The road to Kamyanka, in eastern Ukraine, is a jagged path through a ghost town. Once home to 1,200 souls, barely a hundred remain, clinging to what’s left amidst widespread devastation. But beyond the shattered buildings, an unseen horror permeates every inch of their world: landmines. Can you imagine trying to rebuild your life knowing death could literally be underfoot? Vasil and Tatiana Rushka, like many here, valiantly try to eke out a living from the scarred earth. They built a greenhouse, even selling a cherished cow to finance it, where they painstakingly grow tomatoes, peppers, and dill. Yet, vast tracts of their land remain untouched, too dangerous to cultivate. Their once-thriving herds of cows and pigs are gone, replaced by a few chickens and ducks – a stark, heartbreaking symbol of their diminished lives. Despite their constant vigilance, this courageous couple would soon face the brutal reality of these hidden killers firsthand.
Their harrowing tale began when Russian soldiers, forcing them from their cellar hideout, marched them towards a village store. A chilling radio message crackled: "Shoot them." In that terrifying moment, they believed their lives were over. Only a sudden, chaotic firefight between Ukrainian soldiers offered a desperate escape to a nearby occupied city. But for Vasil, his ravaged farm was home. He returned alone, navigating treacherous Russian checkpoints, enduring a month of silent dread for his family who had no idea if he was alive. While some, in their confusion, branded him a collaborator, he insists he was merely a survivor, clinging to his land until the Russians finally retreated. The invaders, having seized over 500 villages in the Kharkiv region, left behind a horrifying legacy: anti-personnel 'butterfly mines,' scattered indiscriminately by helicopters and and mortars. These sinister plastic devices are almost impossible to detect, even with metal detectors. This unseen danger casts a long, dark shadow over the children, too. Young Artam, one of the few remaining, now learns English online, dreaming of a future in security, yearning to "shoot and run fast." His mother, Tanya, watches him play, knowing his childhood is far from normal, as he and his friends must navigate a mine-littered playground, constantly warned about unseen wires and explosives – a chilling childhood lesson in survival.
The true, brutal price of living amidst this danger is unfathomably high. Vasil, after bravely clearing mines from his own property by setting them alight, suffered a devastating injury in October 2022. While collecting firewood from a neighbor’s yard, a mine exploded, tragically taking his foot. An aid organization provided a prosthesis, but a stroke followed, further testing his resilience. Last year, the nightmare struck again, on Tatiana’s birthday no less. While bringing hay for their cow, she stepped on a mine. The blast knocked her over, her leg severed. Her son’s quick, heroic action, tying off her leg, probably saved her life. Both now struggle daily with pain and the limitations of their prostheses, but their spirit remains unbroken. They defiantly refuse to abandon their way of life, finding solace and strength in working their garden, a powerful, living act of normalcy against all odds. Across the street, Vladimir busily repairs his home, painstakingly funded by government aid, the Russian 'Z' symbol still chillingly etched on his gate—a grim reminder of the occupation. He, like many, questions the village's future, grappling with limited infrastructure, a weekly bus, a defunct school, and a playground still riddled with mines. Yet, amidst the despair, a flicker of hope emerges. Electricity and cell service have slowly returned. Demining teams from NGOs work tirelessly, deploying remote-controlled Croatian machines to clear the estimated one-fifth of Ukraine's territory contaminated with over two million mines. It's a slow, painstaking, and incredibly dangerous process, but every mine cleared is a step towards reclaiming their land and their lives. Artam's mother, Tanya, epitomizes this profound, heartbreaking resilience. Returning after fleeing, she found her house destroyed, her father killed, his remains burned, his car crushed by a tank. Every day, she drives past the wreckage, a painful, constant reminder of her loss. Yet, she cannot imagine living anywhere else. She recounts her son’s innocent joy, even amidst the ruins of their home, running up to her, roofless and exposed to the elements, to say, "Mommy, it's so nice here at home." And in that moment, she burst into tears – a testament to an unbreakable spirit, choosing remembrance and survival in a village forever marked by an unseen war. What does it truly mean to call a place home, when it carries such a deadly secret?
