We will stay until we see smoke on the pass, says my Transcarpathian colleague determinedly into the phone. "Our country is here, we were born here, we can't leave," he explains. You can read the account of a thirty-five-year-old Hungarian reformed family man about the day the war in Ukraine broke out.
6:00am: I look at my sleeping pregnant wife and think how can I wake her up by saying “my love, they are shooting, the war has begun”? This is so absurd. I quickly put on my clothes and go to work.
7:30 a.m.: All my colleagues are meeting in a huddle, everyone is confused, we don't know what to do.
8:00 a.m.: The radio announces in Hungarian: bombing in Ukraine, war has broken out. They ask us to keep our peace and believe in God. My father's stories of fifty-six come to mind, but this horror is happening to us. Here and now, in 2022.
10 a.m.: We get to the workplace so that everyone does what they see fit. Half of the collective decides to set off with their families towards the Hungarian border, maybe they will still get through. Crying, the women stuff a few things into their suitcases, hold their children's hands, and head for Hungary.
11 o'clock: It's a miracle of God that we get our salary. I run to the gas station to get fuel. I'm glad that only seventy people lined up in front of me, I could have done much worse. I'll get more gas. Desperate, sad people on the street drag the pieces of their lives behind them in suitcases. Fear radiates from the eyes. Many people know me, I pull myself together and greet everyone with a big smile. Even now I can say with faith: God is with us!
12 o'clock: The state of emergency is announced, we don't want to believe it... Everything will be fine, right?
1 p.m.: We buy flour, sugar, canned goods, but the store shelves are almost empty. Thousands are heading for the border, nobody really knows anything. What should we do? Should we go or stay? What will happen to us? How could this happen? Could this just be a brutal nightmare? I want to wake up!
3 p.m.: We go to the border. There are whispers that it will be closed. Everyone is there... And who is left? We. We stay.
4:00 p.m.: Within a few hours, the worst version of martial law will occur, which all Ukrainians and Hungarians fear: the general mobilization and border closure. Men between the ages of 18 and 60 cannot leave Ukraine. We never thought this would happen. It happened.
5 p.m.: Phone calls and messages from Hungary continue to arrive. Friends and family members we haven't seen for a long time are sending messages saying they'll welcome us in, let's just go. They offer a room, a bed, a house, a plot of land, everything they have. Gratitude awakens in my heart that we can count on our brothers and sisters from the motherland and Transylvania.
6 p.m.: My mind is racing. Who managed to cross the border? What will happen to them there? What to do? We have never moved from Transcarpathia because it is our home. We have to stay here. Not all Hungarians can go - I explain to a friend from Hungary on the phone, but I feel that he doesn't understand.
7 p.m.: I am momentarily unsure of what is right. However, the most difficult thing is that I don't know what to say to my family, my child, my friends.
11 p.m.: After the longest day of my life, I lie down in our new home, which we recently built in Beregszász. Three hearts beat next to me in the big bed. Listening to their whispering, I wonder if I made the right decision not to leave?! The border is closed and we are at home. Many fled. Did I make the right decision?! Or did I make a huge mistake? I felt I shouldn't go. There is still a lot of work to be done here. I know that God's blessing has been upon me as long as I have been alive. They always paid attention to me in my environment, what I said, thought and did was important to them.
I wonder if I will have some lofty task at home, or have I just gotten my family into trouble?! My fingers are shaking. I got tired. God with us!
Source: Zsuzsa Fekete/Reformatus.hu
Featured image: reformatus.hu
