“We are glad that no one is shooting at us.” Galina’s story about seeking safety and finding new strength to live

Photo and text: Nejsme si cizí website (Slovo 21)

We bring you Galina’s story, created as part of the Nejsme si cizí (We Are No Strangers) project run by the organisation Slovo 21. The project aims to promote mutual understanding and respect in our increasingly diverse society, highlighting that every person has a unique life story. Through articles, videos, and other activities, the project creates space for dialogue and better understanding between foreigners and locals.

Galina left Ukraine in 2022 together with her daughter and her daughter’s four children. Prague gradually became their safe haven, but the daughter’s tragic death brought further grief and hardship. At the age of 57, Galina found herself raising her four grandchildren alone. Her story is one of loss and pain, but also of strength, sacrifice, and the search for ways to cope with a new reality.

Life in a village brings many responsibilities around the house and garden – especially when you have a small farm. At the same time, living and working in the countryside creates a strong bond with the place one cares for. Walking through the garden can bring peace; growing your own food offers self-sufficiency; and the surroundings provide freedom and adventure for both children and adults. This is the life Galina remembers when she thinks of her home in Ukraine: a spacious house, a car, a garden, pigs and piglets, goats, ducks, hens – and her daughter and grandchildren living nearby in Mykolaiv.

Sitting at her kitchen table in Prague, Galina recalls the winter wind that scattered the fallen leaves – and seemed to sweep away her peaceful sleep, her sense of security, and her home. Russian missiles began falling on Mykolaiv. Her daughter and grandchildren moved to Galina’s village, hoping for safety, but instead found sleepless nights and constant fear. Not far from Galina’s house, the Ukrainian army had stored weapons and was firing toward the Russian front. Explosions grew closer each day.

Galina recalls her daughter dropping a basket of laundry and throwing herself to the ground as rockets flew over the clothesline. The children spent more and more time hidden in the windowless hallway. At night, the window panes rattled. A ball kicked against the gate by the boys could make the whole house panic, fearing the next explosion. The youngest grandson began wetting himself at night from stress. Soon there was nowhere left to hide, and every breath felt like it could be the last.

The bus that carried Galina, her daughter, and her four grandchildren away from the war was filled with people, each with their own story. Three families got off in Prague – one of them Galina’s. They entered a large room with a wardrobe, a table, chairs, six mattresses on the floor – and silence. Silence without sirens or explosions. The siren test on the first Wednesday of the month brought confusion and terror, but it was only a faint echo of the horrors they had fled.

People often say misfortune comes in threes, or that sorrow never arrives alone. But sometimes misfortune strikes without pattern and takes whatever it finds. Galina never learned exactly what happened when her daughter returned to Ukraine to retrieve documents for the children. She was only informed that her daughter’s body had been found. Such reports became tragically common during the war. Galina’s stepson also went missing at the front.

A pause in the story brings us back to the living room where Galina sits, surrounded by the quiet routine of everyday life. Here she faced the reality of raising four children alone. When she speaks about them, she smiles more than at any other moment. They are good children – fifteen, twelve, eleven, and nine years old. After their mother’s death, Galina did her best to prevent the children from being placed in institutional care. On her way to Ukraine for the funeral, she managed to arrange the necessary documents, and a Czech court granted her foster custody. From one day to the next, the children found themselves alone with their grandmother in a new world.

The cycle of endless care and worry was compounded by financial hardship. Galina recalls the support she received. In addition to state benefits, many people were willing to help the family in their difficult situation. Life in Prague slowly settled down. The children received psychological help. The youngest boy, who was deeply affected by the stress of leaving Ukraine, began seeing a speech therapist to work on his speech disorder. All four joined music clubs, attend English classes, play sports, and take care of each other.

Running a household with four growing children demands much of Galina’s time and energy, even though the children are older now and navigate the city on their own. A weekly schedule of all activities and responsibilities hangs on the refrigerator so that nothing – and no one – is forgotten. Galina also tries to take on part-time jobs to provide the children with at least a little extra. When she speaks about them, she smiles again. Despite all the hardships, it is clear that the children are her motivation to get up every morning and live each day as well as she can. She recalls how often they say to each other, “We love you.” “We love you, Grandma,” she repeats.

Over time, Prague has become a peaceful place for Galina. Will she ever return to Ukraine? She shrugs. For now, there is nowhere to return to. And if the day comes when it is possible, the children will decide for themselves what kind of future they want.

Watch a video about Galina and her grandchildren (in Ukraininan with Czech subtitles) on the Nejsme si cizí website.