At 4am on February 24, 2022, Mariia Kushch woke to an explosion that shook the apartment building where she was living in a small village, just outside of Kyiv.
She didn’t know it yet, but that sound confirmed her very worst fears: that Russia had launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
As she scrambled to understand what was happening, her phone buzzed: it was a friend, asking her if she’d seen the news. In a daze, she told her that she hadn’t. Her friend simply said: ‘The war has started.’
‘I grabbed my son, just seven years old at the time, and we went to the basement of our building – a makeshift shelter of sorts,’ she tells Metro.
‘Each time I’d go upstairs to gather food or clothes, I’d look out the window and see the world I knew falling apart – helicopters overhead, smoke rising, explosions in the distance.’
She heard machine gun fire right outside her home, and when Mariia learned that there was actually a battle happening in the forest right behind her apartment block, she knew that they couldn’t stay.
Mariia now lives in Hertfordshire with her son, and she still mourns the way her life has forcibly changed in the time since the invasion. It’s been three years, but she says it feels like it’s only been a few months.
According to statistics from the UN, there have been 53,006 Ukrainian civilian casualties, including 14,534 deaths, since February 2022.
‘We have uprooted everything we knew: a new country, a new language, new schools for my son, new work for me,’ the host of the Ukrainian New Identity podcast says.
‘I miss Ukraine every day. It breaks my heart that I cannot return, that my home and old life are out of reach.’
As Christmas approaches, Mariia finds herself reflecting on the Ukrainian traditions that will never leave her. Christmas is her favourite element of winter, and she describes it as a completely ‘magical time’ in Ukraine.
For Mariia, staying connected to her Ukrainian festive roots keeps her grounded – and one of her favourite traditions is St Nicholas Day, which falls on December 6.
Across Ukraine, children fall asleep with the hopes that St Nicholas will leave a present under their pillow. As Mariia recalls, if they misbehave, they risk waking up with a stick, instead. She jokes: ‘Surprise surprise, the week before, every child across Ukraine becomes an angel.’
In Ukraine, Orthodox Christmas is celebrated on January 7, and the long festive season starts to wind down on January 19, the day that Jesus was baptised.
Mariia says: ‘On that day, many Ukrainians will go into the freezing water and take a dip. We believe that, on this day, the rivers and water become holy, and that doing this will bless you with health for the year ahead.’
Carolling is also a popular tradition, and Mariia fondly remembers singing one called ‘Shchedryk,’ which translates to ‘Carol of the Bells.’ In her view, it’s become a ‘symbol of Ukrainian resilience.’
Mariia and her son live a few doors down from another Ukrainian family, so this Christmas, they’ll be celebrating together.
Throughout the month, they’ve also been going door to door and singing carols, keeping the tradition that she grew up with alive.
‘It brings a little piece of home into our new life here,’ she shares.
The last Christmas Mariia spent in Ukraine, mere months before the invasion, was the ‘most beautiful’ she’d ever experienced. It was akin to a ‘winter wonderland,’ as the forest behind was coated in soft snow.
‘It’s painful to think that, just months later, that same forest became a battleground,’ she reflects.
‘I remember feeling this overwhelming sense of happiness. I had my home, my son, my family. I truly believed I was living the life of my dreams.’
‘One thing that stays with me is the warmth and togetherness of Ukrainian family traditions’
Karyna* now lives in London, but she’s originally from Kyiv. When the Russian invasion began, she could hear explosions – and they were close enough to alert her that something ‘serious’ was happening.
‘At first there was confusion and disbelief, and then the realisation that the invasion had truly begun,’ she tells Metro, noting that shortly afterwards, she decided to flee Kyiv.
For Karyna, the last three years have been a ‘time of resilience.’ This Christmas, she still feels as though the festive season is about ‘togetherness and keeping traditions alive.’
‘I love the Sviata Vecheria (Holy Supper) dinner with its twelve dishes. This year, I plan to make the meal and celebrate with friends here in London,’ she shares.
‘I remember the table being covered with straw under a white cloth, symbolising the manger, and the way everyone shared kutia, a sweet wheat and honey dish, wishing each other health and prosperity.
‘Another memory is the singing of kolyadky, traditional Christmas carols. The streets would be alive with music and laughter, even in the cold winter. It was a sense of community, faith, and joy.’
Looking towards Ukraine’s future, Karyna feels hopeful, noting that the ‘resilience and unity’ of her people gives her great confidence that Ukraine will ‘endure, rebuild, and thrive.’
‘The Ukrainian cause is about defending the right to exist as a free, independent nation. It’s not just a geopolitical conflict – it’s about people’s homes, culture, and future,’ she concludes.
‘Ukrainians are fighting not for power, but for the ability to live with dignity, make their own choices, and preserve their traditions.’
‘We picked up a Christmas tree on our way through Germany’
Every month, Fynn Watt and Jacob Simpson, the minds behind charity Driving Ukraine, run a convoy that seeks to donate life-saving vehicles.
Starting in Deddington, a small village in the depths of Oxfordshire, they journey all the way to Lviv, just inside the Ukrainian border, where they hand them over to the military. Destined for the front lines, the vehicles might be ambulances or pick-up trucks used to transport the wounded. They’re then driven from the West to the East.
To date, the charity has delivered more than 270 vehicles, led more than 50 convoys, and fundraised more than £1.7 million.
This December, the charity marked its 52nd convoy, with many of the volunteers wearing Christmas jumpers and Santa hats while driving through France, Belgium, and the Netherlands. The groups usually stop overnight in Germany, before pressing on through Poland and, finally, making their way to the Ukrainian border.
‘The December convoy had sixteen vehicles driven by eight people. They’re all evacuation vehicles, which were delivered to the Ukrainian armed forces, air defence, combat medics, and international volunteer medics,’ Jacob Simpson, Driving Ukraine’s mission operations manager, tells Metro.
‘We’ve supported Ukrainian families by taking a load of aid, including a baby incubation device, which is used for patient transport from hospitals near the front lines back to hospitals deeper into Ukraine.
‘It’s delivered in an ambulance, which mainly supports the military, but also occasionally moves pregnant mothers and vulnerable women and babies that live near the frontlines that need transporting.’
Each car was decorated with Christmas lights, and Jacob set a challenge to everyone to pick up a Christmas tree along the route through Germany.
‘There is no happy Christmas’
Like Driving Ukraine, Ukraine Relief also sends vital aid. As the organisation’s founder Karol Swiacki, tells Metro, they’ve delivered 56 ambulances so far this year, as well as fire engines, hospital equipment, medication, and Christmas gifts to ensure that no child is forgotten.
Karol himself has spent almost 240 days in Ukraine since the war began. He’s originally from Poland, but has lived in the UK for the last 20 years.
‘The people in Ukraine are fighting for freedom because of their families. Soldiers have told me: “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my country and my family,”‘ Karol shares.
He also asked the wives and children left behind, with their husbands and fathers on the frontline, and the sentiment was much the same: they remain in Ukraine because they’re still fighting.
‘It’s a very painful process. One of our partners, her husband was conscripted about two months ago,’ he says.
‘She’s got two little boys, and I asked them how they were doing. The first thing they said to me was: ‘We’re missing our dad.'” They’re five and seven.
‘When you’re there, sitting around these people, there is no electricity, there is no heating, there is no hope, almost, and we came from the UK with that hope to tell these people that we haven’t forgotten about them.
‘If you talk to these people, there is no happy Christmas.’
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