She fled war to protect her kids. Ukrainian mom now worries about life in US: 'I don't know what to do'
A Pacific breeze wafts through Olga Kovalchuk’s blond hair as she watches her kids play in a San Diego Bay park more than 6,300 miles from their home in Ukraine.
And as she tries to make sense of life as a refugee.
Last week, the single mom was hunkered with those children in a basement at their apartment complex while bombs and missiles rained over Cherkasy, a city of 278,000 on the Dnieper River.
Five days later, they are in the United States – a foreign land where Kovalchuk has no place to live, no relatives or job. Not even a plan.
But she and her children are safe.
Kovalchuk, wearing a lime-green shirt with “Love” emblazoned across the front, says the family plans to stay in San Diego overnight, catching up on sleep and trying to recover from a harrowing journey.
“After that, we decide," she adds. "I don’t know what we do."
Like more than 3 million other Ukrainians fleeing the Russian invasion, the 37-year-old says she is simultaneously looking back and ahead.
Looking behind because that is her home, job, friends; even the family cat, Musya, had to be abandoned.
“I left my life,” Kovalchuk says. “I left everything I had.”
Looking forward, with anxiety and wonder, because the future is a blur, with no idea where they will live or how they will get by.
In Ukraine, a career as an interpreter allowed Kovalchuk to work mostly from home, looking after the children. They had their music and piano classes, swim lessons and routines. Now, the kids will need to find schools, learn English, adapt to a new culture.
"It is very hard to leave everything," she says.
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'We were in constant danger'
Kovachuk pulls out her phone and begins scrolling for photographs of war's devastation.
“I deleted most of the pictures,” she notes. "It's very heartbreaking. I can't look... We were in constant danger,”
They spent days in the basement of their apartment complex, surfacing only to get food and to bathe. As war raged outside, Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelenskyy tried to keep spirits up, delivering positive news. His efforts were helpful, she says, but not always successful. Those in the bunker sometimes broke down in fears and tears.
Five days ago, after a series of explosions, word spread that Russians had landed at Cherkasy's airport.
“We have to go,” Kovalchuk’s father insisted. “Now!”
She argued to stay and defend the motherland: “I was very angry. I didn’t want to leave. I’m a patriot.”
But her father and friends prevailed.
“We had to leave – to save the lives of our children," she says. "Still, sometimes I feel shame because I left them."
They were given a half hour to pack. Kovalchuk says she grabbed travel documents and a few items of clothing. The family piled into a car and joined a three-vehicle caravan of refugees, some traveling from the capital, Kyiv, heading west for Ukraine’s border with Slovakia.
Kovalchuk was accompanied by three of her children, ages 4, 6 and 15. A fourth child, 9-year-old Sofia, was staying with Kovalchuk’s ex-husband.
“We agreed for him to pass her to me at the border,” she says, eyes glazed. “He didn’t come as he promised, and it was panicking, so we had to go.”
They were held up for a day at the crossing in a line of thousands of refugee vehicles. Friends already were safely into Poland, Germany, Italy and Montenegro. Although Kovalchuk had never been to the United States, that became the goal – “to get as far away from the war as possible.”
The vehicles were abandoned in Slovakia. Kovalchuk, her father, her brother and his family caught flights to Paris, then Mexico City and Tijuana. After a day of processing at the California border, 13 displaced persons – 8 of them children – crossed over.
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Exhausted and missing home
Kovalchuk said there was almost no sleep during the ordeal. Airline tickets wiped out most of the family's savings. They ate packaged meals, sandwiches.
Victoria Ivanova, a representative with San Diego’s House of Ukraine, said the nonprofit planned to buy clothing for the band of refugees Monday and provide transportation on Tuesday to Los Angeles, where they hope to meet with acquaintances.
But Kovalchuk is uncertain even about the next step, so exhausted that she and the kids were focused on the one-day layover – resting at a motel and playing in the park.
Max, the 15-year-old, says in broken English that he is not worried about life in a new country, just relieved to be out of the war zone.
"I'm not in Ukraine,” he says, smiling, “where I was afraid of the shouts (explosions) from planes and helicopters.”
Kovalchuk looks on as the younger kids, Ruslan and Anna, play a game of chase, laughing.
“They are missing home very much,” she says. “But they tell me, ‘Mother, we are happy because we are with you.’
“We must be patient now,” she adds, shrugging. “Be calm. I don’t know what to expect…I would like to go back very much, but I'm not sure if it will ever be possible."