Being 21 in Slovakia means university. Being 21 in Ukraine means survival, says student
Daria Otreshko, a Ukrainian student based in Banská Bystrica, never turns off air-raid warnings intended for her hometown of Kremenchuk.
Daria Otreshko, 18, had not planned on coming to Slovakia. Her mother made the decision for her almost two years ago. Then everything happened quickly—within two weeks, they arranged her application to university, and Dasha, as her mother calls her, was accepted to study international relations in Banská Bystrica, central Slovakia.
Daria comes from central Ukraine, from the city of Kremenchuk, situated on the banks of the Dnipro River. The city was founded in 1571 as a military fortress and has since grown into an important transport and trade hub.
During the Second World War, Kremenchuk suffered significant damage, but was subsequently rebuilt. It became one of the country's main industrial centres with a strategic location that supports trade and logistics. The city has around 220,000 inhabitants, and is about a three- to four-hour drive from Kyiv.
"My city is beautiful; I like it very much. It's small, but Banská Bystrica is even smaller. Everything is organised in our city; we have a university, nature, work, and leisure opportunities," Dasha describes her hometown Kremenchuk.
Circus and city hall
As a child, Dasha wanted to work in the circus, then become a shop assistant, psychologist, and even the mayor.
"I read a psychology book and gave consultations to my toys. I couldn't even write yet, and was already pretending to fill in papers at the city hall. My grandparents still have those papers saved," she recalls.
She danced every day for 12 years but wanted to keep dance as a hobby. She learned English and German but did not want to be a teacher like her mother, who then suggested studying translation. Dasha considered attending university in Lviv, western Ukraine, or studying international relations at Kyiv's Taras Shevchenko University.
"The criteria to get there are very strict. I was good at Ukrainian and English; I could learn history, but I wasn't so sure about mathematics. In Ukraine and in Banská Bystrica, the field of study is quite different; in Ukraine, you also receive a degree in translation and focus on foreign languages and diplomatic communication. In Banská Bystrica, we study more diplomacy, politics, history, geography," she says.
She did not attend university in Ukraine in the end.
Mom decided for Dasha
Dasha's mother, father, grandparents, and some friends remained in Kremenchuk.
"The boys under 18 left; those 18 or older stayed and worked. They couldn't leave. The girls went to Poland, Germany, the Czech Republic, or Sweden," Daria describes.
She adds that those who could leave, did.
"And I understood that: if you stay, you will be in relative safety, but you won't have the opportunity to learn something new. Some schools are starting offline studies, but I'm not sure if it's safe. Some schools still have online teaching, but nobody takes it seriously," she explains.
"My aunt, who lives in Austria, said that we had to urgently leave, and my mom said, 'Okay, Dashka will go, but I will stay here; I have a job, family, and a flat. And I don't want to leave that,'" Dasha describes the final decision at home.
Dasha now follows domestic events every day, receiving updates through a Telegram group. She says that in the last month, people experience 10 to 20 air alerts every day. There are no explosions or serious attacks in the city itself, but Shaheds (Iranian attack drones used by the Russian army, Ed.) frequently fly over the city.
"My parents send me videos; the sound is terrifying. I feel bad about it and don't know how to help them from here," Daria says.
You are 21, and your life is over
Dasha's mother Olga is an English teacher, and her father works as a car mechanic. Dasha visits home every six months, after exams.
"Whenever I come home and buy two coffees for €5, instead of one like in Slovakia, I'm glad to support the economy. Many people from Kharkiv have moved in and started businesses, like restaurants, which helps. People try to live; it's important," she describes her home visits.
She adds that there are opinions saying that everyone must work only for the army, during wartime.
"But you have to work for yourself too, make time to relax, but of course, remember thanks to whom you live," she believes.
Dasha initially thought everything would be fine and that Ukraine would quickly win. She still believes this but doesn't know when it will happen. Her older brother also went to the front to fight. He is 32 years old and was home on medical leave for a while.
He was in the front lines and shared experiences at home that shocked Dasha.
"My brother was not a soldier; he was an ordinary guy. He finished secondary school and worked as a shop consultant. When the war started, he volunteered, and after two months, he was taken in," she explains. She adds that her brother spoke about seeing friends die on the front, with their limbs flying around.
Today, her brother is back in the war, but no longer on the front line. Dasha can't reveal more.
"Here in Slovakia; you are 20 years old, you're about to go to university, and in our country, you are 21 or 22, and your life is over. It's terrible," she says.
When you do not see the future
She adds that she personally knows girls from Kremenchuk, whose friend went to the army at the age of 19 and studied a military-related subject. He recently died in battles in the Donetsk region; he was hit by a bomb.
"Everyone in my town was shocked, it was unexpected, no one saw it coming, he was very young," she says.
"I'm also very sensitive when I see videos of children who have lost their fathers or haven't seen them for a long time, or women talking about how much they miss someone who died and obviously shouldn't have died yet," she says.
People try to help. Dasha sees fundraising initiatives daily, but pessimism is growing. People in the city are used to air warnings, but many have lost hope and believe that it will remain this way for the rest of their lives. They are unable to change the situation. The war has cost everyone a lot of psychological strength and the country a lot of money.
Dasha's parents are still managing quite well. Her mother says she has Dashka in Banská Bystrica but everything else at home. Her father never thought about leaving. Dasha says that they have set their minds to live and survive in Kremenchuk.
First thing in Slovakia? McDonald's
Daša's journey to Slovakia took two days. She accepted the fact that she was leaving Ukraine and was looking forward to life in Banská Bystrica. She found out that her classmate Diana was also going, and they were roommates in the first year of their stay in Slovakia.
Dasha, along with her mother, a friend, and her friend's mother, travelled about 20 hours to Lviv, then to Uzhhorod.
"It was my first experience in the western part of the country. I felt that the language was different; my current boyfriend is from there. It was an experience for me to see such different cultures and languages within one Ukraine," she says.
She laughs, saying she had one suitcase and five bags. They travelled from the border with other students by minibus. There, she said goodbye to her mother. They arrived to the dormitory at eleven at night.
"With our new friends, two boys, we went to McDonald's. We are still friends today," she describes where her first steps in the new city led her.
When her mother returned to Ukraine, her "adult life" began. Dasha laughs that if she had known what awaited her, she would not have been so excited. She learned what it is like to cook, be tired, and then go to work.
She has two jobs: she teaches small children German and works as a waitress in a café.
"I really enjoy teaching children. My mother is also happy about it. I improve my foreign language and can teach someone a new skill, which is great," she says.
The first semester at school was challenging for her; she did not understand what she was studying, both because of the language and the content of the subjects. Now it is much better. Dasha enjoys school and wants to develop in this direction.
Her friend Mark
"I definitely associate the university with Slovaks," Dasha says, listing that she likes how her classmates treat each other, that they have a club. She recalls a nice experience when they went to Brussels together, where they genuinely worried about her not getting lost in the big city.
And then she mentions Mark. He is Slovak and they study together. When Dasha was new at school and did not know Slovak yet, he tried to speak Russian with her. They made pancakes together and helped each other in school.
"He is very kind; he was involved in helping Ukrainians. He was the first Slovak I met. I feel that he tries to understand and accept me," she describes her friend and his importance in making her feel comfortable in the new country.
However, she also experienced the opposite in Slovakia. She admits that her closest relationships today are mainly with Ukrainians in her small bubble. But she believes that it will get better over time.
Being Ukrainian is no joke
"If someone says I'm Ukrainian in a negative way, I don't feel good. When I experienced it at work, I left, later they called and apologised, saying that it had been a joke. We take it seriously; I don't think it's something to joke about," she describes an unpleasant experience.
It affected Dasha, and she says that it can affect others even more. For example, someone from Kharkiv or Kherson who fled due to the fighting and explosions they directly experienced might feel an even greater inner pain.
"I was still okay with it in the end, I just shrugged it off, but it's important to watch what you say," she says.
"Yes, I'm a foreigner, but I don't want to feel like a foreigner here. I try to do everything to avoid feeling that way, but there are situations when people make comments like these. Even after two years, when they remind me I'm Ukrainian or start correcting my grammar or vocabulary. If it's constructive, I'm glad, but if it's in the sense of 'you've been here two years and still can't speak properly,' it's not okay," she thinks.
She also adds that Ukrainians should study the language, and she does not understand those who do not try to speak or engage with the new society.
Brussels, Cyprus, elections, and Ódor
Dasha tries to get involved. She participated in the Erasmus programme in Cyprus, where she realised that even as a Ukrainian she could intern at the European Parliament, for example, in the field of culture. She has also been to Strasbourg as a volunteer for the European Parliament in Slovakia. She applied and succeeded.
"It was one of the best internships; I liked it a lot, and it motivated me a lot. Communication, diplomacy, or non-governmental organisations all appeal to me," says Dasha.
She adds that she sees many opportunities and wants to get involved not only in the new society, but also in new areas of her life.
"I can't vote, but for example, I was in Brussels, where I represented Slovakia in the campaign before the European elections. It was an event where we dealt not only with elections but with artificial intelligence, democracy, and human rights," she describes how she tried to convince others to vote. She made posts about the elections on Instagram.
At the invitation of students, former MEP Vladimír Bilčík and former caretaker government prime minister Ľudovít Ódor visited the university.
Alarms on
Dasha thinks about the war every day, and even in Banská Bystrica, she does not turn off the air raid warnings.
"I have notifications on; I get them every day; I never turned them off. I'm scared. I deleted the app that also calls and tells you to go to the shelter, but I still get the messages," says Dasha. She keeps them on for her family, to whom she forwards the warnings.
She explains that she is very afraid that if she turns them off, she will miss something.
"That's my main fear. I don't read the news every day, but I follow the alerts for my city and region," she adds.
When she reads bad news from home, she says she primarily feels angry.
"I write angry messages in groups, for example, on Telegram. I know it doesn't change anything, but I have to release my emotions. Then I try to support Ukraine, sending money to fundraisers for the army. The most important thing is to calm myself, realise I'm here, I'm okay, I can only support those there. I call my parents and friends, telling them they're important to me, I care for them, and I worry about them," Dasha describes how she cares for her mental well-being and others.
Wearing headphones during the explosion
In the summer of 2022, six months after the war began, Dasha was at home.
"I was walking, with headphones on my head, and the ground started shaking beneath me. I heard an explosion at the shopping centre and ran to the shelter. My mom was in another part of the city; we weren't together," she recalls an explosion in Kremenchuk. She says that there was no possibility of calling in the shelter. She was hiding with pregnant women who were crying and screaming. "I'll never forget those moments," she says, adding that such experiences include moments when they hid in the shower during alarms at the beginning of the war.
The city she returns to is different from the one she left.
"For me, the city is made up of people. Now, when I return, I don't know anyone. I used to meet five or six acquaintances. Small children are now teenagers," she describes how the war has changed her hometown in central Ukraine.
However, she says that her parents have not changed. She tries to call them as often as possible. The war has, of course, affected them, but they try not to show it so that it does not affect Dasha as well. When she calls and asks if everything is okay, they tell her not to worry about it and to take care of herself.
"They love me just as much, and I love them just as much, maybe even more," she concludes.
This story was created with the support of UNESCO under the Support for Ukrainian Refugees through Media programme, funded by the Japanese government.
Related
Share this page
Guest Posts by Easy Branches
