Inside the Przemsyl Tesco turned humanitarian centre is a strange new world. Soldiers check the wristbands of volunteers and refugees to get in or out. There are rows of child seats for cars and push chairs free to anyone who needs them. There are tables with phone chargers and laminated maps of Europe and Poland stuck on the wall.
The centre has a square of tiled corridors around a central block. Along the corridors are rooms filled with camp beds. Off one corner of the square a short corridor opens onto a warehouse space the size of a football pitch. There are hundreds of beds in rows. A temporary canteen, medical services and crèche have been set up.
People wander about. Many just sit or lie in bed. There are always children playing in the corridors in the evenings: boys playing football and a dressing table where girls on zebra striped seats apply sparkly nail varnish. There are queues of those being registered as they arrive. There are those at the exit in queues being checked out so they can leave via buses, or with volunteer drivers. Hundreds pass through here everyday.
Przemsyl is situated only a few miles from the Poland/Ukraine border at Medyka and 60 miles due west of the Ukrainian city of Lviv.
I am here working with a team of other volunteers organised by the Bristol church, Love Bristol. Our role is to help refugees find new homes in the UK under the “Homes for Ukraine” scheme. This means matching Ukrainians to sponsors in the UK, processing the visa applications and providing accommodation, food and other basic needs while they wait for a decision about their visas.
The visa application teams are in one corner of the square at the Tesco. They are just trestle tables with seats, laptops and the flags of each European country.
Joe has set up the Ireland desk next to ours. He has good Irish wit.
“Ah, I see you’re using one of our seats again. It’s ok, I’m sure we can come to a peace agreement over it.”
Yet he changes his tone when I ask about who’s helping the refugees.
“No one here is working for a charity. There is no Red Cross, no Unicef. The local mayor doesn’t want it to seem like there’s a problem.”
While the Ukrainians wait for decisions on their visas, Love Bristol houses them in churches, schools and hotels. This is being funded by donations to the Love Bristol Go Fund Me page.
Irena, her daughter Olha and Olha’s two sons, aged one and two, are from Kremenchuk in Central Ukraine. It had already been five days since they had left their homes when we made their application. Irena had been a local journalist. She has a great sense of humour and a huge laugh but her eyes look worn and anxious.
“It was very stressful. We would hear sirens constantly when we knew there would be bombs.”
I drive them (with two borrowed baby seats) from Przemsyl to Rzeszow to a hotel for five nights while they wait for a decision. When we arrive, Irena tells me she has only 400 Ukrainian Hryvnia (about 10 pounds).
I take them out for dinner. While we’re eating she asks: “How long will it take for the visa?” I’ve been asked the same question many times. I don’t know what to say. I know some have been granted in less than a week but many are waiting longer than three.
When I return to Przemsyl, Greg stresses the need for more help to support those we’re looking after.
“We’re spending about £6000 a week on accommodation here. We’ve had a great response already but we urgently need more money and more volunteers.”
In Ukraine, Churches are acting as hubs sending supplies; medical aid and support to devastated areas in UE and in Poland, churches are giving Ukrainians temporary accommodation and respite on their journey out of the country. Here is a link to the Love Bristol Go Fund Me page.
Read James Rogerson’s first blog in this series from volunteering front line.
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