‘I have nowhere to go’: With Russia at their door, Ukrainians flee Pokrovsk

Raisa Savchenko throws on her fur coat and makes one final, frantic survey of her apartment. She checks that the curtains are closed, the water valves shut, and the lights turned off. With her phone and documents packed and a wooden cane in hand, she walks gingerly down the stairs and climbs into an evacuation van.

“No one needs me here and nobody can look after me here,” says Ms. Savchenko, a retired post officer in her 80s, coming to terms with the uncertainty of her future as Russian forces continue to advance on her home in the eastern region of Donetsk. “I have nowhere to go.”

Safety is an elusive destination. But the evacuation of Ms. Savchenko and a bedridden neighbor from this mining town, in the Pokrovsk district of Donetsk, brings relief to their social worker.

“There are so many explosions now,” says Victoriia Kotyliak, who plans to leave as soon as the others in her care have left safely. “These ladies were all alone and becoming more and more anxious.”

That anxiety is understandable. Police tallied 2,666 strikes in 24 hours across the Donetsk region this week. Those numbers translate into a steady rumble of explosions and a rising casualty rate. July and August saw the highest monthly civilian death tolls since Russia’s full-scale war against Ukraine began in 2022.

Roman Buhaiov, a volunteer with the East SOS charitable foundation, is determined to get as many people as possible to safety. The nongovernmental organization has five evacuation teams working nonstop in Pokrovsk and the surrounding towns and villages. They prioritize people with limited mobility and form part of a broader safety blanket woven by Ukrainian volunteers all too familiar with crisis.

“People always wait until the very last moment to evacuate,” says Mr. Buhaiov, who started this line of work when he evacuated his own parents and relatives from Severodonetsk, which has been under Russian occupation since June 2022.

He checks that the teary grandmothers in his van have all they need, cracking jokes to put them at ease. “By the time they finally understand the danger of the war,” he says, “it can be too late for the evacuation crews to help.”

Dominique Soguel

Roman Buhaiov, a volunteer with the East SOS charitable foundation, ensures that Raisa Savchenko, the first passenger of the day on the evacuation bus from Bilytske, has her documents.

In Bilytske, even the pigeons are shell-shocked

Russian President Vladimir Putin has long coveted the industrial regions of Luhansk and Donetsk, collectively known as the Donbas, in eastern Ukraine. Russia seized control of large portions of these coal-rich areas in 2014 and has gradually expanded its territorial gains since its full-scale invasion in 2022. Last month, Russian forces broke through Ukrainian defense lines and rained destruction on residential towns, sparking a major civilian exodus.

Pokrovsk had stood out as one of the livelier cities still under Ukrainian control in Donetsk. But now, Russian forces are less than 5 miles from the southeastern edge of the town. This allows them to strike with artillery, as well as with “glide bombs” and missiles whose explosions are part of the soundscape. Over half of the district’s original population of 54,000 has gone.

Dominique Soguel

Evacuees from the Pokrovsk region, under Russian attack, board an evacuation train that will transport them from Pavlohrad to safer parts of the country.

Billboards that used to urge citizens to join various army units now display one clear command: evacuate. Police cars patrol the few blocks of Pokrovsk that still show signs of life, reiterating the same message over their loudspeakers. But time is running out. Evacuation trains no longer leave from the station, and the Russians have destroyed three of the road bridges that had offered a way out of the town.

Many of those who remain are too vulnerable to recognize the depth of the peril or too despondent to care. Others lack the means to leave. Some are deliberately staying, fueled by a potent cocktail of hope and defiance.

Many of those wandering the streets of Pokrovsk are in financial difficulty. Retirees ask each other where they can find a working ATM, so as to collect their pensions and buy food from the last few stores that remain open. Some even search trash cans for edible produce. Others try to sell vegetables and fruits from their gardens.

“Even the pigeons of the city are shell-shocked and disoriented,” says Lida, trying to sell homegrown tomatoes and grapes to finance her eventual departure.

Dominique Soguel

Lida sells homegrown tomatoes on a street corner in Pokrovsk to pay for her evacuation from the city, which is threatened by Russian forces.

Curfew runs from 3 p.m. until 11 a.m., leaving only a short window for buying and selling food. Just one butcher shop remains open. Viktoriia Batrak, the owner, plans to continue operating as long as she can source pork from a nearby farm.

“I believe in our Ukrainian army,” says Ms. Batrak, who moved her daughter to the relative safety of western Ukraine. “But the Russian advance has been very fast. I am really scared they will take Pokrovsk.”

A dangerous situation turns critical

The future of the coal-rich Donetsk region of Ukraine appears increasingly uncertain. The Russian advance has slowed but not stopped this month. Russians have recently captured several villages to the south and east of Pokrovsk city, creating a patchwork of military gray zones, where Ukrainian civilians and evacuation teams are among the first to spot the arrival of Russian soldiers.

Russian troops have already reached the town of Selydove, just 9 miles south of Pokrovsk, according to locals. “Selydove is very dangerous now because Russian soldiers are roaming the streets,” says Anastasiia, waiting for an evacuation train in Pavlohrad because her home and entire street burned down after a Russian strike. “You can hear the gunfights.”

Dominique Soguel

A cyclist and motorcyclist in Pokrovsk hold a quick conversation in a park surrounded by residential buildings. Authorities are evacuating the city as Russian troops approach.

Oleksandr, a Ukrainian serviceman deployed with a combat unit says the town of Selydove is now the focal point of Russian offensive efforts in the Pokrovsk district. “They need to take over a town,” he explains. “They can’t just spend winter in the fields. The villages they have taken so far are so destroyed that they cannot sleep or set up positions there.”

But the ultimate prize would be the city of Pokrovsk, a key logistics hub, which Russian troops appear to be trying to surround from the east and south. “The Ukrainian units and weapons here should be enough to hold them off, but it all depends on what commanders decide,” says Oleksandr. “Dynamics can shift at any moment. They could encircle our forces and we could encircle their forces.”

The situation in the region is growing critical. On Thursday, 151 coal miners were trapped underground when a missile destroyed electricity transmission facilities in Dobropillya.

Staff

But still, some residents cling to the safety of the familiar even as the explosions get closer and louder, and municipal services like trash collection peter out.

“Who wants to abandon their own home?” asks Iryna, a teacher in Pokrovsk rushing home as news spreads by word of mouth that the city’s heating gas has been cut off.

Iryna still has electricity, she says, and her class still needs teaching, even remotely. So she is staying put. “There is no safe place in Ukraine. You never know where a [Russian] strike will meet you,” she says. “At least here you know every corner of your house and you know where to run and hide.”