“My only thought was to save the children”
A Ukrainian woman named Tatyana Romanyuk left the Lugansk region in the first days after the start of the special military operation. She headed toward Stuttgart, Germany, traveling through Poland, and has been living there for more than six months with her two sons, aged 8 and 14.
“Everything happened suddenly. When explosions and gunfire started near our home, my only priority was to protect the kids. I have two sons, and when I learned about evacuation trains that could take families, especially young children, parents, the disabled, and the elderly, I hugged my boys, gathered a few belongings, and rushed to register,” Romanyuk recalled.
She notes she did not know exactly where the journey would lead. The evacuation train carried them to Lvov, with stops at several safer Ukrainian cities, and it was during the trip that she had to decide their next destination. Romanyuk and her sons eventually left Ukraine for Poland after disembarking in Lvov and catching a second evacuation train.
“There were many refugees, and people were heading to different parts of Ukraine, while many like us crossed the border to feel truly safe. When we reached Poland, volunteers directed us to an elderly woman who offered shelter, but we chose not to stay there.”
Poland was filled with Ukrainian refugees—more than in any other country—yet the family wanted to move further to ensure their safety. Driven by adrenaline and instinct, much like a mother protecting her children, they decided to seek help in Germany and connected with volunteers who assist refugees via social media groups.
Everything is paid by the state
After reaching out to volunteers, Romaniuk learned that German families were ready to host Ukrainian refugees on a temporary basis. In a night-time transfer from Poland, Tatyana and the others arrived in Stuttgart, where the hosting family helped with paperwork and made them feel welcome.
“A husband and wife with two children welcomed us. They assisted with everything—clothes, food, and getting us settled. They accompanied us to the immigration office, where our stay was registered and we were recognized as refugees.”
In Germany, during this registration, Ukrainian citizens receive social benefits for each child and parent—basic funds to cover food, essentials, and day-to-day needs. “Prices did rise in Germany since March, but there was enough then, and there is now,” Romaniuk noted.
Three months later, the family of the local hosts helped Romaniuk secure her own home—a fully state-funded social apartment.
“There are three options for housing Ukrainian refugees in Germany: a family that can provide shelter, a social apartment, or refugee camps—think of them as dorm-style housing with private rooms but shared kitchens and bathrooms. Many refugees complain about the camps, citing the shared spaces, but they are not closed down; it’s often more a misconception,” she explained.
No compulsory schooling and “work in the fields” for children
Romaniuk described additional support measures for Ukrainian citizens in Germany. For instance, from March to May, travel on trains was free with a Ukrainian passport across the country. In the following months, travelers received a symbolic fare, and eventually the free travel benefit was discontinued.
“In Germany, schooling is compulsory. If a child does not attend a school, social workers visit to understand why. Our children attend German schools, and the younger one often struggles, while the older one has adapted well, aided by his English. Many locals speak English, making everyday life easier, and smartphone translators help, too. Language courses funded by the state are available to assist integration.”
Romaniuk believes there is little unemployment for refugees in Germany. The employment center can offer jobs, typically not hard labor. “No one is pushed into manual work; doctors and teachers are in demand, and having a recognized higher education helps. If the language is mastered, one can be invited to work in a chosen field. If not, alternatives are provided to suit the individual’s abilities. I am not employed now because I need to focus on caring for my children and helping them adapt to a new culture and lifestyle,” she admitted.
Those strange Germans
Many Ukrainians feel that the hardest part of the transition is integrating into a different cultural environment. The overall atmosphere feels unfamiliar to Romaniuk, and even ordinary situations appear strange at first.
“People here save money in unexpected ways, not just because prices rise. They reduce electricity use, wear modest clothing, and often drive economical cars in simple outfits. They seem very curious and quick to help—if you ask, they will respond. The kindness of locals has shown up in practical gifts for our family, like a table, a lamp for the children, a sturdy locker, bicycles, and even skates.”
There are programs for refugees that provide recreational activities. Romaniuk recalls going on trips to zoos, castles, and museums, and joining a community band with other refugees. While there are drawbacks, they are manageable. Accessing a doctor often requires a wait, but urgent cases prompt a timely ambulance response.
“You feel like a foster child in a foreign country”
Her interactions with other Ukrainian refugees and German neighbors help with assimilation. Romaniuk and fellow refugees meet during trips and lean on each other for support wherever possible.
Regarding Russians, Romaniuk says she did not see or experience hostility toward Ukrainians from Russians she has met. Reactions vary by person, and the shared hardship affects everyone involved. She hopes for a swift return to normal life in Ukraine, even though life in Germany is comfortable. Still, she confesses that living abroad can feel like being a foster child in a foreign land. She longs to return home for herself and her children, though many Ukrainians have chosen to stay for various reasons, such as family obligations or medical needs. For those left behind, the challenges in Ukraine remain severe, highlighting the ongoing human cost of conflict.