The two-storey log cabin with a thatched roof, playground, tennis court and swimming pool looks like a children’s holiday camp anywhere in the world. But the 7 Fields camp in Semypolky, Ukraine, is different. Putin’s war on the country has stolen the childhood of the three dozen or so boys and girls enrolled here this August.
Children of Heroes, a nationwide charity, provides holidays at a network of camps such as 7 Fields for 6,000 Ukrainian children who have lost one or both parents – in most cases their father – or are internally displaced. A study by the International Institute of Sociology in Kyiv in June said that 78 per cent of Ukrainians have had at least one person close to them killed or wounded.
Psychologist Katya Dolzhenko says a stay at summer camp “gets them away from constant reminders of grief. It doesn’t heal them, because that takes a long time, but it reminds them that they are children.”
They flock around me, as if I were the Pied Piper or Mary Poppins, begging to be interviewed. They need to express their feelings, Dolzhenko says, but they can be retraumatised by questioning. She is there to strike the right balance.
“The greatest trauma is not for the children but for their mother,” Dolzhenko says. A 12-year-old girl she accompanied with a group on a holiday trip to Poland last year told the psychologist that her mother forbade her to cry.
“The mother said that if she saw her daughter crying, she would lose control herself. The girl cried for 40 minutes without stopping. People are suffering from emotional deprivation.”
I ask a little boy at the swing set where he is from. “Bakhmut!” he shouts, referring to the Donbas city destroyed by Russia. A second boy with a freckled face, blurts out, “My dad got killed at Bakhmut!”
Kolya, the freckled nine-year-old, drops his chin and looks at the ground. We move to a sun-shaded gazebo with Dolzhenko to chat.
The children are taught that doing something for others is the best way to overcome grief. Kolya tells me he helped Kiril, a boy with an injured hand, by carrying his food and helping him climb the stairs.
Kolya cannot remember his father Ruslan’s departure, but he has a photographic memory of last January 5th. “My mother told me,” he says, and his chin dropping to his chest again. Dolzhenko puts her arm around the child’s shoulders and whispers in his ear.
“I asked him who else he loves as much as he father and he tells me he loves his mother and sister. He promises to love them as much as his father loved them,” she translates.
“I am the man in the house now,” Kolya says. “I will help my mom and sister with tasks around the house... I want to be a policeman or join the army when I grow up. Like my father.”
“Give me five,” Dolzhenko says at the end of each interview, slapping hands with the children. Her assessment is that, despite his grief, Kolya is at ease with his feelings. “He says, ‘Yes, I am sad about my father’s death’, but he has plans for the future and knows he needs to support his mother.”
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Since her father’s death last year, 11-year-old Katya has lived alone with her widowed mother. She wears a T-shirt emblazoned with hearts and the words ‘I love you’. “I made it myself. I wrote ‘I love you’ on the T-shirt because I like those words,” the sad, thin girl says.
Katya’s two weeks at the summer camp are almost over. She is scheduled to return on September 4th to live as a boarder and is not happy about it. Being uprooted from their entourage and surroundings can be as traumatic for a child as the death of a parent, Dolzhenko says.
“I would like to study in the school where I was for five or six years before,” Katya says. “I had a lot of friends there. I have one friend here... I don’t have a father. He died in 2022.”
“Are you okay talking about your father?” Dolzhenko asks. The girl shakes her head from side to side. We change the subject. “Do you support your mom? Do you support one another?” “Yes,” Katya says. “I do everything I can so she is not sad. I hug her and tell her everything will be okay.”
Katya wants to be a hairdresser when she grows up. “My dream is to have a good life and I want everyone to be okay. I don’t want too many people crying because of unpleasant situations.”
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Katya returns later while I am talking to another child. “Would you give me something, please, to remember you?” She asks. I find a postcard of Leonardo da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine in a notebook and offer it to her. Katya asks me to write on the card for her.
Dolzhenko believes Katya was the most traumatised of the children we spoke to. Her arms trembled. The fact she asked for a keepsake indicated she was looking for reassurance through objects, attempting to pin down memories of people.
Sometimes I cry at night. I don’t cry at summer camp because it would be bad to make my friends sad. So I just cry at home
— Sevo
Dolzhenko is also concerned about nine-year-old Sevo, from Lysychansk in Luhansk, whose father was killed in action. Sevo moved from shelter to shelter with his mother and brother. He says he has enjoyed learning tennis, football, basketball and chess – his favourite – at summer camp.
“Are you a happy boy?” Dolzhenko asks. Sevo seems to find it a difficult question. His blue eyes dart around. “How do you cope with bad things in your life?” the psychologist continues. “I used to cope with my hands, by fighting,” Sevo replies. “But my mom yelled at me, so now I try to use words. I used to solve issues with my fists.”
“Can you tell us something about your father?” Dolzhenko asks gently.
“My father died at war so now he is a hero,” the boy says. Words tumble out. “He was in Popasna and he was shelled by the mortar and it hit him and he died. He could have been saved but they didn’t get there on time. My mom told me this. I learned this in Poland. We were in Wroclaw. I woke up and I saw my mom sitting very sad. I was shocked and I did not believe this and later I realised it was true.”
Dolzhenko tells Sevo he is brave and calm. “No,” he disagrees. “Sometimes I cry at night. I don’t cry at summer camp because it would be bad to make my friends sad. So I just cry at home.”
“You can cry here too,” says Dolzhenko, taking Sevo’s hand. “Crying is the sign of a brave man.”
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“I generally try to forget about this,” Sevo continues, referring to his father’s death. “Because my mom is asking me to forget. My psychology is broken.”
“Who told you this?” Dolzhenko asks in an alarmed tone.
“My grandma in Poland.”
“And as a psychologist I am telling you that your psychology cannot be broken,” Dolzhenko continues. “You are a healthy person, but you have faced unhappy news. Don’t think something is broken or wrong.”
They should not talk about anger and hatred of Putin and Russia. That creates a very negative mindset. A lot of the problems come from the parents
— Katya Dolzhenko, psychologist
Sevo says he wants to be a soccer player or an astronaut.
“Think about it. If you have broken mental health, you cannot be a soccer player or an astronaut. You are a brave man. Your grandma watches news all day because she has nothing else to do. Do you like pastries?”
“Yes.”
Tell your grandmother that instead of watching TV she should bake you pastries... We don’t know how long the war will last. But you have to have a good future. If you listen to your grandma talking about brokenness, it is not good for you. Think about what you need to do to become a soccer player. Exercise. Be healthy. Learn science.”
Sevo seems to want to believe her, but there’s another hitch. “My mom took me to the hospital and it’s more bad news because my heart is beating like 100 times a minute.”
“Maybe because you worry so much?” Dolzhenko suggests. “Yes. I did worry a lot.”
“You probably need to breathe calmly, eat well. Not junk food. And don’t listen to your grandmother. Do you want to be healthy? Are you strong? Give me a high five.”
The families of grieving children are often the greatest obstacle to healing, Dolzhenko says. Sevo’s worries about his heartbeat, his grandmother questioning his mental health and talking all the time about news from the war are a prime example.
Many parents are isolating their children because of the war, which deprives them of the possibility of sharing their emotions with friends, Dolzhenko says. Not filtering the information they share with children is another mistake. “For example, they should not talk about anger and hatred of Putin and Russia. That creates a very negative mindset. A lot of the problems come from the parents.”
The stay at 7 Fields focuses on positive emotions. “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands!” boys chant in English class. In music class, boys sing a beautiful Ukrainian song, There is Hope.
