and the whole family was around the table, saying hurrah, you're finally with us."
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The first few weeks, however, were challenging. The family had to get used to the power cuts again, and the daily air raid alerts. "When we first came back, I couldn't sleep. The children couldn't even hear the alerts! I took medication, but after that I couldn't wake up. So at one point, I said that's enough. I turned everything off, the alerts and the news."
Seven months on, the siren that wails as we warm ourselves up in a café no longer bothers her. The illusion of normality that Ukrainians have had to live with for almost three years has once again become her daily routine.
In the middle of the crowd on Independence Square, the nerve centre of Kyiv and the scene of the Maidan Revolution in 2013, she notes there is a "ballistic threat" and calls her children to check they are following "the two walls rule" – meaning there must be two walls between you and the street. On the other end of the line, Ivan and Hanna reply distractedly: "Yes, yes, Mum..."
"I was more stressed in France than here," says Nataliia. "Here, I see the alert on my phone and life goes on. In France, I was always following the alerts on Telegram. When I saw that it was in Kyiv, I sent text messages, then when nobody answered I couldn't sleep."
A return to 'normality'
Today, the family lives in a residential area of Kyiv. The work to rebuild a house on their land has been delayed, but they work on it every weekend, even if it bears little resemblance to the beautiful yellow house they lived in before the invasion. They are making do – with compensation from the city of Kyiv and help from the Ukrainian Fund for International Volunteers, a French humanitarian organisation.
On her return, Nataliia was lucky enough to be able to return to her job as a language teacher at the National Defence University of Ukraine, a military higher education institute. "I'm doing what I know how to do and what I like to do. That's important to me," she says, with relief.
In Paris, with the help of the Lesoult family, who took Nataliia and her children in on their arrival, and to whom she is "infinitely grateful", she was taken on as a reception assistant for the Democratic Movement political party, where she also wrote articles on the situation in Ukraine for the party's blog.
She has rediscovered the sense of purpose she had been missing 2,000 kilometres from home, even though she sent money to the army every month during her time away from Ukraine.
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Her pride in teaching English to officers in the Ukrainian army can be heard in her voice – she leads intensive four-month sessions, six hours a day, to enable soldiers to communicate or handle equipment sent from abroad. She also continues to give online French lessons to Ukrainian refugees, and refuses to "let them go before they've reached survival level!".
At first glance, Nataliia looks like she's picked up where she left off in March 2022. But as her story unfolds, it becomes clear things are not that simple. Inevitably, her two and a half years away were not without consequences.
"I don't regret coming back at all, because I'm with my family, as are my children, I'm with my husband. For us, that's the most important thing." But, she confides, "the separation was a complicated period" for the couple, and when she got back they had to learn to live together again.
The most painful thing has been the lack of understanding she sometimes feels among those close to her who have stayed in Kyiv throughout. It's a rift that's hard to heal, and it's also fed, she thinks, by a feeling of betrayal, even jealousy perhaps. For many Ukrainians, she says, even before the war Europe sounded like an El Dorado – a place that promised a better life.
"Everyone thought it was a thousand times better than Ukraine. We had fantasies, no doubt linked to the Soviet Union and when the borders were closed." So for those who stayed at home, for her to come back to a country at war, with children, when she had a flat and a job in Paris and spoke the language... "They can't understand. They think, is she crazy or what?"
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The decision to return was not an easy one. "I wanted to come back from day one, but I always had doubts about whether I was doing the right thing for my children, because my husband was always telling me no, you have to stay, the children have to live in peace, you have to sleep well, that's what's important."
Right up until her last day in Paris, he hoped that she would change her mind. But for Nataliia, life in France had become unbearable.
"We are very grateful for what France has done for us and for all the Ukrainian refugees," she insists. "But it's too complicated to be away from your family. And life is very difficult, especially for refugees, both materially and morally. Because all our roots are here in Ukraine. Over there, I was alone, everything was on my shoulders. I had to deal with all the problems, paperwork, for the flat, at work, with the schools... Everything I earned went to the rent. It was my husband who paid for our food. I couldn't live there on my own with two children."
The children went to school in France for two years, but also continued to follow the Ukrainian curriculum via distance learning in the evenings and at weekends, in the hope of eventually returning. For Nataliia, on top of everything else, this timetable was too much. "I said stop, we can't live like this!"
Especially since she could see, on her visits home to see her family, that "people were still living here, trying to enjoy themselves". "I said to myself, why do my children and I have to suffer in France if we can be with our families, be together and enjoy every day? Why do I have to cry myself to sleep every night without my husband, without my children's father, without my parents, without my loved ones? Of course," she concedes, "if we lived in occupied territory, if we didn't have a roof over our heads, things would be different."
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It was in a Telegram messaging group set up by a Ukrainian psychologist that she found the support she needed to put her fears to bed and take the plunge and go home. In the group, women, often mothers like her, refugees all over Europe, shared their worries. Others, who had already returned, talked about their experiences.
Nataliia does not want to seem ungrateful to France. Her favourite things there, she says, were the châteaux, Normandy, the ocean and Berthillon ice cream – "a great stress reliever!" She knows that having temporary protection status made her situation among refugees rather enviable. But her eyes mist over and her jaw clenches when she thinks back to those two and a half years, when she felt herself drowning in problems.
How are Hanna and Ivan, now 13 and 11? "They're happy, they've got their own room and their friends back," she says. "Everyone thinks there's no future here. But if everyone leaves, what will become of this country? Nothing. So it's up to us and our children to rebuild."
We pass beneath the imposing Arch of Freedom of the Ukrainian People, a monument from the Soviet era, then named the Peoples' Friendship Arch, Nataliia explains. Night has fallen, it's cold, and yet there are lots of people around. "We live each day," says Nataliia – day by day. "Before, I wouldn't buy anything, I'd save for the children, for work [on the house]. But now, no... you have to live now, you have to enjoy it. You never know what tomorrow will bring."
This article has been adapted from the original French version, by our correspondent in Kyiv.
