I met the Ukrainian family, Ira Ostapenko, her husband Vlad, and 3-year-old daughter Arina, upstairs at the General Store to hear the story of how they escaped the war in their country. Since Oct. 18 they have been living in an apartment on Bolton Road through the support of a group of volunteers in town, some of whom Ira knew from her stay in Harvard 15 years ago. But their separate journeys here have been full of difficulty and heartbreak.
“We had been hearing talk of war starting last December,” said Ira, and the talk escalated in mid-February. “We were terrified, but no one believed it would really happen. The Russians are our neighbors; many of our families are intertwined. It was impossible to believe they would invade us, and the Russian people didn’t believe it either.” That is, until the first missile fell at 2 a.m. on Feb. 24, two hours after Defender of the Fatherland Day, celebrated in Russia. At the second missile, their apartment shook, and they could see fire from the explosion. They moved out into the hall, putting two walls between them and the windows, and they piled blankets and pillows in Arina’s crib. Ira’s mother lived close by, and they brought her to join them.
The family lived in the city of Dnipro. Ira sketched a map showing Dnipro as 250 miles southeast of Kiev, 250 north of the border with Crimea, currently occupied by Russia, and 150 miles west of Donetsk, an area of Ukraine also occupied by Russia since 2014. She drew arrows showing the six directions from which the missiles attacked on the first day of the invasion, trying to cut off Kiev, hitting airports, military bases, and civilians. That day there were long lines at the ATMs and gas stations; grocery store shelves were empty and shelters were opened.
“Vlad told me we had to get out,” said Ira, who speaks perfect English, having learned it at school and university and using it during stays in the U.S. and in her career as department head of a company importing liquor from a German export company. She said Vlad has forgotten the English he did know because he wasn’t using it. He owned a business in Ukraine detailing and wrapping cars. At my ignorance of “wrapping,” Vlad showed a picture on his phone of a sports car wrapped in a vinyl film with a multicolored design. Vlad is using his knowledge and experience in a job at AlphaCars & Motorcycles in Boxborough. While we talked, Arina, adorable in a pink tutu and pink boots, was watching a Ukrainian cartoon on her mom’s phone. Ira would later say this is what helped to keep the then-28-month-old child distracted while sitting in her car seat for 10 hours at a time.
Turned back
On Feb. 25, the family packed up two cars, mostly blankets, food, and water, not knowing what they might face. Ira drove her sister, her nephew, Arina, and three cats in carriers. Vlad drove Ira’s mother and some of his friends. They set out for the western border of Ukraine, which took them three days, with hours-long lines at the checkpoints. Their destination was Bulgaria, where a friend of Ira’s had a summer home he wasn’t using. When they were approaching the border, a man told Ira the line was shorter going into Moldova.
Then the unthinkable happened. Vlad and his friends were not allowed to cross; they would have to return home and stay in Ukraine to fight in the war. Ira’s mother joined her daughters in the other car, and they continued on. It would be eight months before Ira and Vlad would see each other again.
Vlad Kostochka, Arina Kostochka, and Ira Ostapenko recently came to live in Harvard after fleeing the war in Ukraine. (Photo by Lisa Aciukewicz)
After driving for 49 hours over five days, Ira arrived at her friend’s house. Arina had not eaten for those five days; she had only formula, and lost half her weight. She would sometimes have nightmares, Ira said. Arina hadn’t seen much war damage as they crossed Ukraine, but “kids can read you,” she said.
Ira’s sister and her son had left for the Czech Republic. Ira received an offer of help from the German company she had worked with, and although she hated the thought of driving another long distance so soon, she set out on the 1,800-mile trip to Germany, arriving there March 15. The company had cleared out half a floor of office space and set up bedrooms and a living room; they had hung pictures, brought toys, and provided other furnishings. There was another family of four sharing the space. Everyone thought Ukraine would win the war soon, but as time went on, it was clear this would not be so.
“For two months I was like a robot,” said Ira. All she could think of was Vlad and what the people back home were enduring. She watched the news 24/7; she could talk with Vlad but couldn’t reach any other people back home. She knew she would have to learn German in order to get a good job. And it was just too much, she said; she was overwhelmed by all they had been through. She drew her hand down in front of her face to show how she had felt blocked from doing anything else that took her energy. Eventually she began to think of English-speaking countries where she could imagine living, like England or Scotland or the United States. It was an easy choice. But Ira’s mother would remain in Germany—“She wants to go home,” said Ira. “For her it is impossible to live in any other country.”
In 2004 Ira had spent four months in California, improving her English in the Work and Learn program. Knowing that once she started a job in Ukraine, she would be at that job for the rest of her working life, she wanted to do something different before that. In 2006 she came to Harvard and spent a year as an au pair with the Greayer family. She had kept in touch over the past 15 years, and Rochelle Greayer had called Ira a few days before the war broke out, worried and wanting to help. Now Ira reached out to accept Greayer’s help.
Back in Ukraine, Vlad had moved in with his parents and was working. Ira translated his description of how he and his friends became adept at figuring out where Russian missiles would land. The news would give the launching point and from that they could determine how close the danger would come. All this time Vlad was trying to get an exemption from the military because of a disability. Before he and Ira married in 2019, Vlad had been in a motorcycle accident; he broke his neck and spine. To get the disability status, he went through a series of tests and exams; finally he received a form from the doctors, which he took to the military officials. They put him through more tests and then gave him a form to sign that they said was an appointment for another exam. After signing, Vlad realized he had been tricked and the form was really an order to report for military duty. Vlad had to get out of Ukraine and he took a cab 800 miles to do so.
Greayer forms Team Ira
Meanwhile, Greayer had been looking since spring for a way to help Ira and her family. Through the federal Uniting Ukraine program, she had begun the long process of paperwork to sponsor them to come to the U.S. In a phone conversation, she told me the forms and logistics were pretty overwhelming. In looking for help, she had connected with the Neighborhood Support Teams, the organization that helped individuals settle the Afghan families in Harvard. She went through the training and gathered a group of friends to form Team Ira. They found and furnished a rental apartment, arranged a job and English lessons with a private tutor for Vlad, and found them a car. “Harvard was incredibly generous with donations,” said Greayer. “There’s nothing more powerful than a group of neighbors,” she added.
In mid-October Ira met Vlad at the border of Slovakia for a flight to Boston. They had six suitcases, three of which were full of Arina’s toys from Germany. “She had already lost her toys once,” said Ira.
Ira said being in Harvard is like coming home. She feels very comfortable being here. The group of volunteers has been very supportive, and Ira remembers some of them from 15 years ago. She is also meeting new people. Vlad likes his job; the English lessons not so much. Ira is completing paperwork for Arina to attend preschool in Devens. “I never expected so much love,” said Ira. “Everyone is friendly and full of warm words.”
We didn’t talk about the future. Back home their apartment is OK so far, but missiles have hit houses close by as recently as late November. Ira said the Ukrainian people are making the best of things, going to work and out to restaurants, living each day as though it were the last. “You can’t stay on alert constantly,” she said. An image stays in Ira’s mind from when they were leaving Ukraine: A monument surrounded by sandbags to protect it from bombing was right across the street from where people were enjoying an outdoor concert in a park.
“We were happy there,” says Ira of their life in Ukraine. “Vlad had a successful business and I had a career. We hate Russia so much. We don’t want them to have our home.”
