"That Shell Hit, and Everything Flew Out"

At seven o’clock in the morning, near the bus stop in Slovyansk, we meet a tall man with a badge of the charity foundation “East SOS”. Yevhen is the commander of a brigade that restores destroyed houses of the Donetsk region's residents. Yevhen’s team consists of five men, all of them local. Every morning they meet at this place, drink coffee, and go to work. Today we will go with them to the de-occupied villages.

Our journey from Slovyansk takes an hour. We stop at a place where the brigade will change into work clothes, and then we set off for the facility.

 

The first thing that strikes you in the Donetsk region is just how many houses are shattered. Locals have known war since 2014. Some of them have already been displaced more than once. And then, after eight years, the war came crashing into their homes again—with missiles, artillery, occupation, destruction.

Yet many people have chosen to stay. They keep working, keep believing, and do everything they can to rebuild their lives.

Helping them in this effort is the organization East SOS. One of its key missions is rebuilding homes in the Donetsk region. The work is carried out by local crews—people who are also living in this region.

The village of Yarova, where we’ve arrived, was de-occupied in September 2022. Today, the crew is here to restore the house of Nina Mykolayivna, destroyed by a Russian shell.

“I Open My Eyes—The House Is Gone”

Nina Mykolayivna will turn 90 this August. She lives alone and she’s settled into a small summer kitchen while her house remains uninhabitable.

“Please, sit down—everything’s clean here!” she says with heartfelt care. Order and beauty are important to her. Her yard is just as tidy, lined with various flowers that she still manages to tend.

We step into the house, damaged by the shelling. The roof is destroyed here, windows blown out, the ceiling sagging, the walls and furniture broken. Nina was outside when the missile struck. She says God must have protected her.

“When that shell flew, everything flew out. My kitchen over there, the walls were shaking, everything… And I was standing five meters away, and it didn’t kill me. Not a single fragment even fell near me! God took it away. I was standing five meters from that explosion! Five meters! And not a single splinter or slate fell, nothing fell anywhere! I open my eyes—the house is gone, and I’m standing, all in smoke and dust. Well, that’s all,” the woman recalls.

"Film the chiffonier away, everything is broken. I have paid so much money, and now everything is useless," Nina Mykolayivna sighs, "God forbid, you wouldn't wish that on your enemy. The ceiling’s hanging low... My God, nothing’s fit for anything anymore.”

Nina Mykolayivna tells us about her granddaughter and great-grandson living in Odesa. Asked whether she wants to go to them, she firmly refuses.

“Where would I go? My granddaughter has two little ones in an apartment. And I don’t want to leave. Not even to my son, who is living nearby. No, I can’t leave anywhere. I don’t want to burden anyone else. Besides, my flowers are about to bloom...”

Although the house is very damaged, he commander of the brigade, Yevhen, says they can rebuild it. The main work will take about three days. Soon, Nina will be able to enter her home again—without fearing the consequences of the enemy shelling.

Nina Mykolayivna's house is just one of dozens that Yevhen and his team have worked on in the Donetsk region. As we drive to the neighboring village of Drobysheve, Yevhen tells us that the reaction to their work is sometimes mixed:

“About 80% of people thank us, another 10% don’t say anything at all. And some complain that the help came too late. Sometimes after we finish, another strike hits nearby. People call our hotline to say the nails came loose because of the explosions. Sounds funny, maybe—but it’s not nice to hear.”

“It’s mine. Why should I leave it behind?”

In Drobysheve, we meet Viktor and Halyna—a deeply grateful family whose house the team has just finished repairing.

Viktor meets us near the yard. He ties up the dog for safety and leads us in. A Russian shell hit their home in May 2022. Then they spent six months in occupation. While the house was destroyed, the couple lived in their summer kitchen.

"If there were peace, it would be nice. We’ve gone through a lot," Viktor recalls with sadness. 

“My beehives were broken. Now all the hives are empty. Every hive was hit by shrapnel. We had chickens—the ‘guests’ ate them. We had a shepherd dog—old girl—she vanished too. She used to hide in the cellar with us.”

Inside, Victor shows us the restored house. “The beams were ripped out, one was snapped in two—I tied it together. There was a three-by-three-meter hole right here.”

He gestures to a wall. “There’s still shrapnel stuck in that corner. Can’t pull it out. With this kind of ‘gift’, how could you survive?”

Halyna, his wife, cries throughout our conversation. It’s still painful for her to speak about what they endured. She recalls there were 25-30 shellings at a time.

“They just kept hitting us. We stayed in the cellar, hearing the explosions one by one. Then we came out—everything was buried in slate. Couldn’t even step anywhere. The garden, the yard—all covered. The beams in the house collapsed, the corner crumbled.”

“No matter what—it’s still ours,” Viktor adds, holding back tears. “That’s what keeps us going. It’s mine. My parents lived here. I raised my kids here. Why should I leave it behind?”

We say goodbye to Victor and Halyna and head to the woman who is just beginning the process of applying for reconstruction aid. Yevhen says that he has personally heard 72 such stories — the same number as the number of houses he has restored.

“Every house is a new story,” he says. “They start telling you—who was there, when it happened, what time, where the shell came from. I’ve heard more than 70 of these. It’s heavy. But people need to talk.”

"Even the walls heat here"

Near the house, we’re greeted by a tall, slender woman with a bright smile. Her name is Liudmyla. She immediately clicks with the team. This fragile woman, it turns out, does woodworking—and built her own fence.

“An angle grinder and drill are like a hairdryer to me,” she says.

Before the full-scale Russian invasion, Liudmyla worked at a sawmill. Then she went out to Germany to her children for a time. But in May 2023, she returned.

“There’s someone's own paradise. People are content, and everything is fine there. But you know… home is home. Everything here is native, everything is mine own.”

When the woman got back, she found her roof shattered, the ceiling collapsed, and windows and doors blown out. Now she lives in the only room she managed to fix. Another room has a cracked beam—she needs help with that.

Liudmyla spent the winter in that house. “It was cold,” she says. “I sealed everything with plastic, made it so only one room was heated. But even that’s easier than adjusting to a perfect life in Germany.”

“Over there, everything’s ready-made. You just have to fit in. But we’re not like that. We need to make it our own way—use our wits, our imagination. Their cities, people, and nature are wonderful, but it’s not the same. I miss our sun. Even our frosts and snowstorms. It’s easier here. Even the walls heat here.”

Soon, Liudmyla’s house will be repaired. Next winter, she won’t have to cover her windows and doors with plastic.

We return to Nina Mykolayivna’s home, where the crew has been working. While we were gone, they’ve already repaired one part of the roof and covered it with new slate. Nina steps outside to look at the result of the work.

“You’ll patch the ceiling too, right?” she asks.
“Yes,” they reply.
“Oh, wonderful! I’ll walk in there with a bouquet of flowers!” Nina beams.

"East SOS" plans to restore at least 500 homes—and make 500 more people happier.