Docenil Naszą Akcje

Artykul z dzisiejszego wydania jednej z najwiekszych gazet w Stanach .Jest to jeden z naszych projektow nad ktorym pracujemy. Ze wzgledow bezpieczenstwa , niektore nazwiska zostaly pominiete ale nie chwalac sie mozna sie domyslec o kogo chodzi Jedynie wspomniane jest o naszym rzeczniku na Ukrainie Tatyana Goryachova , ktora koordynuje nasze akcje na terenach objetych konfliktami zbrojnymi . Juz niedlugo podamy szczegoly naszych akcji i jak bedzie mozna pomoc. Wkrotce odbedzie sie Koncert Charytatywny w Polsce w Starachowicach a srodki zebrane uzyjemy na pomoc Polskim Rodzinom znajdujacym sie na tamtym terenie. Juz teraz znalazla sie rodzina z naszego regionu ktora jest gotowa przyjac repartiantow z tamtego terenu , Chwala Bogu

DONETSK, Ukraine — A visit to the command post of rebels fighting for control of the battered airport Friday turned into a mission to help Nadezda Panasyk, 75, the last civilian living in the same building.

Convincing her to leave was one thing. Finding her a place to go, in a region whose new leaders are at war with a government they consider illegitimate and where social services are almost non-existent, was another.

We met Panasyk, a widow gathering apples for food from her neighbors' trees, as rebel fighters began trading artillery fire with Ukrainian government forces lodged at the airport. The air cracked with the sound of shells hitting nearby and thudded with outgoing shots. Panasyk, dressed in a dirty housecoat and jacket, prayed quietly as she hobbled with a cane past shattered homes, burnt trucks and downed wires

She walked by a group of combatants carrying automatic weapons, sat near a children's swing set and cried. "God is everything and everybody who's done this will be punished," she said.

I'd heard about this woman from other reporters who had come here to interview Cmdr. Tolstikh "Givi" Mikhael Sergeyevich, who coordinates rebel operations around the airport with another commander known as Motorola. The fighting here has been ongoing since May 26, and continues despite a cease-fire declared six weeks ago.

I imagined a patriotic babushka cooking borscht for rebel fighters. I was wrong. She glowered at the fighters, and they ignored her as she roved the neighborhood looking for food. So why did she stay?

"I have nowhere to go," she said. "And I have a cat."

I had interviewed church leaders in Donetsk the day before, and was sure one of them could help. "Take the cat," I said. "This place is not safe."

Panasyk's apartment smelled of urine. A bucket of apples, a half a loaf of bread, peanut butter and preserves were her sustenance. The window was smashed. She had no heat, running water or electricity. She gathered Pushok ("Fluffy") the cat and her identification papers.

The shelling intensified. Pressure waves rocked the building and through to our lungs. We hunkered down awhile with rebel combatants in a hallway until the frequency slowed.

About an hour later, we were at St. Pokrovsky Russian Orthodox Church in downtown Donetsk. Panasyk was eating warm soup in the basement and feeding handfuls to Pushok. The shelling was now a series of distant booms, but we had a problem. The church had been feeding people, but no one here knew of a shelter where she could stay.

Father Dmitri Proterey gave us till 5 p.m. He offered to make an announcement to church members in two days, during the Sunday service.

We started making phone calls. Our fixer, who has contacts among rebel leadership, couldn't find anything. Donetsk has bomb shelters and hospitals, but no one would take responsibility for Panasyk. More than 300,000 displaced people from east Ukraine have asked the United Nations for help, straining local resources. The U.N.'s refugee agency estimates their true number of displaced people is close to 1 million.

"Most people go to relatives in Russia, Moldova and Belarus," says Ludmila Puvolyayeva, a woman doling out soup at St. Pokrovsky.

It dawned on me that I had taken on a huge responsibility. I took Panasyk from obvious danger and almost certain death, but I couldn't leave her on the street.

I called another church, but the pastor couldn't help. My colleague Tatyana Goryachova in Berdyansk, a town under Ukrainian government control, found a place connected to a charity funded by Ukrainian tycoon Rinat Akhmetov. But they wouldn't take Pushok.

After a few more calls, we found a new home for the cat, with a rebel defense official friendly with the fixer, and set out for Donetsk Protestant Church, a large building in a gated compound in the Petrovski District. Ludmila Melet, a church administrator, met us with a smile. The church had helped about 30 people in similar straits, and area residents who need food, water or electricity to charge their mobile phones.

The church does not coordinate with rebel authorities, Melet said, because on several occasions, rebel forces appropriated other church buildings to use as command posts.

Melet walked Panasyk to a clean room with painted floors, a desk and a bed with the covers turned back.

"You'll spend the night here. Then we'll take you to Dnepropetrovsk (a city in government-controlled Ukraine) and help you with a pension. Don't worry," she says.

Panasyk smiled and thanked Melet repeatedly. Then she put her hand on her brow and looked down.

"The cat always sleeps with me," she said. Then she sobbed.

Dorell is USA TODAY's diplomatic reporter based in McLean, Va.