When I turned 50 at the beginning of this year, I set myself 50 mini-challenges to refocus my life on nice positive things. After the years of grief, all the COVID restrictions, and (it seems) never-ending poor health, I really needed this.  Nothing major, but things like “go for a pedicure” and “eat out at a restaurant I’ve not been to before”.  I did not add to my list “take in a Ukrainian who is fleeing a war zone” because, well, why would I???!

In my 30’s I spent 5 years living in Azerbaijan, in the former Soviet Union. I speak some Russian (by no means fluently, but better than GCSE level) and I live in a nice 3-bed house in a nice part of Bath, a nice city in south west England.  When Russia invaded Ukraine and the UK set up the “Homes for Ukraine” scheme, I felt compelled to register my interest.  I didn’t understand the dynamics and rationale for the invasion, but I felt so strongly that it could have been Azerbaijan, it could have been people I know, and the friends and family of my friends and former colleagues, that were fleeing for their lives.  It felt rather close to home.

I registered my interest, contacted a Ukrainian lady I know in Bath, and before long was ‘connected’ with someone and found myself filling out the unfeasibly complex visa application form. And three weeks later I headed off to Bristol Airport to pick her up.  I was BRICKING myself. I’d lived alone for 8 years. I had been grieving. My health wasn’t great.  WHAT ON EARTH HAD I DONE? What if she was a heavy drinker, a heavy smoker, was very traumatised? Would I cope? What if she got a job in a bar or restaurant and came home late every night and woke me up coming in?

I need not have worried!!  She is the most lovely lady. So kind. Nice. A non-drinker, non-smoker. She LOVES my dog and he worships her. She is a hard-worker. She doesn’t speak English (she is learning now) and found a job in a restaurant kitchen. She comes home late most nights and I don’t hear her (she’d make a great burglar!!).  She is 34 and married but does not have children. She seems to not want them, although we haven’t really talked about that.

Before she arrived, my friends were saying things like “but how will you cope? You live on your own and like your space and quiet”. Yes, I do. And I really needed that for a few years.  But you can also spend too much time on your own, in your own space and with too much quiet. Opening up my home to a Ukrainian has, in a way, helped me open my heart. Another small (huge?) step in the healing process.  I like her being here.  I like our little chats in the kitchen. I don’t mind that she pops into my bedroom when I’m sitting in bed with a cuppa and a book and says hello to my dog.  She grew up doing market gardening with her mother, and consequently my veggie patch this year has been outrageously productive.

In the most difficult of circumstances, and in the giant roll of the dice that we both took, we both recognise that we have lucked out.

Slightly scarily, a few weeks ago we submitted the visa application and vast amounts of supporting documentation to bring over her 17 year old sister. Once again, I am bricking myself!  A teenager! Living in my house!!!  (At the time of writing, I haven’t got the visa approval yet and I don’t know when she’ll actually be arriving, although she could well be here by the time this is published). I won’t have any parental responsibility, but still, it’s a big step.

At the beginning of the year, when I wrote my 50 mini-challenges, taking in a refugee was SO not on my radar. I couldn’t have imagined that by Easter I would be sharing my home with a young Ukrainian lady, and that in August we would be awaiting the arrival of her teenage sister.  This is a scenario that I simply could not have handled at any point in the previous 5years, since my grief burst out of me very unexpectedly. I am genuinely so proud of myself. And I completely recognise this as a step forward in my life, a step in the direction of letting go and moving on.

Jemma Bartholomew

Below is Boris in his Ukraine bandanna