'We believe, we wait, we pray': human stories behind Ukraine’s latest prisoner exchange

Suddenly, loud screams. Victoria just got the long-awaited message. Just a few words: “Your brother Oleksandr has been released from captivity.” She bursts into tears of joy. Her friends say this is her first time waiting for an exchange – and she got lucky right away.

“I want to tell him how much I missed him, how much I love him. I want to thank him for surviving all this,” says Victoria. Then the phone rings. Oleksandr is calling. His first question: is everyone alive?

Victoria talks to her brother for the first time after the exchange

Next to Victoria, another girl is crying – it’s Oleksandr’s fiancée, Anastasia. They were together for years while living in Mariupol. We’ll meet her again after the exchange. She’ll share good news: “He said, ‘Kitty, will you marry me?’ And of course I said yes. We managed to hold hands for a moment and talk on the phone through the window. This is the happiest day of our lives,” Anastasia says.

Anastasia talks about the proposal

More loud shouts. Another happy phone call. Ms. Valentyna wipes away tears, hugs a fishing rod, and explains: “The guys released from captivity told me my dad dreams of coming back, buying a car, getting a fishing rod, and going fishing.” She smiles and hugs the rod she recently bought: “It’s that fishing rod, and mom didn’t believe it…” Valentyna’s father, Yevhen, spent three years and one month in Russian captivity. He was brought in an ambulance for the exchange.

Valentyna shows her father the fishing rod she brought

Hundreds have gathered, waiting for buses with the released prisoners. In reality, only a few will meet loved ones here. The rest have come to greet the boys, show photos, and leave contact info. They're hoping for even a shred of news about their missing.

Tetyana and her son Yaroslav are searching for any sign of their husband and father:

“We believe and hope that after two years and five months, maybe someone will recognize him, maybe someone saw him. Maybe there’s still a small hope he’s alive and in captivity.”

Tetyana with her son Yaroslav

“It’s already been ten months. We believe, we wait, we pray. We believe he’ll come back, that everything will be okay,” says young Ksyusha, hoping someone recognizes her fiancé, Vitaliy. “We lived in this city (the exchange city - ed.) for two years. I’m coming here again, just me… but I hope we’ll leave together.”

And Mrs. Vira is here again. She greets other families. Her son Ilya disappeared near Kursk eight months ago. “We keep going, hoping to find at least something, any tiny bit of news about how he is,” Vira says, beginning to cry. Her sister Valentyna comforts her: “We hope there’ll be good news. We’re really, really waiting for him. And we believe next time we’ll hug him and he’ll be with us.”

Vira and Valentyna

The first arrivals after the exchange are the seriously wounded. Ambulances roll in to loud cheers of “Congratulations!” According to Coordination Headquarters representative Petro Yatsenko, many return with poorly treated mine and blast injuries, effects of torture, or serious illnesses like hepatitis or tuberculosis.

Return of the seriously wounded

Locals already know what ambulance sirens mean. A group of kids and their parents arrived at the medical center with posters and flags. The adults say they were heading to a holiday, but when they heard the sirens, they ran here. “We made it! The most seriously ill were just brought in, now we’re waiting for the buses. We also want to congratulate the guys.” Schoolgirl Daria adds, seriously and like an adult: “They think no one remembers them, that we’ve forgotten. But we’re here with flags and words to show them we haven’t, we remember.”

Local children greet former prisoners of war

The conversation is suddenly cut off by the roar of buses – and even louder cheers of “Welcome home!” The recently exchanged wave from the windows. To the shouts of “Glory to Ukraine!” the men are led into the medical center. The crowd shakes with joy, cries, and celebration.

“Son, it’s you! We’re happy, happy, happy. Don’t cry, son. My dear heart, my heart is next to me again!” says Lyubov Vasylivna, who waited years for her son Serhii. She shares her happiness freely: “I wish everyone could have this. That all families would feel this mother’s joy. For all the women, mothers, children.” “It’s been three years and three months. It was so hard. This kind of happiness is beyond words,” says Olena, whose son Maksym has returned.

Lyubov Vasylivna greets her son

Olena greets her son

There’s no chance to speak with the returning soldiers. They’re taken straight to the hospital. Slowly, the crowd thins out – but the families of the missing stay behind. They hold up photos, tape them to walls, shout out brigades and directions. They wait for an answer. Then there’ll be another exchange. And they’ll come again. And ask again. And leave photos again. Until, finally, their happy exchange comes.

The wall of the medical facility where former prisoners of war are treated