Ліана Єльчанінова Liana Yelchaninova

About the whole Chornobyl thing. I remember the parade. Nobody told anyone anything, so everyone went to the parade, all looking great. And then it turned out what had actually happened, and later there were rains, and then everyone found out about the incident. Of course, everyone was really scared because nobody knew what would happen or how to deal with all of it. I can say one thing—many people said it at the time, and it’s true: a lot of men started going bald. It became a kind of trend or tendency that hadn’t been there before. This is not a joke — I noticed it myself. Among my acquaintances, parents, and so on, it just appeared. There were some health issues, consequences. It’s hard for me to say much, but I was at that parade too. I remember it was really traumatic for everyone. It was truly frightening. And then there was all that rain — radioactive fallout — and, as far as I know, they weren’t good. Since then, for example, if someone sent me blueberries from Zhytomyr, I’d have to check them with a dosimeter. You know, just things like that.

Then I remember when all those events happened — the airfield, all that, then the tanks... I still remember that I was cleaning my apartment. I probably cleaned the whole place three times. And then, with Svitlana [a friend] — I don’t know, maybe you know Sveta Klishina — she called me. We live one house apart. She says, “Yelchaninova, what are you up to?” I say, “Well, I don’t know, I’ve already cleaned my apartment three times.” She says, “Me too, so what do we do?” I just had some money left over. We were collecting donations, and we had some money for children left. She says, “Listen, there’s a children’s home without food right now; there’s a panic in the stores. Let’s go buy them sugar, flour, whatever we can. At least the money will be useful for something.” So, we quickly ran out while there was still an opportunity. The stores were pure chaos — shopping carts thrown everywhere, shelves looted — it was wild. Then I remember coming home and just watching everything happening, [wondering] what would come next.

She [the daughter] was living in Kharkiv at the time, so we arrived and stayed in her apartment. We had a whole crowd there: another family was in one room, I was with them, and my friend was in the other room. In general, lots of people passed through our apartment back then, and anyone who needed to move would stop with us. I remember cleaning her entire apartment thoroughly, again, with salt. She said, “Mom, calm down.” I replied, “You don’t understand, I need to do something because… well, it’s just.” I also remember walking in Kharkiv, seeing the beautiful life there, everything so good — and then handing someone a business card. Svitlana and I decided to do some photography and makeup work just to have something to do. When people see the word “Kramatorsk” [on the card], their expressions change. That moment was very clear to me, like — let me explain — when someone truly has problems when they’re a beggar or facing real struggles, you can tell people want to get rid of them as quickly as possible, maybe give them money but avoid looking at them. I had this very feeling, a very strange one. That is, I felt like I was the weird one. When they saw “Kramatorsk” on the card, they’d focus in, feel kind of uncomfortable, not knowing what to do with me — how to help or do something. Kind of like that.

My yoga friends asked me to conduct some anti-stress programs in Crimea. That’s when I got deported. There were all sorts of adventures, really. I went there, and they pulled us off the train. [My daughter] Polina, thankfully, managed to travel through fine, but they pulled me off. I was 45 at the time, and my photo didn’t match. It was our customs officers who had told us, “Well, you can try, maybe you’ll get through if you’re lucky, maybe not...” I remember being taken under escort, facing front, side profile, “Turn this way.” I had the brilliant idea to wear a red T-shirt — maybe it was too noticeable, I don’t know. They escorted me off the train, and I said, “Listen, my child is in the next car. I need to give her some money so she can travel on and let people know I’ll be delayed a day.” They put me into some train compartment — thankfully, it had air conditioning — and I was there with another woman. When I got off a few hours later, I saw a crowd of people: kids, pregnant women, all kinds. Everyone was trying to hand over their documents or something. Russians have this thing where if a stamp isn’t quite right, or if it’s slightly smudged, that’s it — goodbye, or if the pages of your passport are bent the wrong way — goodbye. There were about 50, 60, 70 of us stuck there. That is, you can’t [leave]. There was a toilet on that train, but you can’t buy coffee or anything else. You just sat there, waiting to be allowed back on. They told me to “Go to Melitopol.” I said, “I’m only here for five days; why does it matter to you? I’m not emigrating or anything. I just made a promise to people.” Eventually, I managed to get through. I remember those people who were stuck, unable to go in either direction, they got food there. There was some kind of village, a small resort facility. You go there, and there, you get… A woman also from Kramatorsk helped me, saying, “Stay with me until morning to catch your train.” So, there were those kinds of situations too.