The woman hung up the phone and looked at her 12-year-old daughter. ‘Dad has died,’ she said, her voice shaking.
As the pair broke down in tears, I felt my own eyes fill. Around me, the other volunteers on the food stand that I lead were equally upset.
To witness what they were going through was devastating, but their story is one we have heard many times over the past month.
As a volunteer on the Polish-Ukraine border, I often see children crying and mothers trying to explain to their little ones that they don’t know where their father is. But it is those forced to pass on the worst news, telling sons and daughters they won’t see their daddy again, that hits me the hardest.
I volunteer with Khalsa Aid, a humanitarian charity based in Slough, and when the first bomb exploded in Ukraine, the UK team set up a helpline to ask anyone who needed any help to contact us. It was through this that we got to understand how many and who needed support.
I remember getting a call from the CEO, Ravi Singh, saying that lots of Indian students based in Kharkiv who spoke Punjabi were calling and that I needed to go out and help.
I was anxious, even scared, but I couldn’t say no. I’m a Sikh and I live to serve others. My day job was to do the social media for Khalsa Aid but I left this role to come to Poland.
On 26 February, I went to the airport. Seeing the news, my stomach kept turning. As I boarded the late night flight from Heathrow to Krakow on my own, I didn’t know what I’d be faced with on arrival or how I’d be able to help.
After touch down, I connected with someone called Hardeep, a student from the Ukraine who had been giving food to people on trains escaping from Ukraine. He reached out as he was aware of the work Khalsa Aid had been doing.
I soon discovered I was just one of many volunteers who had travelled the UK to the Ukrainian borders of Poland, Romania, Moldova, Slovakia and Hungary to help those in need of clothes and food. I tried to cross the border into the Ukraine when I first came here but it was a seven-hour queue, so I remained at the border between Ukraine and Poland in Przemyśl.
We picked up medical supplies, food and emergency refreshments from Rzeszów, an hour away from the Medyka border.
We saw so many Indian students hiding in tents, behind chairs. They didn’t know what was going on and were scared the police were going to beat them. They couldn’t even speak the language. At that time, buses were only taking citizens of the Ukraine to the borders. Indian students were just left on their own with no support.
A few volunteers from Poland, all from the Punjabi community, got in touch and we set up as a team. We managed to hire a bus and took the students to a safer location, 250km away, where they could stay overnight. The next day we dropped them at the train station, where they left to go to Warsaw. Thankfully, we received news that they reached their families safely.
There’s an old Tesco, 10 minutes from the Medyka border, that’s been turned into a shelter, which the government in Poland have organised to help those in need of somewhere to sleep. This is where I am based now.
I noticed that a lot of the food is meat and, knowing that many Indians are vegetarian, myself and a volunteer from Austria set up a langar (free kitchen). We welcome everyone from any community to our hot meals of rice, lentils and a nice masala chai, which has been the favourite for so many. For the children, we provide chips and some sweets.
I feel truly heartbroken seeing what I have on a daily basis. Families broken, people being killed and men unable to escape Ukraine, having to say goodbyes to their wives and children, not knowing if they’ll see them again.
I have found it so hard to cope, it’s just so tough. I can’t sleep, I can’t concentrate. All I think about is how many people are going to be killed today. It’s unbearable. We’re doing everything we can to provide comfort and support but it’s nothing when people are losing loved ones.
I feel so anxious and depressed. The atmosphere is very unpleasant and it’s tough to look into people’s faces. Everyone is looking for clothes, they’ve left, quite literally, everything behind.
With only the things they’re wearing, people are looking for things to take with them. At every station, there are clothes, shoes, coats and baby food and a lot of support is available at the borders. We’re working with the locals here, who are helping to provide these things.
Every day is a struggle, my emotions are mixed and my stomach turns. The weather is -10 degrees, it’s freezing. We are going through so much masala tea as we want to keep people as warm as we can.
My team and I start at 8am and finish at 12am, sometimes 1am. We don’t sleep. Instead, we take calls, provide medical aid and whatever support we can. When we have time, we work with hospitals in Ukraine to provide medicine, and transportation where needed.
I don’t know when I’ll leave. I bought a one-way ticket when I came out here. And no matter how hard it is, I will not go back until I see light at the end of the tunnel.
As told to Minreet Kaur.
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