Our last day in Zhytomyr was unexpectedly uplifting, the kind of day that settles deep in your heart. We visited the Babushka Battalion, a circle of senior women who have taken the rhythm of a sewing machine and turned it into an act of devotion. Tama and Cathy, our HOG colleagues, found them last year, and I’m so grateful they did.
They welcomed us with exuberant hugs and kisses – the kind you get from grandmothers. In the tiniest of rooms, really just a sliver of space, they have built a world of purpose. A tight row of electric and old treadle machines hummed, piles of fabric leaned like small mountains against the walls. Finished hats, balaclavas, fleece shirts and pants waited in neat stacks, ready for defenders on the front.
Their ingenuity moved me most, pants that open fully along the sides with Velcro, designed so a soldier with external fixators doesn’t have to struggle. They knit scarves, thick socks, even special socks shaped to protect injured ankles and feet. Every stitch felt like a prayer.
And in the middle of all that work, they had prepared a feast for us, homemade cakes, a pot of tea, chocolates, yummy! These sweet, tireless women, they are the heartbeat of resilience. They inspired me more than they will ever know.
We then returned to the camouflage-netting group, another circle of women whose hands are never still. All across Ukraine, women weave these nets for the army, strands knotted into protection, each one saying, WE ARE WITH YOU. This is what community support looks like in a country at war, everyone doing what they can, even when the situation feels impossible. There is camaraderie in purpose, and you feel it the moment you walk in.
We ended the day at the Zhytomyr Community Foundation, greeted, as always, with warmth. Zjanna, founder, director, and dear friend, FaceTimed us from Germany. She’d just come from a fundraising conference in New York and was now visiting her mother in Berlin. She told us she spoke about us at the conference, about Hands On Global, about our teams and our work. She said we are an example of humanitarian aid. Her words humbled me more than she knows. Thank you, Zjanna.
Now I’m in Kyiv. It’s 5:30 a.m.
A sharp wail of the air-raid siren tore me from sleep, followed by the hotel intercom, first in Ukrainian, then in English, directing us to the shelter. Many floors down we descended into the sub-basement, where couches, chairs, and blankets waited for us. This hotel was prepared. Some people went back to sleep; others simply sat, listening, waiting.
I’m back in my room now. The city feels hushed. Maybe I can close my eyes for one more hour.
