As missiles and drones descend on Kyiv, homeless couple Vadym and Alona have nowhere to shelter but under the branches of a horse chestnut tree in the park. Blooming with pinkish-white flowers, the trees have been a symbol of the Ukrainian capital since Soviet times.
During a recent barrage that was particularly heavy, they cradled each other for comfort as streaks of glowing tracer fire chased missiles through the sky above them. “That was the most afraid we’ve been,” says Vadym.
Vadym, 40, and Alona, 36 – who do not want to give their family names – have both been homeless for five years as a consequence of past addiction issues. Their adopted home is the concrete skeleton of a long-abandoned shopping mall project, but, as Kyiv suffers its heaviest period of attacks since the start of Russia’s brutal war, they no longer feel safe there.
“We try to get far away from buildings during air alerts,” says Vadym. “No one targets a park, but we’re out in the open and anything could fall on us.”
With 17 nights of attacks in May alone, Vadym and Alona say homeless people have nowhere to go. “We’re not usually allowed into the public shelters because there are people in there with kids, even the metro stations,” says Alona.
It is just one of a myriad ways life has become increasingly difficult for Ukraine’s homeless people since Russia’s full-scale invasion last year. The widespread destruction of homes and the occupation of Ukrainian lands has led to a sharp rise in rough sleepers. The increased demand is stretching the limited resources available to what are already some of society’s most vulnerable people.
Newly homeless people struggle to cope, while the long-term homeless risk being sidelined as resources dwindle. Meanwhile, much of the humanitarian help that used to be on offer is being redirected to the war effort.
Alona and Vadym are fearful of what lies ahead if the war continues. “There are so many more people on the streets now that volunteers offering food and other help can’t keep up with demand,” says Alona. “We are worried things will get worse, and are prepared that it probably will.”
Ukraine does not collect official countrywide statistics on homelessness, but according to the private organisation House of Mercy Kyiv, there were 6,000 people officially registered as homeless in the capital before the global pandemic. It estimates that figure is now more like 20,000, with the majority appearing since the start of the war. “From our experience, not a lot of people register. We think the real figure is far higher,” says its deputy director, Ihor Shemihon.
Those who work with homeless people in Kharkiv and Odesa say they have also seen a rise in people sleeping on the streets, with some having come from previously occupied areas such as the Kharkiv region and Kherson.
The recently displaced can stay in displacement shelters for free, while those who have the money flee to Europe or stay in private shelters, which can cost about $300 (£240) a month. There are government schemes to assist people whose homes have been lost or damaged, but the most vulnerable can fall through the cracks in the system.
Most at risk are elderly and disabled people, particularly those with mental health issues or cognitive decline, who struggle to deal with bureaucratic processes without assistance. House of Mercy offers complex support, such as help with replacing lost or damaged identity documents, which are required to access most forms of official aid.
Despite the scale of need, there is only one government-administered homeless shelter to service the whole of central Ukraine, just north of Kyiv. It only has room for 150 people, and only accepts the most extreme cases. House of Mercy can also accommodate 20 people across its two shelters.
“We know we need to grow to help more people but we just don’t have the funding at the moment,” says Shemihon.
The organisation’s third shelter, a private home in the village of Andriivka, west of Kyiv, was destroyed last year. The area was occupied soon after Russia invaded, trapping the 12 homeless people and one social worker who lived there. When a missile hit the roof, the house became largely uninhabitable and falling debris injured one resident – a 60-year-old woman from Bucha.
Mykhailo Novikov, 71, who was living at the shelter at the time, says the occupying troops would not let them get medical help and the woman died a week later.
According to a number of homeless people, they were able to take on casual work on construction sites for about 500 hryvnias per shift (£11) before the war, or sell scrap metal to recyclers. “The fields are full of tanks now so they don’t need us any more,” says Tatyana, a resident of a shelter in Kharkiv run by the charity Depaul.
Now, many rely on collecting far less lucrative waste for recycling, such as glass or paper, to earn money for food. A glass beer bottle can be exchanged for 0.70 hryvnias – a full day’s collecting might earn 100 hryvnia. That’s about £2, and a recycling collection point owner says business is booming.
To make 50 hryvnia from collecting paper, Kharkiv’s homeless people say they have to collect 25kg. However, the work is physically demanding and those who are not able to do it resort to begging.
Vadym and Alona say they raid dustbins for bottles to sell and for leftover food. Their biggest lifeline comes from food donations left by people in their rubbish. They wrap it in plastic bags and mark the parcels “For people in need”.
“Because people help us, we might survive,” says Alona. “But that’s the only means we have at the moment.”
