Crimea, a stolen home
Sharing memories from Crimea and the effects of Russian occupation.
This week has been incredibly hot, breaking all temperature records, and my brain could barely function. Trying to get work done in front of the computer, all I wanted was to be somewhere by the sea and do nothing. I thought if only I could go back in time and spend a few weeks in Crimea at my grandma’s. Yellow steppes, blue sea, blooming acacias, sweet cherries, watermelons, golden sunsets, and cricket songs under starry skies. No worries, no stress, no fear of the future. Life was so simple.
Crimea has always been my favorite place on Earth. Whenever I woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, all I needed was to imagine myself in Crimea, walking by the sea, sitting in my grandma’s garden and I immediately calmed down and went back to sleep. Crimea was my safe place. Now, memories from Crimea have become bittersweet. The place that I knew, and that was my second home, doesn’t exist anymore. Russians stole it, looted it, polluted the water and nature, and mutilated the towns. They built a huge military base near the place where I spent my childhood summers. They launch missiles that bring havoc and kill thousands of people from the sea, where I learned to swim. They live in my grandma’s house and eat from the garden that was lovingly planted by her.
I know that many people have it much worse than I do, and the places they grew up don’t exist in a literal way because Russians razed and burned them to the ground. Some would say that I can’t complain, and in a way, I agree. However, even though my beloved town in Crimea has not been bombed, the destruction of its soul made it a dead place. Russian colonialism and dominance destroyed the soul of my native Belarus, too, and made everything bleak, colorless, and suffocating.
I can’t visit either of the two places I grew up in and that hold the warmest, dearest memories. My Belarusian and my Ukrainian husband’s family became refugees and were forced to flee their homes and start life from scratch in a foreign country. All of this happened because of the never-ending Russian greed and desire to dominate. All of this happened because of the Russians. Those who actively cheered for the annexation of Crimea in 2014 and a full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, and those who passively watched and allowed it to happen by staying “out of politics.” Those who came to Belarus to earn money by violently suppressing the pro-democratic protests and those who eagerly came to work at Belarusian factories instead of jailed Belarusian workers. Those who relocated to occupied Ukrainian territories and settled in the houses of people who were killed by the Russian army or fled, fearing for their lives, and those who were happy seeing Belarus falling under Russia’s control and treated Belarusians as their servants. Those who continue to live in Russia and pay taxes that sponsor the genocidal war or work in the industries that cater to the Russian army and those who kill, bomb, and commit atrocities. I know that the majority of Western people think that we must differentiate “bad” Russians from “good” Russians only because they never suffered in a million different ways from all of them.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to visit Crimea or show my future children the place where I spent the happiest days in my childhood. I don’t know if it is possible to repair the damage that worsens each day it stays in Russian hands. What I know for sure is that when the Russian occupation ends, the same people who overlook or intentionally ignore the Russian atrocities and colonialism will be strictly against sending Russians who settled on the Ukrainian territories back to Russia. I also know that Russians will be professionally playing victims and denying their responsibility as they already do.
However, I don’t give up on a dream to return to my grandma’s house one day, go to the sea and swim as long as I can, then eat a giant watermelon sitting on a towel on hot sand. After that, walk along the beach to the town, buy a bottle of the most delicious Crimean wine, ripe peaches and apricots, delicious local cheese called Bryndza, and share dinner with my family by the table under a big walnut tree at Grandma’s garden.
I published two essays in which I wrote down the memories from my childhood summers in Crimea. After reading them, one of the readers shared: “You managed to make me feel nostalgic for the place I’ve never been.”
Crimea memories pt.1
Crimea memories pt.2
I can’t wait for Crimea to come back home to Ukraine so that I can come back to my home, too.
Warmly,
Darya
Email: daryazorka@substack.com
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Beautifully written piece ❤️ I share this with you, as I used to go to Crimea multiple times with my family and it felt like home 🏡
There is a place in South Africa where I spent many happy weeks as a child. It is a commercial forest. There was a campsite for holidaymakers, and wonderful walks in the forests - both natural as well as plantations - and mountains around. I went there for the final time when I was 17. I vowed never to return, and have kept that promise to myself. Many plantation compartments had been harvested, and in so doing, the magic of the place was entirely destroyed for me. I no longer recognised walks I had once known like the back of my hand. I can never get those places back.
Only to say that I understand what it is to have such memories of places that are no longer the way they once were. But of course, that's very different to the wholesale destruction muscovy brings in its wake. 🫂