Photo: Jean-Marc Caimi and Valentina Piccinni
Women and girls are driving the Ukrainian refugee crisis, one of the biggest in recent history. Since martial law forbids Ukrainian men between the ages of 18 and 60 from leaving the country, the vast majority of refugees are daughters and wives forced to separate from fathers and husbands; they’re mothers and expectant mothers journeying across borders while also caring for children and aging parents.
In “No Woman, No Cry,” photographers Jean-Marc Caimi and Valentina Piccinni documented the plight of Ukrainian refugees passing through Przemyśl, Poland, through penetrating portraits. These shots, tightly zoomed-in around the women’s and girls’ faces, are almost claustrophobic in their closeness. The photographers also asked their subjects to display one important thing they were able to take with them from home. Some of these objects are sentimental, some are practical, and occasionally, they’re alive — one woman traveled alone with a small dog. Other refugees showed off wedding rings, stuffed animals, family photos, and Bibles. “The children showed us their toys, the middle-aged ladies their cell-phone photos of flowers in their garden,” Caimi and Piccinni explain. At least one object had a darker connotation: the large kitchen knife one woman grabbed “instinctively to protect the children on the escape route,” according to the photographers.
Crossing the border is an act of survival. It’s also a profound interruption to one’s family life — there’s no certainty of being able to return to loved ones who had to, or chose to, stay behind. According to Caimi and Piccinni, many of the refugees they photographed emphasized that they did not want to leave their homes. Galina, a 30-year-old woman who said she worked as a florist before the war broke out, had previously fled Lugansk in eastern Ukraine when Russia annexed Crimea. Galina said she was contemplating what country she would have to seek refuge in next. The one important thing she said she took with her was her passport, an unassuming beige-covered document that is also a powerful symbol of her identity. It’s what allows Galina — and all the refugees pictured — to safely cross borders and start their new lives elsewhere. Those lives will be temporary arrangements at most, or so these women and girls are hoping.
“I was already a migrant. I had to flee Lugansk eight years ago because they bombed our house, and now I have to flee Kyiv,” said Galina, 30.
Galina’s passport allowed her to cross the border and will permit her to settle in another European country. She said she was undecided between France, Italy, and Belgium.
“I still have no idea where I want to go. I just want to reach a safe place where I can start living again,” said Marina, a 34-year-old from Kyiv.
Marina traveled with her Yorkshire terrier, Lola. She decided to leave Kyiv even though her whole family stayed behind there; she is divorced and has no children.
Natalia, 69, escaped from Smila, a town in central Ukraine, with her 92-year-old mother. She was a kindergarten teacher before the war. One of Natalia’s daughters stayed behind in Smila because her husband joined the army.
Natalia said her whole life was contained in this leopard-print bag. “We couldn’t take much with us. My mother is elderly and cannot carry weights. She walks with a cane. But we are lucky because my daughter lives in Germany, and she will ride us there safely.”
Kira, a 10-year-old student from Kyiv, was traveling with her mother. “I don’t know what will happen when I get to Germany, if I can go to a school straight away, but I think it will be an interesting experience,” she said.
Humanitarian volunteers gave Kira a puppet as a gift when she crossed the border with Poland. She didn’t have time to bring her own toys from home.
Viktoria, 38, is a former English teacher who fled Hostomel, a town close to Kyiv, with her children, Sonya, 14, and Ilia, 8.
“I escaped under the bombs, so I couldn’t even get my papers, neither mine nor those of my children,” Viktoria said. “The only thing I took from home was a knife to protect me and my children.”
Masha, 16, fled Kyiv with her mother, Marina, 43, who is deaf-mute. Her parents are divorced, and her father has been living in Russia for several years.
Masha studied fine art in Kyiv. “Many of my schoolmates want to become art teachers,” she said. “Not me! My dream is to be an illustrator.” She couldn’t take her work with her when she left home, but she carried a digital portfolio of her drawings on her cell phone.
Photographs by Valentina Piccinni and Photographs by Jean-Marc Caimi and Valentina Piccinni
“In Kyiv, I don’t know what’s left, if my house is still standing, because when I fled, the bombing was close,” said Liuba, 64.
Liuba, who fled Kyiv with her daughter, lost all of her documents and her luggage on the train to Poland. She had important medicine in her luggage and was afraid of not being able to replace it without a doctor’s prescription. The only drugs she had with her were those in her pockets.
Ivanka, 39, traveled by train to Poland with her two children, Valentin, 8, and Margherita, 2. She was unsure where they were headed but was aware of a large Ukrainian community in Italy. “The only thing I care about is making the right choice for my children, for their future,” she said.
Ivanka put a small toy in her bag for her youngest daughter. To her, it represents their family unit.
Svetlana, 17, left the suburbs around Kyiv with her sister and mother. They were heading for Berlin, although they didn’t know anyone there.
Svetlana is an aspiring tattoo artist and hopes to learn the trade in Berlin. She said she would never leave home without her sketchbook.
“While I was on holiday with friends in central Ukraine, with a return ticket in my hands, war broke out,” said Marina, 48, a hotel manager from Strilkove. “My town, very close to Crimea, was immediately invaded by the Russians. I could not return home.”
Marina was traveling through Poland to Italy, where a friend of hers lives. She carried a small Bible, the only personal object she had brought with her on vacation.
Photographs by Valentina Piccinni and Photographs by Jean-Marc Caimi and Valentina Piccinni
The psychological toll of family separation weighs heavily on refugees. At border checkpoints, some have described the forcible parting from husbands and fathers as a “a little death.” Lesia, 26, a refugee who planned to travel to Germany, was separated from her husband who stayed behind to fight in the military. She showed Caimi and Pinnicci her slim rose-gold wedding band; they snapped a photo of her holding the ring in her outstretched palm. The ring makes Lesia feel connected to her husband, and it not only represents her ties to him but to her home country as well.
Ukrainian border guards had begun searching cars to ensure no military-age men were trying to leave, and many mothers traveling without their spouses have run into legal obstacles because they don’t have all their children’s legal documents, leaving them stuck. Several children were fleeing Ukraine unaccompanied by adults. Meanwhile, many elderly folks remained in the country, isolated from family members and sometimes physically unable to escape conflict zones.
Many of the refugees with whom Caimi and Piccinni spoke described elderly Ukrainians as particularly resistant to leaving home. Marina, 43, a deaf-mute factory worker from Kyiv, told the photographers that she fled the city with her teenage daughter and some friends — her mother chose to stay behind. When she was asked about her most important possession, she showed Caimi and Piccinni a photograph of her mother, smiling beside a spray of purple flowers, on her cell phone. Another refugee whose grandmother chose to stay behind gave her a special parting gift. Leroy, 13, told Caimi and Piccinni that her grandmother’s angel statuette will be the first item of furniture in her room when she reaches Berlin — a comforting reminder of her home country.
Marina, 43, a deaf-mute factory worker from Kyiv, fled to Poland with her daughter, Masha, 16. They then planned to travel to Milan, where a friend of Marina’s lives. She and her daughter wanted to stay in Italy for three months at the most before returning to Kyiv.
Marina showed a photo of her mother on her cell phone. Her mother stayed behind in Kyiv because she didn’t want to leave her home.
Lesia, 26, left a village outside of Kyiv that had been heavily bombed while civilians evacuated. She was heading to Germany with her daughter, Katia, 3, as well as her mother-in-law and sister-in-law. Her husband remained in Kyiv to support the army.
“I have no friends in Germany, only distant acquaintances and friends of friends,” Lesia said. “I don’t know what will happen to us there. Every day I think of my husband, and I am afraid that I might not see him again.” Here, she held her wedding ring in her hand.
Leroy, 13, fled the outskirts of Kyiv with her sister and her mother. Their family was headed for Berlin, where Leroy would like to go back to school again. Her dream is to become a psychologist.
Before she left, Leroy’s grandmother, who decided to stay at home, gave her a “guardian angel” statuette. Leroy said it will be the first piece of furniture in her new room.
Anna, a 35-year-old bartender from Kyiv, traveled to Poland with her son, Mikita, and her aunt, Ludmilla, in hopes of reaching Berlin. She left behind two dogs. Her brother and her 61-year-old father stayed and joined the city’s Territorial Defense Force.
One of the few things Anna said she took with her was a family photo showing her mother, who died several years ago.
Photographs by Valentina Piccinni and Photographs by Jean-Marc Caimi and Valentina Piccinni
