"Remember home": Evacuation from Pokrovsko and its surroundings

The local population continues to evacuate from Pokrovsko, Mirnograd and the suburbs, which recently found themselves less than ten kilometers from the front line. How people say goodbye to home.
"It's hard to leave your home. The fear of moving to another city is greater than the fear of death," thinks Henadij Judin, a police officer in the evacuation group "Bijeli anđeo". With him and three of his colleagues, we drive through the streets of Mirnograd, a mining town in the Donetsk region, southwest of occupied Avdijevka.
The Russian army is advancing ever closer to Mirnograd. The front line is already less than ten kilometers from the city, which is now exposed to constant shelling. According to the data of the city administration, of the almost 47,000 inhabitants of Mirnograd, no more than 2,000 people remained.
The "White Angel" evacuates people in an armored minibus, inside are bulletproof vests and helmets for children and adults. "There are practically no children in the city. There are two families with children who are now looking for accommodation, they will leave on their own. The police cannot force the locals to evacuate," notes Judin.

Evacuation armored vehicle
Today, the "White Angel" goes to two addresses - two locals voluntarily evacuated. They live on the southern outskirts of the city, where Russian attack drones are already flying. There is no one in one house, the windows are covered with canvas and boards. The dog is hooked, barks loudly at strangers and eventually hides in the house.
A pack of dogs, which until recently lived in someone's yard, rushes down an empty street. While the police are trying to call the owner of the house, a drunk woman appears on the street. "I have a ticket for today," he replies to the offer to evacuate. "I bought a ticket, but I don't want to go. Yes, it's terrible here. But it's scarier than the fact that I'm leaving. And what is there in a foreign country, that is a foreign country?"
In the end, the police go to Pokrovsk. Both evacuated men are sad and say little. A bus to Pavlograd in the neighboring Dnipropetrovsk region will be waiting in Pokrovsk. Further - to Kropivnjicki, to the hostel for immigrants.

Railway station
Pokrovsk – southwest of Mirnograd. According to information from the regional administration, 26,000 people remain here out of 60,000 inhabitants, including more than 1,000 children. Just a month ago, the population was twice as large.
In the morning, the city looks lively. The local population rushes through the streets, vegetable stalls are set up in the bazaar. Saleswoman Natalija says that she will think about evacuation only when she sells her goods. "And where to go? Not everyone has the opportunity to rent a house for 10,000 hryvnias." Customer Serhij says that he is not planning to evacuate, "but the child must be saved".
 At noon, the train station comes alive. A retired couple, surrounded by large bags, sits on a bench on the platform. "Do you see what's happening?" says Volodymyr, referring to the shelling. "They are surrendering our city", adds Hala "Šteta".
The couple has already rented a house in a village in the Dnipropetrovsk region and is gradually moving things there.
"But you can't take everything," the man shrugs.
He worries that his family will have nothing to live on.
"Will I be able to hold on?" asks 80-year-old Ljubov, sitting in the station. He is afraid to go on a long journey - the evacuation train goes to Lviv 24 hours a day. Ljubov wants to go to her daughter in Jasjnuvat between Horlivka and Donetsk, which has been occupied since 2014. To reach the occupied territory, the woman has to pass through Europe and Belarus. So she gave up on this idea. Instead, he will stay in a hostel in Zakarpattia.
"Who will receive me?" Ljubov sighed. She is supported by a repairman sitting next to her. The train is also waiting - he will go to treatment. The other day, a man who left Novogrodivka, together with several friends, was captured by the Russians.
On the platform, rescuers and volunteers help people with limited mobility to get on the train.
"It's okay if they kill me. What if I'm crippled?", thinks 85-year-old Ljudmila from Rodinsko.
On the train next to her are her daughter Nelja and her 85-year-old mother-in-law Katerina.
"We dared to go, because it was very noisy and because the police had already called - I have a minor child, a 17-year-old son."
The son, as well as the eldest daughter, are already waiting for their mother and grandmother in Kiev. Then the family will go to Finland.
"It is very sad to leave the place where you were born, where you grew up," says Nelja.
At these words, her mother Ljudmila starts to cry.
"There's no need," she tells her daughter, trying to hold back the tears.
Ljudmila was a three-year-old child when the Second World War began. "
She was little, but she remembers how they were taken to the concentration camp by train," says Nelja. "Like in the movies," Ljudmila adds, "In wagons for calves. And then the partisans broke through the railroad tracks and started shouting: run where you can. My mother jumped out first. Her brother, who was three years old, grabbed her dress." Despite Njela's persuasion, neither Ljudmila nor mother-in-law Katerina wanted to leave home. But, when Rodinske was emptied, the grandmothers finally agreed to the evacuation.

"Conductors, please get out of the train," they command the conductors.
In a few minutes, the train will be heading west. Viktorija, a student, jumps into her car. Her mother Svetlana remains on the platform. She is crying because she wants to go too.
"But we have to stay here for another month - to drive combine harvesters to the field, to sell cows," laments a woman from a farm in the village of Novovasilivka.
 The woman is sorry to leave the family farm, but at the same time understands that it is dangerous to stay here.
A man on the platform looks out the window of the carriage. His wife and son appear in the wagon. He waves to his father. The man does not go with them, because he still has a job at the local mine.
"A day, two, a week," he tries to guess how long the mine will continue to operate. "No one knows."
An elderly man remains on the platform. "I'll go next. This one is already full," he excuses himself, even though he knows there are still seats on the train. "Smile," he encourages his wife, who is looking out the open window of the carriage, "It's like you're going on vacation."
When the train departs, the man waves to the woman and quickly leaves the station, covering his face with his hands.
The curfew here starts on the third day of shelling. Thus, after the departure of the train, the city suddenly empties. Military and police cars pass here and there. In front of the damaged houses - flower gardens.
The only passer-by - a man in uniform - stops for a few minutes next to a rose bush, which is red while in the background a house is damaged by shelling. The impact of a ball can be heard from the yard - a teenage girl is playing alone.
The sound of a drill can be heard from the neighboring yard. Two men make the bottom of a truck with flat tires - it will be used as a trailer to take away household goods. There were no more than seven people left in the entire five-story building with broken windows.
"It was a very populated, beautiful city. The best," says one of the men named Dmitro. When the explosions are heard, he notes: "That's what the Pokrovski quarter sounds like."
 His wife and 18-year-old daughter have already been evacuated. He assures himself that he will leave soon, but he admits that he is messing around just to occupy himself and stay at home longer.
"To prolong the feeling of home", Dmitro tries to find the words.
He invites us to his apartment, where every thing is dear to him. "Here are my roots," concludes the man.