A cramped room for three instead of a cozy apartment. Is there life in modular towns?
Olena, 39, lives not far from the ruins of her own home. She has to share a room with her son, daughter-in-law, and grandson. While Olha from Slovyansk was saved by her job as a commandant in Bucha.
All these people are united by the fact that they are forced to live in modular towns because the war destroyed their homes. For our report, we find out how they live, get along with their neighbors, and what they plan for the near future.
"I don't want to spend years of my life in a plastic container"
In February and March of 2022, heavy battles for the capital took place in Horenka, a suburb of Kyiv. So the once cozy and green village now makes a depressing impression. There are almost no surviving buildings on the main streets, the roads are broken, and metal fences with the words "People here!" are full of holes from bullets and shells.
Many locals lost their homes, so a modular town was opened for them last December with the assistance of the Polish government. Olena, 39, lives here with her teenage son. Their home - or rather what's left of it - is not far away.
"In March, it was hit by enemy shells more than once. Several times there was a strong fire, several apartments burned to the ground. Thankfully, only our windows were smashed, so we had to cover them with plastic and continue living. It was impossible to leave, so we lived in the occupation for a month and a half," Olena recalls.
When she was able to leave Kyiv Oblast after the de-occupation, she and her son went to live with his godmother in Zhytomyr Oblast. They returned in the fall, pulled through three months without electricity and water, and then moved to the modular town. They took only the most basic necessities with them, and for the rest, such as clothes, they periodically visit their home.
"I remember my first impressions when I first entered the house - my God, it's warm here! There is light! Water! It seemed like a luxury to me. But people, you know, reacted differently. Some people are used to living in 120-square-meter mansions, and for them, of course, these are not houses, but shoeboxes.
Our town is small: it consists of two sections, each with 22 rooms. There is a kitchen and a bathroom in a separate module. The appliances are all new and work faultlessly. In winter, however, it was cold, because the rooms are heated by electric heaters, and when the power was cut off, the houses immediately got cold because they are made of plastic. Then we were brought generators, and the problem was solved," she says.
Olena says that they get on well with their neighbors: she knew many of them before they were forced to coexist in the modules. Sometimes, of course, there are some misunderstandings, but they are quickly resolved.
When the conversation turns to the future, Olena's optimism is noticeably lesser: "I don't know what will happen next. They say that our homes are beyond repair, so they will be demolished. I have applied for compensation. But when will it be? There is a war in our country, and I understand that all the issues [will be handled] after the victory. But I don't want to spend years of my life in a plastic container."
"I really want the war to end soon, so that my son can find a job and build a new house"
In Bucha, modular towns were among the first to appear in Kyiv Oblast. They are also Polish, as evidenced by the large flag of the friendly state and the inscription "Polska Pomoc."
One of these locations was opened in the summer of 2022. It is designed for 352 people and genuinely resembles a small town: the territory is fenced off, and there are recreation areas between the modules.
On the inside, the houses look like a European student dormitory. Each section is a long corridor with rooms on both sides, a large kitchen and a leisure room in the middle, and showers and toilets at the beginning and end of the corridor. The living rooms are, of course, small, but fully furnished: there are beds, wardrobes, chairs, shelves.
Ms. Valentyna lives in one of the rooms with her son, daughter-in-law and grandson. Until Feb. 24, 2022, they lived together in their own home, but on the third day of the full-scale war, a shell hit the house.
"The house was wooden, so everything burned down in a matter of minutes. We managed to take out only ourselves, some belongings and documents. We spent the night with neighbors, and the next day we were able to leave.
We returned in the summer and received a permit for this housing. It's small, cramped, with a room of 15 square meters. But it's still better than living with strangers or in a hut. There is a kitchen, a dining room, and a lot of modern appliances. They even brought us a slow cooker.
We live like a family. We cook together, share our meals. We try to keep the place clean together and make cleaning schedules. If something breaks down, we chip in for a ‘common fund’.
Volunteers help us a lot, they often come and bring food, crockery, bedding, and various hygiene products. The city council also helps us buy everything we need.
The only thing we lack is storage space. There is one wardrobe per room, with only a few shelves. And winter clothes, for example, take up a lot of space," says Valentyna.
She spends most of her time in the kitchen because she likes to cook and chat with her neighbors. Sometimes she watches TV in the recreation room, which has a large plasma screen, Wi-Fi, and books.
When asked about the future, tears begin to well up in her eyes: "I really want the war to end soon, for my son to find a job and build a new house! I believe that he will be able to. But it will take more than a year... I don't want to live out my life here, to be honest."
"I like it here, we live like a family"
Another modular town in Bucha is located in the backyard of school No. 3. The houses look like spitting images of the previous two. However, it is noticeable that people have been living here longer: young trees have been planted along the makeshift streets, benches have been set up in the recreation areas, and a modern playground for children has been set up in front of the entrance.
Olha Ishchenko works here as a commandant. She is not a local: she evacuated to Bucha from Slovyansk, Donetsk Oblast. At first, she lived with friends in Poltava, and then moved to Kyiv Oblast, to Vorzel.
"Renting an apartment costs about 10,000 hryvnias ($271), plus utilities. So I started filling out the documents of an internally displaced person and turned to the local authorities for help. They offered me to work as a commandant here and live here at the same time. It was a miracle. This job was my salvation," says Olha.
She recalls that when she moved into the town, there was practically nothing in it: only furniture, appliances, and bedding. And then locals and volunteers started bringing everything they needed: clothes, crockery, toys, even canned food.
The residents cook together in a large communal kitchen. It is spacious, with large windows and a huge amount of dishes and food neatly stacked on the shelves.
The only thing missing is a cooker hood, because in the absence of one, fungus appeared on the walls and ceiling in winter. And because the houses are still made of plastic, the rooms are hot in summer and cold in winter.
There are four washing machines for laundry, and you can dry your clothes on folding dryers in the rooms or in the common corridor. Residents clean their own rooms, and a cleaner keeps the common areas clean. Important household issues are resolved together at general meetings.
"I like it here, we live like a family. I was lucky enough to meet like-minded people and be useful to people... But of course, I still miss home," Olha admits.
The text was prepared by the Sviy Dim platform, which collects testimonies of people whose homes and power places were destroyed by Russia. If you would like to tell your own story about a destroyed home or institution, please fill out this form.