Kiit coffee, named after Serhii Stoian’s cat, who disappeared in the war, in Lviv, Ukraine. Photo Diego Ibarra Sánchez for the New York Times.
LVIV, Ukraine – Oksana Dudyk browsed through a small selection of ornamental plants on the shelves of her newly opened flower shop in this city on Ukraine’s western border.
Her gaze fell on the perfect bloom for a new client:
Fuchsia colored primroses, vivid and exuberant, ideal for brightening up an austere corner.
It was late afternoon and the flowers were only the tenth sale of the day.
Oksana Dudyk opened a flower shop after fleeing Mariupol in February. Photo Diego Ibarra Sánchez for the New York Times.
But that was nothing short of a miracle for Dudyk, who opened the shop with his last savings after fleeing his now decimated hometown of Mariupol under a hail of Russian rockets.
Her husband, who joined the Ukrainian army after the invasion, was caught by Russian forces in May and there has been no news since.
“These flowers help me survive,” said Dudyk, 55.
former engineer the construction worker who helped design and build schools before the war said he never imagined he would someday sell flowers to survive.
“They bring me joy and also help customers by creating a positive atmosphere in this incomprehensible war,” he said.
Dudyk is among the thousands of Ukrainians who are taking back their shattered lives and trying to start over, many starting small businesses that they hope will give them and their new communities a new purpose.
Others have jobs that are a step behind those lost to the war, clinging to livelihoods to keep their families afloat.
“The Russian invasion has spurred many people to stop and start building new businesses,” said Andriy Sadovyi, the mayor of Lviv, which has become a place for people fleeing the war-torn east.
The government is encouraging this entrepreneurial spirit by offering grants, zero-interest loans and other financial support for small businesses.
Kirill Chaolin began driving a taxi after losing his job as an air traffic controller trainer in Lviv, Ukraine. Photo Diego Ibarra Sánchez for the New York Times.
“Ukraine will remain intact,” he said, and much of that implies “ensuring that the economy develop and thrive“.
It would seem a grim prospect as Russia prepares for new attacks in eastern and southern Ukraine.
The Ukrainian economy is expected to shrink by a third this year, according to the International Monetary Fund, and it is estimated that one-fifth of the country’s small and medium-sized businesses have closed down.
But many refugees who have fled war-torn areas are collectively creating a new front of economic resistance to Russian aggression.
The groundwork is being laid by people like Serhii Stoian, 31, a former math teacher who opened a small shop selling freshly baked coffee and pastries in Lviv after fleeing from a job in Bucha, the city now infamous for scenes of unarmed civilians killed by Russian soldiers.
The cafe, named Kiit after its cat who disappeared during the war, struggled in its early days.
But now the business is so dynamic that a second one is opening in Lviv.
A third is planned for kiev.
Oksana Dudyk, who opened a flower shop after fleeing Mariupol in February. Photo Diego Ibarra Sánchez for the New York Times.
“We came here with $ 500 in our pocket,” said Stoian, who now employs four people and works with a friend turned business partner.
“When we started, we promised to pay the owner back in two months. We were able to pay it in just two weeks ”.
Stoian had dreamed of opening his café, but never did it for fear of failure.
On the sidelines of teaching, he ran a YouTube cooking channel in Ukraine called Hungry Guy Recipes which he nearly has 700,000 followers.
“Life was good enough,” he said.
He had just started a part-time job at a bakery in Bucha, making pies from his recipes on YouTube, when the invasion stopped everything.
“The owner of the bakery called at 5am and said:
“They’re bombing us. You have 10 minutes to join me if you want to escape, ‘”Stoian recalled.
“My friend and I didn’t have time to think, because when you feel Russia is invading, you can’t think,” he said.
“I was worried about my cat, who was staying with the neighbors. But we took some clothes and papers and jumped in the car. And we drive like crazy “.
They ended up in Lviv, where they lived in a shelter packed with other refugees from all over the country.
For three weeks they have been helping women and children to cross the border.
But they needed paid jobs.
When Stoian saw a “for rent” sign in a small old-fashioned gift shop, a light bulb went on.
Serhii Stoian, who named her cafe Kiit in honor of her cat, who disappeared in the war. Photo Diego Ibarra Sánchez for the New York Times.
“We could rent it and sell coffee and sweets,” he recalled thinking.
“We had no commercial experience.
And we were a little worried because there is corruption in Ukraine.
But my friend knew how to make coffee. And I could cook.
They hired an espresso machine and Stoian stayed up at night making fruit cakes, rosemary cookies, and cinnamon rolls.
But no customers came.
Stoian began to despair.
Then he erased the menu from the open-air cafe board and started writing his own dramatic story.
“We moved here because of the war,” reads the message.
“We want to do what we do best: prepare great coffees and cakes. We believe in Ukraine. People have helped us and we want to help others ”.
He has pledged to donate part of the shop’s profits to the war effort.
Military personnel were offered free coffee.
The next day, Stoian said, he was there rows of 20 to 30 people.
After posting on Instagram, the bar had up to 200 customers per day.
The sensation was such that he received consultations on the opening of Kit franchise.
Though encouraged by the success, he still faces grief over the senseless killing of people he knew in Bucha and the loss of his beloved cat, who was abandoned by his neighbors fleeing the bombing.
“Name the coffee in his memory help me to continue“, She said.
On a recent day, he looked up at the bare walls of his second Kiit café, the floor cluttered with construction equipment.
“This is still all a gamble,” Stoian said.
“And if we lose everything, it would be fine, because we started with nothing.”
“But maybe we’ll make it too. Maybe we’ll be the next big thing. “
For others, resilience means accepting a more uncomfortable transition.
Kirill Chaolin, 29, worked as high-level trainer for air traffic controllers at Lviv International Airport.
His work disappeared when Ukraine closed its airspace to commercial flights.
In recent months, Chaolin, who has a wife and a 5-year-old daughter, has started driving a taxi for Bolt, an Uber rival.
“It’s hard to give up a great job doing this,” he said, facing a traffic crisis on a recent weekday.
“But there is no choice: my family needs to eat”.
Dozens of his former colleagues at Ukrainian airports are doing the same, he added.
“You have to do whatever it takes to survive,” Chaolin said.
People like Dudyk are rebuilding their lives even as they struggle to overcome the high cost of war.
She and her husband were leading a quiet life in Mariupol, the port city that was one of Russia’s first strategic targets, and were about to visit Prague for a vacation when the invasion began.
“We had decent salaries. A happy home, ”said Dudyk, who has two children and four grandchildren.
Her husband had a window manufacturing business and worked as a beekeeper, looking after 40 hives.
As a construction engineer involved in major construction projects, Dudyk had a job that made her proud.
When Russia attacked, she and her 77-year-old father tried to hold out until a powerful explosion tore the facade of their home as they took cover inside, forcing them to flee under constant shelling into the territory controlled by the country. Ukraine.
Dudyk said her husband, 59, enlisted to fight the day Russia entered and joined Ukrainian forces inside the Azovstal steel plant.
He was one of 2,500 fighters taken by Russia as prisoners of war in May and there has been no news since.
Last month an explosion in the prison camp resulted in more than 50 deaths, but Dudyk dreams that one day he will return home.
Today, his home is a cramped refuge in a temporary modular city set up for Ukrainian refugees, where he lives with his father.
“I want the flower shop to be successful,” said Dudyk, who is expanding it with the guidance of another refugee who once ran a daycare center.
Hopefully, your spartan display case will transform with new shelves and more flowers.
Mostly, wants to sell roses.
“My husband always brought me big bouquets of flowers,” she said with a smile.
“But for roses, you need a refrigerator. And I don’t have the money.
With his low savings, Dudyk applied for a grant under the government program to support small and medium-sized businesses.
She takes nothing for granted.
“When your country is bombed, you realize that your life is threatened and everything can be taken away,” said Dudyk, a cheerful woman whose blue eyes cloud with tears as painful memories surface.
“You are planning for the future one moment, and the next you lose everything. You start fighting for basic necessities: water, the ability to make a phone call to tell someone you’re still alive, “she said.
“You wait for the nightmare to end, then you realize the invasion is on such a massive scale, so what’s the probability?”
As he spoke, a stream of customers entered and his face lit up.
A deaf couple approached and hugged her, making the sign language symbol for tears, and then a heart.
She showed them her latest floral line and they pulled out their wallets.
“I’m not a plant expert, but I know what can make people happy,” said Dudyk, who said he drew his strength from an extraordinary show of solidarity and support from his new Lviv neighbors.
“Thanks to them, I know I’ll make it.”
c.2022 The New York Times Company
Liz Councilor
Source: Clarin
