Everyone knows what the word “war” means. Few of us understand how it feels, sounds or smells, or the fear it brings. Yeva Skalietska does. On February 23, the 12-year-old went to bed in the flat she shared with her grandmother in Kharkiv, eastern Ukraine, worrying about her biology test the next day. Within hours she was woken by the sound of rocket fire. Soon she discovered that her life was about to change forever as she became trapped on the front line of Russia’s attack before fleeing across Europe.
“I hate the word refugee,” she explains when I meet her at her new home in Dublin after school. “It sounds so helpless and hopeless. I’m ashamed to admit I no longer have a home. But one day I will return.”
What singles out Yeva from the thousands of Ukrainians leaving their homeland was that while cowering in damp basements she wrote a diary. Every decision the 12-year-old made was critical. “It was like a terrible video game, never knowing if I would get to the next level or be eviscerated.” Yet in 12 days she managed to make it to Ireland with her grandmother, where her journal, You Don’t Know What War Is: The Diary of a Young Girl from Ukraine, sparked a seven-way bidding war. It’s also available as an audiobook narrated by Keira Knightley.
Her grandmother, Iryna, is stirring the borscht for tea as she listens to Yeva retell her story, straining to understand.
Yeva’s diary starts on February 14, 2022 with the words, “Today is my birthday. I’m 12 – almost a teenager. There’s a surprise in my room: balloons, five of them. I feel excited. I know there will be more surprises to come.” On February 19 she has a bowling party with her school friends. “The joy I feel knows no bounds,” she writes.
Yet less than a week later, she wakes to a loud explosion and sees her grandmother by the window, pointing to missiles flying over the frozen fields. “All of a sudden, a massive rocket exploded with such force that I felt my heart go cold in my chest,” Yeva writes.
As we sit on the sofa and she recounts her harrowing story in near perfect English, I ask how she feels now. “I’m only just thawing,” she says. “I had no idea what was about to happen. No one at school ever taught us what to do when a war starts. I felt bewildered.”
Her grandmother insisted they go to the basement. “She put a gold crucifix around my neck, a christening present I had never worn. In the basement, everyone was panicking. I was in shock; my hands were shaking,” she says. “My grandmother had to calm me down.” Both Yeva’s parents work abroad, her mother in Turkey, her father in Russia, so couldn’t help.
After a torrid night, Yeva crept back home to collect her diary, paper and pencils “in case I wanted to draw”, she explains, and returned with blankets and pillows. “All we could hear was the sound of machinegun fire and missile launches. Some people had brought board games; others were putting locks on the doors. “I joined a group playing dominoes,” she says.
By the next day, the shelling was intense. “We decided to leave immediately and rang everyone we knew who lived further away – one said we could stay in a quieter part of the town,” Yeva tells me. “We had to flee straight away. I grabbed my phone, computer, diary and passport, but I forgot my phone charger. If I am ever in another war, I won’t forget it again. My granny forgot her passport. The worst part was leaving behind my friends. But we do what we have to do to survive.”
She smiles as though trying to reassure me, when I feel I should be comforting her. But she doesn’t want pity. Throughout her ordeal, her classmates were texting, she explains, which helped to keep up morale. Where once it would have been about parties and homework, now they were passing on life or death information – where bombs had landed, which roads were blocked. “We had all woken up to windows rattling, but it was only the beginning of this hell.”
As Yeva and her grandmother drove through Kharkiv, they saw the queues outside pharmacies and supermarkets. “I’ve heard there are tanks firing 200 metres away from my school,” she writes. “My neighbourhood is practically being erased.”
Yeva and her granny inspected the basement as soon as they arrived at their friend’s home, war-hardened after only 48 hours. “It was fine, very deep and full of pickled tomatoes and cucumbers.”
They had already become used to the explosions. “Soon I forgot what peace was like. Fear engulfs us… We can’t remember our old dreams any more or all the things we thought to be important… You’ve only got one goal, staying alive, you hold on to every minute.”
There are moments in her diary when she sounds like a war correspondent and others when you realise Yeva is not yet a teenager. “I wanted to go outside and enjoy the sunshine. But then I remembered,” she writes. “I start hating the night more and more.” One of her favourite teachers comes under bombardment; the mall she once loved to visit with friends is blown up; Freedom Square in central Kharkiv is destroyed in a single missile attack. But a classmate keeps them all going “posting silly videos making faces”.
Her diary becomes more bleak by the sixth day. If this new cellar is hit by a bomb, she worries she may be buried alive, so she stays upstairs as a drone circles above. She writes, “I’ve never been this close to death before.”
Families were leaving, scrawling the words “children” in paint on their cars. Yeva and her grandmother decided to try to reach western Ukraine but they had no transport, not even a bicycle to get to the railway station. After six hours ringing cabs, Yeva tells me, she was desperate. “I’ve fallen into depression,” she writes. “All I can think is I am scared, we are doomed.” She can’t even get through to her parents in Turkey and Russia to ask for advice.
“We had to believe in God that he would help and then we got a message from a neighbour, telling us about a Red Cross volunteer who might help us,” she tells me.
The book is interspersed with Yeva’s classmates’ poignant texts as they try to escape. “I’m leaving for Poland and I will be a Pole,” says Kyrylo. “We’ve been bombed,” says Nadya. “Just lie on the floor,” Yeva replies.
At the station, suddenly there was an announcement: air raid, take cover. Everyone was running. “Then another announcement said a train was leaving for Truskavets near Lviv.” Yeva and her grandmother threw themselves into a carriage.
Can she remember the journey? “The train information screens got turned off and we were like ghosts slipping through the night. We became invisible. Several trains had been damaged and passengers had died. But I made a friend; we huddled up on a bunk. In the morning I could see Mukachevo Castle [in western Ukraine]. I had visited there on holiday. It never occurred to me I’d be escaping my country the next time I saw it.”
The train suddenly terminated at Uzhhorod, near the borders with Slovakia and Hungary. “We were directed by a charity to a school hall. There were so many people and mattresses pushed against each other. I hated it when someone called me a refugee – I had lost my home but not my country. But my grandmother was grieving for friends who had died and she patiently explained we couldn’t go back very soon.”
Yeva had been having English classes after school so her grandmother encouraged her to ask some of the journalists in the city for advice. “I wanted to go to London, but they said it would be easier to go to Ireland.” Her diary entries channel her anxiety. “The stress of the situation is overwhelming. Where am I going to wash? I feel numb.”
While she was agonising, she realised she was being filmed. “My granny told the man filming us I was writing a diary. It caught his attention and he told me he worked for Channel 4 News.”
Yeva’s simple plea on Channel 4 moved viewers and helped speed her on her way to Budapest and then to Ireland, where she would be hosted by Catherine Flanagan and her husband, Gary Abrahamian, two teachers. “I’d been abroad once to Egypt but otherwise I had always stayed in west Ukraine.”
She was still wearing the same jeans and sweater in which she had fled to the basement when the war started. “I didn’t care. I just wanted to get on the plane and feel safe. But I nearly didn’t make it because I didn’t have a mask. I’d forgotten all about the Covid pandemic, but a flight attendant rescued me.” Her first entry in Dublin is ecstatic. Catherine and Gary give her new pyjamas, toiletries, clothes and toys. But her favourite possession, her toy cat Chupapelyais, is still in Kharkiv.
Irish school, she says, is more fun than back home. “In Ukraine, we have really serious science and maths teaching. Our teachers are very strict. We had six lessons a day and homework for each of them.
“Everyone here is so kind and relaxed. They are always asking if you are happy,” Yeva says.
At weekends she goes into town for sushi or doughnuts and she has visited the zoo. “I miss Kharkiv Zoo. What has happened to all the animals? I listen to all the news. I can’t stop. I need to know how many bombs have gone off and how much damage has been done.”
Her gold diary lies on the table. “It helps me to describe the pain. I have been given the diary of Anne Frank, but it feels hard to read.” She is grateful for all the opportunities, she says, again sounding mature beyond her years. “But I miss my friends. I do have nightmares, all my old classmates do, but I try not to think about them. I just feel lucky I got out.”
Before the war, Yeva says she wanted to be an explorer. “But now I don’t want to travel to far places again. I want to be a lawyer. I like rules and protocol and protection. I may study here because Ukrainian universities will probably take years to rebuild. Also, everyone has been so understanding. Even my granny has made friends. I think I am quite positive. Ukrainians are. I just want to make the most of this now.”
Yeva’s diary: ‘I’ve never been this close to death before’
DAY 1 February 24
Distant booms heard in Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second largest city – The Washington Post
5.10am - I was woken suddenly by a loud metallic sound that echoed through the streets. At first, I thought it was a car being crushed into scrap metal, which would have been weird because I don’t live near a scrapyard. Then I realised it was an explosion.
Car alarms were going off. Granny is trying to stay calm. She came over, saying, “Is Putin really starting a war with Ukraine?” I’m in complete shock. I know Granny is telling the truth, but it’s very hard to believe. I’ve grown up hearing about war, but I’ve never been in one.
No one has ever told us what we should do if war breaks out. My hands are shaking, my teeth rattling. I feel squashed by fear. That’s when I start having my first ever panic attack. Granny keeps trying to calm me down, telling me I need to focus.
A discussion about what is happening has broken out on our school WhatsApp chat. Once we’re ready, we head for the basement. Inside I start having the panicky feeling again – I can’t breathe, my hands turn cold and sweaty. A war has begun.
11.30am - Our building’s basement is not built to be a bomb shelter. There are hot and cold pipes all over the place. Tons of dust. A very low ceiling. Tiny windows that looked up to street level. There are quite a few people down there. Men are stacking sandbags so that no one can get hurt by flying shards of glass if there is a blast.
Our neighbours say there are Ukrainian snipers on the roofs of our neighbouring apartment blocks.
3.20pm - We’re hearing rumours that 30 minutes from now there will be planes, troops and bombs.
4pm - Right now I have only one question on my mind: what will the night be like? I’ve been told that in wartime, nights and mornings are the most frightening because you never know what to expect. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
4.55pm - The basement runs under the entire length of our block of flats, like a long tunnel. The men show us where the toilet is. Everyone understands that we’ll be here a while. We find a few sheets of cardboard from old boxes and use them, and a few blankets and pillows we grabbed earlier, to make a sort of bed for us to sleep in.
6.40pm - It is dark. I hear the adults saying the worst is yet to come.
9pm - I’ve never felt the time pass by this slowly before. There’s constant shelling. Apparently Russia has Ukraine surrounded. I almost have another panic attack. I sit down next to Granny and she hugs me. We’re frightened.
DAY 2 February 25
Russia batters Ukraine with artillery strikes as west condemns invasion – The New York Times
7.30am - I’m having breakfast – a piece of buttered bread and some tea. I keep looking out of the window to see if there are any tanks or missiles. There aren’t.
8am - Granny thinks it will be safe for us to pop home and grab a bite to eat, wash ourselves and then quickly come back down to the basement.
It’s very cold. The word “shelter” has been written across the basement entrance. To my surprise, it starts snowing. They say it’ll keep snowing for the next few days.
I scroll through the 180 messages sent to the school chat during the night. One of my friends has been messaging to say he’s scared he’ll get blown up because he lives so close to the action.
Two of my classmates stayed up messaging each other until midnight!
8.30am - The sound of tanks driving by. They are heading in the direction of Kyiv. I thought I saw something fly through the sky at great speed and I guess it must be a missile. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.
8.40am - We just learnt that Ukrainian tanks are stationed between apartment buildings. We are worried we’ll end up being used as human shields. Granny decided she’d ring her friend Inna to see if we could stay with her.
After what feels like forever, we manage to get a taxi. As we drive through Kharkiv, I think it seems strangely normal, apart from the long queues outside pharmacies and supermarkets. After about 30 minutes we arrive at Inna’s house in New Bavaria, on the western edge of Kharkiv. It’s better here. There is less shelling.
1.30pm - I’ve just realised that I left my phone charger in our basement in Kharkiv. My phone doesn’t have much battery left. We don’t have a lot of food left, either.
I’ve heard there are tanks firing just 200 metres away from my school.
Apparently my neighbourhood, north Saltivka, is practically being erased. All the streets I used to play in, my favourite pizza place and my school.
The tall block of flats at 60 Natalii Uzhvii Street has been hit by a missile. I saw that building – it was fine when we were on our way to Inna’s.
7pm - Inna’s listening to the explosions and trying to figure out where they land, to see if we should hide in the cellar. She’s trying to calm Granny down by telling her that they sound far away.
The government is telling people to take up arms and join the fight.
After dinner it feels more relaxed. We talk. I watch Minecraft YouTube videos.
DAY 3 February 26
Kyiv on the brink – The Guardian
7.40am - I’m leaning against a wall and I can feel it shaking. It’s terrifying.
8am - Apparently, the first two days of a war are the hardest, but we’re on day three now. Inna went out to the shop and came back two hours later. Food prices have gone up – everything’s really expensive now. The shop had a fresh delivery of bread, but there wasn’t enough for everyone. Everyone is buying vodka.
They have just bombed the airport.
Apparently Ukrainian tanks have stopped some Russian tanks on the ring road.
3.55pm - Two sudden explosions about six kilometres away, so we immediately run to the cellar. We’re hoping and praying. The sun’s going down.
6.57pm - Inna made zapekanka cake for supper and we had it with some raspberry jam and mint tea. There are more explosions. As I write tonight, I don’t feel much hope.
Inna called me into her room. It is a small space with a single window, but it is the safest room in the house. She turned on a little yellow night light. The rest of the lights in the house are turned off to keep the planes from spotting them.
At that very moment, they started bombing the ring road and there were planes flying all around. I tried my best to stay calm but ended up having a little panic attack – I was struggling to breathe and I felt like my chest was being crushed. I think it will be safer if I lie down. Even though the shelling is far away from here, Granny spots a searchlight from the window and insists on going to the cellar. I go with her.
7pm - I’m writing my diary using the little light on my phone.
My neighbourhood is being showered with rockets.
DAY 4 February 27
Terror stalks the streets – The Sunday Times
8am - I woke up, rolled over and the sun was shining on me. A bright beam of light fell across my face. I wanted to go outside and enjoy the sunshine. But then I remembered.
It turns out there was especially heavy bombing last night but I slept through it. I was just so tired.
10am - We’ve run out of water, so we decide to go to the spring. There are explosions, but they are far away. Inna shows me around her garden. She has fruit trees growing there, a raspberry bush and a blackcurrant bush – there is also a strawberry patch. She is showing me where she is going to plant some flowers, but then… BOOM! Two explosions very close by! Me and Granny run to the cellar, but Inna stays upstairs.
6pm - It’s completely dark outside. With every day that passes, I start hating the night more and more. Evenings are full of the unknown.
9.30pm - My classmate Kyrylo keeps posting silly videos in the school chat; recordings of himself making faces using funny camera filters on his phone. I’m laughing so hard I almost fall out of bed just now and my belly hurts.
DAY 5 February 28
′Who else but us?’: Ukraine’s civilians take up arms – The Irish Times
3am - I was just nodding back off to sleep when fighter jets start dropping bombs. Every explosion brings a chill through my body.
8am - Granny and Inna try going to the shops to get some food, but it doesn’t work out.
Granny said people are still queueing, prepared to queue amidst it all just to get a morsel of food.
We hear from Granny Zyna. She says that she wanted to break curfew yesterday to go to the pharmacy. There’s a car park next to Granny Iryna’s building, and the flats behind it were hit in the shelling.
Why the hell are they shelling people who are just trying to buy their medicine?
DAY 6 March 1
Russian rockets pound Kharkiv – Financial Times
6am - I had a wonderful dream last night. I dreamt of school. Me and my friends were running around. It felt like the good old days.
I really want to hear the sounds of peacetime again – birds singing and the sound of rain. It was so nice before the war… I want to go back to my old life.
Inna and Granny are lining the windows with tape in case of a blast.
In the city centre, Freedom Square was just destroyed by a single missile strike. There’s a video of the bomb exploding. In it, you can see two cars, one of which swerves to the side. Some people jump out of it.
Noon - We’ve had some traumatising news. We got a call from one of our neighbours, telling us that my kitchen has been hit by a missile. We’re told there are emergency services outside our block of flats. The emergency workers are saying that it was a submunition from a cluster bomb.
The balcony, kitchen and the part of the hallway leading into it were all destroyed. Bits of plaster, rubble and broken glass fill the hallway. My bedroom windows were blown off. The emergency workers closed the front door as best they could and fixed it in place with tape. Will there be anything left in our flat after the war?
This really hurts. I spent my childhood there. Attacking my home is the same as attacking a piece of me. Tears are streaming down my face.
7pm - Granny was in the kitchen making tea when suddenly she saw a giant drone. All its lights were flashing, and it flew so low over the house that she dropped to the floor. Inna and I were in her little room when we heard it. It sounded strange, not like a plane at first. We got down on the floor. We didn’t rush down to the cellar this time, because if the house got blown up, no one would know that we were down there. We would just get buried. The drone did a circle around the area, dropping bombs as it went. I lay on the bed and, for the first time in my life, I thought about how I really want to live. I’ve never been this close to death before.
DAY 7 March 2
Russia hammers civilian targets – The Wall Street Journal
6am - I had a dream. We were in our bombed-out flat. Suddenly, there was a missile flying towards the neighbouring building. I couldn’t talk. That’s where the dream ended.
The internet was cut off this morning.
10am - Granny and I want to leave Kharkiv for western Ukraine, so we are further from the Russian border. We are calling everyone we know to figure out how.
Many of my schoolmates are going to Dnipro or Poltava first, and on to western Ukraine from there. Inna has seen many cars leaving the city. Some have the word “children” written on them on every side.
They’re saying that the trains evacuating people have had the seats taken out. Thirty to forty hours standing up.
1pm - I spent half the day trying to call a taxi company, but every time they’d pick up, we’d get cut off. Mum kept sending us phone numbers for drivers in Kharkiv, but none of them were picking up.
I’ve sent more messages to Mum and Dad, asking for help, but they’re not going through.
I’ve fallen into a depression. All I can think is I’m scared, we are doomed, in a loop. I’ve stopped talking. My face feels like it will never smile again.
4pm - We had a lucky turn. Inna’s daughter, Lukyia, sent us phone numbers for two Red Cross volunteers. We only managed to reach one of them, but he agreed they would pick us up in 15 minutes and take us to Dnipro. Oh joy! We gathered our things and went to stand on the street to wait for the car. Inna came to see us off, but she said she wouldn’t be coming with us. Then, suddenly, she ran back into the house, telling us not to wait for her if the volunteers come before she got back. Granny and I heard the sound of explosions. We were very nervous and kept asking God for help. We got a call from the volunteers, Todor and Oleh. I didn’t know how to give them directions, but then I saw a Volkswagen with a red cross on it. Granny asked them to go round the corner so that we could say goodbye to Inna, but then, there she was, running towards us. She had decided to go with us to Dnipro after all! She has family there and so we decided to get dropped off there.
We pass 12 checkpoints on our way. As we get closer to Dnipro there is a huge line of cars, several kilometres long, trying to get into the city. It gets dark and starts raining. We enter the city. It is quiet there; heaven for my ears. The buildings are whole and undamaged. A peaceful sky – what else can you ask for?
8pm - We still want to get to western Ukraine, but we’ll think about that tomorrow. For now, we just want to enjoy a peaceful night.
© Yeva Skalietska. Extracted from You Don’t Know What War Is by Yeva Skalietska, which is published in paperback by Bloomsbury Children’s Books on October 25. The audiobook of Yeva’s diary is read by Keira Knightley.
Written by: Alice Thomson
© The Times of London