UZHHOROD, Ukraine (AP) — This week marks the start of the school year in Ukraine, a crucial time for any student, especially teens in their final year of high school. Ukrainian teenagers have more than just grades and college choices on their minds — they are grappling with the realities of war.
A student, still haunted by memories of his hometown in the Luhansk region, which is almost entirely under Russian control, struggles to adjust to life in the Kiev area after surviving the Russian occupation. Homesickness lingers, a constant reminder of what he left behind. Two other teenagers struggle to choose their future professions, making plans for the future while dealing with daily threats from Russian-guided bombs and missiles in their frontline cities.
Just before the school year began, the three found a moment of peace and healing at a summer camp on the other side of the country. The camp for children affected by war was created and organized by the charity Voices of Children and sponsored by the Olena Zelenska Foundation, the charity established by the wife of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy.
For the three teenagers, it was a unique opportunity to meet other young people from Ukraine who had suffered war traumas, and it was also a chance to take a much-needed break and gain new strength.
‘I am confident that I have a future’
What 16-year-old Oleksandr Hryshchenko liked most about the summer camp in Uzhhorod, near the western border with Slovakia, was that “there was no focus on the war.”
“You relax, talk about what has been weighing on you all day,” he said. His village, Vorozhba, is on the other side of the country, less than 10 kilometers (6 miles) from the Russian border, in the northern Sumy region.
For him, the camp was a rare chance to escape the constant explosions and dangers, especially after the Ukrainian army entered the Russian region of Kursk, some 50 kilometers away.
“People who live further away from the border still enjoy, celebrate the conquest of new villages, but they do not understand, do not feel, do not know what is happening in the border area,” he said. “The Russians have started attacking cities much more aggressively.”
The intensity of the shelling has fluctuated throughout the war, but this summer has been particularly challenging. While the Russians previously relied on artillery, they are now targeting Vorozhba with much more fearsome glide bombs, which he describes as “much worse.”
While Oleksandr has had the opportunity to work with psychologists in the camp and communicate with other children there, he is still in constant contact with his family. During a recent strike, his house was shaken by blast waves from a bomb, causing a lamp to fall from the ceiling.
His last year at his hometown school will be largely online. Many people left the village this summer, but Oleksandr said his family has no plans to leave yet.
“We know that if we leave now, there may be nothing to come back to,” he said. His entire family, including his grandparents, still lives there, while his father has been serving on the front lines since the early days of the full-scale invasion of Russia in February 2022.
“For me, my father is the bravest person in my life,” Oleksandr said. The war changed him, he said: he used to have a softer character, but now he is more reserved.
The impact of the war is a constant worry, he said. “You think about it every night before you go to bed. You worry about it all day long, wondering what’s going to happen next.”
Despite all the turmoil, Oleksandr feels like he is taking control of his own destiny. He is concentrating on his final year of school, preparing for the entrance exams and choosing a university.
“I am confident that Ukraine will have a future, I will have a future, and I know that everything will be fine, but we have to get through these times,” he said.
A community of witnesses to war
Sixteen-year-old Valerii Soldatenko still has visions of his hometown in the Luhansk region, which he fled on August 29, 2022 after living under Russian occupation for about six months.
“There are moments when I almost see it before my eyes. I see familiar faces, I see those beautiful white hills,” Valerii said. His home village, Bilokurakyne, in the northern part of the Luhansk region, is occupied by Russian troops.
For him, education was a crucial factor in his decision to leave. In August 2022, just before the new school year began, he fled because the Russian curriculum was imposed.
“I really didn’t want to conform to the Russian education system,” he said. “So it was clear that I was the most at risk and could be the most dangerous to my family.”
His family settled near Kiev, but Valerii still struggles with the adjustment. He longs for his friends, the familiar landscapes of Luhansk, and his old home — a craft building made of clay, hay, and chalk with a blue facade and white columns.
One of the few possessions he brought with him was a walnut shell from a friend. It was a cherished keepsake, as time and distance made it harder to stay in touch.
“Before we left, we were hoping to be home in November or December and celebrate Christmas and New Year with family,” Valerii said. “But as you can see, I am here, not in my hometown.”
He came to the camp to connect with other ‘war witnesses’, to both reflect and gain insight into how his peers in the frontline areas were coping with the situation.
As he prepares for his final year of high school, he also makes the final choice of a university. However, he does not yet know whether he wants to become a journalist or a history teacher.
“I would say (the war) took away my childhood, especially after I fled,” he said.
‘Being a teenager in wartime is hard’
Kseniia Kucher, 16, dreams of her graduation day, of a party or a trip with her classmates. But with education in the northeastern city of Kharkiv largely online due to routine Russian strikes, that may not be possible.
Her family has packed their ’emergency bags’ with essential items and documents, but has no plans to leave at this time.
“It’s really hard to get through, especially when the strikes happen at night. You literally wake up in bed with the shock of the explosions,” she said. “And yet it’s easier because you’re still at home. You’re with your loved ones and not in a strange environment.”
In the camp, hundreds of kilometers (miles) from Kharkiv, Kseniia found a rare chance to relax. “I even started having some dreams here,” she said.
She especially enjoyed the conversations with peers until late at night, in which they shared their experiences and had personal contact with each other.
“I don’t have many friends in life in general. And now they’re all scattered,” she mused. When she’s home, she tries not to dwell on her life before the war, but focuses instead on the present.
“I live in the moment and don’t make big plans for the future because if I understand the current situation, I don’t know what will happen in a year,” she said.
She lives with her mother and younger brother, while her father serves at the front. Ksenia sees him once every few months.
As she spoke, she kept being distracted by the sounds of thunder in the distance, which sounded like explosions.
“Being a teenager in a war is tough,” she said. “You don’t fully understand your emotions and everything affects you — from a hurtful word to a barrage of missiles. It’s hard to live with that.”
