"Such a big war and such small children..." about the Ukrainian refugees in Romania

When I told my sister Livia, a teacher in Craiova, that I was coming home at the beginning of March, she replied that I had chosen the most unfortunate moment possible. "We have notice to vacate the cellars in the block for shelter, in case of attack. Stay there because you're fine!", she closed the conversation. She thought I was listening to her.

Three days later, we land at the airport in Otopeni, at midnight. Ioana, a neighbor, was waiting for me. "Hey, you chose when to come!", he said to me instead of "You're welcome", on the way to the parking lot.

Then, in the morning , Ioana 's mother, who lives upstairs in my Victorian house on Pia ?a Roman? , called me to the window. A gesture that dates from the time when I lived there more than twenty years ago , from the time when I was a special reporter at the National newspaper and then, at Antena 1 , for the "Prezentul Simplu" show. Usually, my upstairs neighbor made a comment about a broadcast report, or about what else she had read written by me. Now, in a whisper , he said to me, "Hey, Dana, don't you know what's going on here?"

And I knew. "Well that's why I came. Let me lend a helping hand and document what is happening. I got angry when some colleagues from the press here told me that they don't think the war is real, that the images broadcast by television are not from the scene . That they are rigged. I want to get involved.”

A few hours later, I set up with Ioana at the Help Center for Refugees at the North Station. "Just see how crowded it is," said Ioana, juggling among the cars as I closed my eyes in fear . We signed up for volunteers, they gave us a yellow jacket, and five minutes later, they sent us on our first mission. "A train with refugees is coming . Go to the platform and identify the refugees, help them with their luggage, and bringthey are here, at the Center", someone from the guard instructed us. We looked at each other and took her to the platform. "But aren't they training us?" asked Ioana, in her somewhat lazy but resonant voice. "I could see," I told him. "What would be so hard?" I answered, not believing what I was saying either.

Ioana was the first to manage on the spot. "Ukraine," she shouted. "Ukraine?" he immediately changed his tone. It was a question, actually. were you from there

I watched as she passed the passengers getting off the carriages. I was behind her, my mind still operating in the American time zone, a little surprised that I was there. "Ukraine?", I woke up, and then I started filming this moment.

A few cars further, I heard a woman's voice. "Yes. Yes. Ukraine." A woman in her thirties came down with a little girl , probably six or seven years old. A gentleman with whom they had traveled lowered a suitcase for them and the little girl dropped off a suitcase and her school bag . My mother spoke English . "Go ahead or stay here?", I asked.

Further. Very far. They had been on the road for three days, leaving Odessa when they could, when they still could. They walked a lot, whole kilometers, to cross the Danube by ferry. After a day of waiting in line, they boarded, crossed the border into Romania and took a bus to a train station and arrived in Bucharest . Their destination was Thessaloniki, Greece. Someone was waiting there to take them to Israel, where they would stay until the war was over. The woman said she had left her brother and husband at home, and other relatives who would continue the fight.

Ioana was carrying a suitcase, I was talking to encourage her. That everything will be fine. That he would find his house untouched by the bombs and that the little girl would go back to her school.

He looked at me warmly. He seemed to appreciate my words of encouragement and then said something to the little girl in their language. The little girl held out her hand to me, then squeezed me tightly, not to let her go. A shiver went through me, I didn't even feel the cold anymore.

I took them to get travel supplies, hot and cold food, some hygiene essentials. That beautiful mother didn't want much. "Keep it for those who don't have it, I managed to put something in the suitcase." In the waiting room, he took a look and pursed his lips. Her cousins ??were sleeping on mattresses or benches, the children were tired of so much silence and waiting .

The connection to Greece was leaving soon. I wished him a safe journey and peace for Ukraine and its people. "We will overcome," she told me, after her little girl, whose name I don't know, got off me.

She was sure it would be.

I waited for other refugees on the first day of volunteering. I carried food into the waiting rooms, I saw just about everything that went on there.

Later, when I went home with Ioana, the situation was calmer. No more trains came until the morning , the refugees were already accommodated or in the hall. "Dana, this experience was the most important for me," said Ioana. As a psychologist, working with children and young people, she had seen with her own eyes how a trauma is formed. Until then, she had only read in books. Now, he had the experience to understand and help them.

"But you know what surprised me?", said my neighbor. "They all think they're going to win this war."

I just pray and wait for the day when I can say, "You have won!"

Maria D. Holderman is an adjunct professor at the State University of New York and a former professor of chemistry at Vermont State. She received the Vermont State of Science Teacher of the Year award in 2014. She holds a Masters in Education from the University of Cincinnati and is a minority rights and social justice advocate. In Romania, as a journalist, he had the signature "Dana Achim". She is the author of the volume of memoirs "Children of the Decree", published in February this year, very well received by readers. He now lives in New York State.