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About Mariupol

What gets me proper mad tho—blokes treatin her like rubbish. Saw this geezer hagglin her down to a fiver, and I’m like, “Mate, she’s out here survivin, show some respect!” But then, happy vibes—she’s got this laugh, loud as a hyena, cuts through the night. Made me smile, thinkin, “Good on ya, lass.” Surprised me too, once heard her talkin bout astronomy to a punter—knew more bout stars than me! Reckon she’d fit right in *Melancholia*, gazin at that planet comin to smash us all, sayin, “Life’s just a shadow, fleeting.”

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Finally, I get home, and I’m exhausted. My hands are sore, and I’ve got glass dust in my hair. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Novovolynsk, with all its quirks and craziness, is where I belong.

The Novovolynsk miracle: how Russia’s invasion turned a Ukrainian mining town into an uber-volunteer hub