From fire to flame. How Azov fighter took custody of eight children

The orphans had plenty of options: grandparents, a dozen aunts and uncles. Of all of them, they chose their uncle Volodymyr, their father’s brother. He was a fighter with the Azov Regiment at the time, barely 24 years old, not yet thinking about marriage or a big family. If he ever had kids, he figured, maybe three at most—and that was far in the future. Before the full-scale invasion, he worked odd jobs across Europe. Since spring 2022, he’d been fighting. His nieces and nephews didn’t see him often. He didn’t even remember their birthdays.

In December 2022, Volodymyr’s commanders let him leave for his brother’s funeral. He never returned to the military—he formalized guardianship over the children. He even took paternity leave to care for Mariyka until she turned three.

“The war prepared me for this kind of burden. Without the war, I might not have dared to become their guardian,” he says now.

Keeping their parents’ memory alive

“Locals told me the social worker sent from Olevsk to check on us was skeptical on her way to the village. She was like, ‘What are you doing, dumping kids on an unmarried guy? He’s only 24, just back from the front—he might need help himself.’ But by evening, after meeting Volodymyr and the family, she was saying, ‘Only Vova should take guardianship,’” shares Natalia, Volodymyr’s mother, giving me the behind-the-scenes scoop.

Volodymyr recalls those two weeks between his brother’s funeral and finalizing guardianship as a blur: early mornings spent navigating government offices, dragging himself home at night. Social workers grilled him, probing whether he could be trusted with the kids.

“They asked if I needed a psychologist since I’d just come from war. They wanted to know about my income, how I’d manage the kids’ daily life, their schooling, and what I’d do if they got sick. They were especially worried about two-month-old Mariyka and Yura—he’s got one kidney, and it’s a transplant. I didn’t even know how I’d earn enough for the whole family. But daily life didn’t scare me. The washing machine cleans clothes, the stove cooks food, and Uncle YouTube knows the rest. That’s not the hard part. The kids’ emotional state was what mattered—they were devastated,” Volodymyr says.

He sensed instinctively that the kids needed affection. A tragedy had struck, and they’d get through it together. He also felt he shouldn’t force himself into the role of their father, even if they’d become his own.

“The older ones call me ‘uncle.’ I let them call me what they want. Mariyka, who turns three this fall, calls me ‘dad.’ Soon she’ll learn about her real parents. I want the kids to remember their mom and dad. At first, I hung photos of my brother and sister-in-law on the walls, but I took them down when I saw it was too hard for the kids. Everything in its time. Their parents are buried here in the village. For a long time, the kids wouldn’t visit their graves, and I didn’t push. Now they go on their own or say they want to see Mom and Dad, and we take them. Sometimes they watch videos from the funeral or old clips from when their parents were alive—let them watch, let them remember,” Volodymyr says.

For over a year and a half, he’s been with the kids. His late sister-in-law’s parents live in Rivne Oblast. Volodymyr sent them home right after he took guardianship. He keeps his own parents at a slight distance, too. His brother’s kids are now his family, and he wants to run it his way.

“Right after I got guardianship, I went on short work trips a few times, just for a week, to earn some money for myself, not to live off the kids’ benefits while I figured things out. The kids stayed with my older sisters then. Since then, I’ve been with them constantly—it’s my responsibility,” he says.

What about social services? They visit periodically, always unannounced, Volodymyr says. Early on, they spoke to the kids privately, without adults present. Now they’re more trusting—less interrogating, more family conversations.

How Diana came into the picture

The kids were used to a family where Dad earned money and Mom ran the household. They were surprised to see Volodymyr, a man, doing chores. Ten-year-old Tolik even asked his uncle, “When are you getting married?!”

“Did he worry no one would want you with eight kids?” I ask Volodymyr bluntly.

His reply: “People get married to have kids. Here, eight are ready-made!”

He met Diana in Rivne Oblast while visiting the kids’ grandparents. A local Pentecostal church hosted a youth gathering, and he was invited. Diana was there, too—a young girl who’d never dated anyone.

“It was winter 2024. People in the village talked about Volodymyr and his brother, but I was studying to be a hairdresser in Rivne, too busy to listen to gossip. I just knew he was Volodymyr, 25 years old. We met, and that first evening, he showed me a video about his nieces and nephews,” Diana recalls.

Volodymyr explains why he laid his life bare to her so quickly:  

“Diana caught my eye right away, and I didn’t want to waste time beating around the bush. I was looking to marry, not just date. I showed her the video so she’d know my situation. Why lie to her? Ten days later, Diana was about to turn 18. On her birthday, I proposed.”

Diana once told her mom she didn’t want a big family. Her mom replied, “Never say never.” When Diana announced she’d chosen Volodymyr, her mom said, “If you’re happy, I’m even happier.”

They married in May 2024.

“It just happened naturally. I felt this was the family I needed,” Diana says, blushing.

When she married Volodymyr last year, she was 18. Yura, her eldest “son,” was 14. Yet she took the leap.

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Volodymyr discussed his marriage with the kids beforehand. He remembers asking one of the older boys, Petro, if he minded. The teen replied thoughtfully, “It’d be good. Why stay alone?”

Did the kids realize Volodymyr’s marriage meant a stranger in their home who might “call the shots”?

But young Diana had the wisdom not to pull rank. She chose the only winning approach—treating the kids like friends or younger siblings. When one called her “Aunt Diana,” she flinched: “No, not aunt, just Diana.” Never mind that she’s the one attending parent-teacher meetings and making disciplinary calls.

At 18, Diana became the homemaker in a house with eight kids—a house built by their father, run by their mother.

“At first, the kids kept saying I was doing things wrong, that their mom did it this way or that. I tried to adapt to them, like cooking the way their mom did. Every day, I’d tell myself, ‘I’ll stay quiet today.’ Day after day. Then they stopped comparing me to their mom,” Diana says candidly.

After his brother’s death, Volodymyr still has nine siblings. His late sister-in-law had plenty of relatives, too.

“There’s lots of advice, I listen, but I do things my way,” Diana says firmly.

In May 2025, Diana and Volodymyr welcomed their son, Kyrylo. They’re now parents to nine children.

Having fun at work

Volodymyr greets us in the yard. His tanned face frames gray-blue eyes like deep lakes. Lean and wiry, his muscles flex under the sleeves of an army T-shirt.

“Talk to Diana, I’ll step out for a smoke,” he says, leading us to the kitchen.

Diana enters, smiling—golden-blonde hair, brown eyes. She could’ve been a Botticelli model in her youth.

She shares her love story with Volodymyr, sometimes shyly covering her face. A child who chose to grow up overnight.

We sit at a large dining table as the kitchen slowly fills with kids. Maksym and Mariyka sit beside Diana. Older boys dash through to the yard, glancing our way and greeting us politely. The girls bring in three-month-old Kyrylo. Mariyka feeds Maksym raspberries from a pile someone left on the table.

Volodymyr and Diana talk about the kids and themselves, never lowering their voices when children enter, never switching topics. They’re completely open. The kids listen calmly, trustingly. They say they’ve never regretted choosing Volodymyr, calling him “super good,” never scolding or punishing, and they’re not afraid of him at all.

Yura, Petro, Tolya, Kolya, Maksym, Solomiya, Sofiya, Mariyka. The eldest starts 10th grade this fall, followed by students in 9th, 8th, 7th, 6th, 5th, and 2nd grades. Mariyka turns three soon. All the girls have curly hair; the boys are close-cropped, lean, with gray-blue eyes and similar features. They, like Kyrylo, resemble Volodymyr. The Dubrovets breed is unmistakable.

Diana and Volodymyr chat with us while playfully engaging the kids, ensuring they feel included, their games uninterrupted by journalists. No university could teach this knack for multitasking conversation and child engagement.

Volodymyr’s brother built the house so each child could have their own room, with a cozy kitchen stove and corridors for running. But he only finished the first floor. Volodymyr took over—laying laminate, buying furniture.

The BGV charitable foundation helped with the second floor, lining rooms with wood paneling, installing sturdy windows, and arranging heating.

The kids proudly show us their rooms—wide beds, sliding wardrobes, desks, and shelves. (It’s so clean, my bare feet pick up no dust.) No books except various Bibles, no board games, none of the charming clutter typical of kids’ rooms. It’s as if they only sleep here, spending summers outdoors.

Summers are indeed spent outside: a big sandbox, toy cars, a hammock where Maksym and Solomiya swing sky-high, a huge trampoline Mariyka adores. There are quad bikes, bicycles, scooters, three lively dogs, swimming, football, and trips to Olevsk. Soon, a children’s camp at the Pentecostal church will bring more fun.

“Mostly, we have fun by working. Want to join? Let’s mow the grass,” Volodymyr laughs.

Each child has chores: Solomiya and Sofiya help in the kitchen, older boys assist Volodymyr with household tasks. Tolya feeds the dogs, Petro handles heating (“the boiler room,” he calls it). They all clean and watch the younger ones. Kyrylo is everyone’s darling.

The kids talk about cooking two kilograms of dumplings at a time, Volodymyr’s tasty borshch, Solomiya’s macaroni, how potatoes beat pilaf, and how birthdays mean cakes and shashlik in the yard. Solomiya looks into my eyes, saying Petro’s shashlik is as good as Volodymyr’s.

“Once food’s ready, I gather everyone at the table to eat together and clean up right after,” Diana smiles.

The daughter will be named Zlata

Mariyka watches, enchanted, as Volodymyr buries a tiny toy in the sand—she’ll gleefully find it. He smiles at her while talking to me about serious matters.

“I get 860 hryvnias ($21) in paternity benefits for Mariyka, and Diana gets the same for Kyrylo. The kids have pensions for losing their parents, plus other social aid. It comes to just over 50,000 hryvnias ($1,195) a month. We grow potatoes, rye, and oats on our land. Charities bring toys, food, and clothes. People donate money—my brothers-in-arms, even from America, sent funds. Without charities and donations, I’d have to leave the kids with Diana to work abroad. I’ve been so busy this year, sometimes I didn’t see Kyrylo for days,” Volodymyr says.

The Dubrovets’ yard feels like a playground, construction site, and business lot rolled into one. Volodymyr’s late brother ran a business growing raspberries industrially, leaving behind a tractor and other equipment. Volodymyr hasn’t had time to revive it, but hopes to next season.

In summer, the village earns money picking wild blueberries in the forest. Last year, Volodymyr says, you could make 5,000–8,000 hryvnias ($119-191) a day. This year, frost killed the berries—you pick them one by one, no big profits. Strawberries froze, too—no sales.

Volodymyr isn’t eyeing local jobs—8,000 hryvnias a month as a stoker or school guard won’t solve his problems.

He avoids discussing plans—wartime makes that laughable. Instead, he mentions needing a garage for the vehicles (he’s poured the foundation where kids now ride scooters). He must tidy the yard post-construction. But those are small things. The big task is raising the kids right, educating them, and giving them a financial cushion. His brother wanted the house to go to the youngest son, Maksym. So, Volodymyr must plan housing for the older kids.

And for himself, Diana, and their kids. They can’t live in his brother’s house forever. He’s even picked a name for his future daughter—Zlata.

He’s 26, Diana’s 19. Life’s just beginning. It’ll be filled with hard work. Both are strong-willed, driven. It’d be fascinating to visit them in 15 years, when everyone’s grown. I hope the blue of Volodymyr’s lake-like eyes stays clear until then.