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leaving an apartment block that had been hit some time earlier in the day , looking over the destruction surrounding an intact children ’ s playground , I could see he was struggling to make sense of things as we spoke . For some time , he drifted off somewhere in his thoughts as he stared out of the window , so I left him with his struggle and when he returned , we silently moved on . Our day continued in this fashion , moving from one scene of destruction to another and then we found something profoundly disturbing .
Parking our motorcycles on a quiet neighbourhood street , the sight of four small children playing was not unusual . Until I looked closer . Each of them , three boys and one girl , had a toy rifle and were standing behind a child sized block post . As the cars entered the street , they would flag them down and approach the window
demanding a password to allow access . “ Palynista ” means bread in Ukrainian , and Andriy told us it was hard for Russians to say . On correctly pronouncing the word the drivers would be allowed to pass with a “ Slava Ukraine .” ( Glory to the heroes ) Most car drivers would offer some cash , which would go to the armed forces , and they would drive on . Suddenly , Andriy burst into uncontrollable laughter as the little girl had changed up the questioning . “ He ’ s a Dick ” is the correct answer to her question , “ who is Putin ?” and the car was allowed to pass .
It was moments like these that Andriy was able to bring that kept us from spiraling down into the darkness , as I thought about the fate of these beautiful children if Russia takes this country . Kiran made some very personal images ; the kids loved it , and we rode on to the centre of town for pizza at a thriving local restaurant . I had to complete my interview with Roman as he was required to leave .
Roman had taken us to so many horrific sites while sharing his incredible story of hope with us so it was an emotional goodbye as he saddled up and rode away .
From Kyiv we made our way to the Black Sea port city of Odesa , a journey of around five hundred kilometres . There was some stress at the last block post gaining entry , but with Andriy overseeing everything we passed and entered our next new world .
On the surface we were greeted by beautiful nineteenth-century architecture , but the once vibrant streets were empty , shops boarded up and access to the ocean blocked off with massive walls of sandbags and
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