In a small, slightly cluttered room in Ivano-Frankivsk, two men share their lives with three energetic cats – one black, one grey and one ginger. The ginger, the smallest, was rescued by Dmytro, who laughs as he holds it gently in his hands. “I’ll have to find a family for him. I can’t manage three. The black one’s mine, though. It only ever sits next to me.”
Dmytro (51) runs the shelter they live in. He knows every corner of the place and helps with everything, from paperwork to hauling firewood. His flatmate and friend, Davyd (41), keeps a photograph of himself on a small table, a casual snapshot taken by teenagers in Ivano-Frankivsk. It is now the only photo he has of himself. “Everything was taken from me. All I’ve got are the keys to my bombed-out house and a watch,” he says quietly. He watched his family die in Mariupol when a rocket struck their home.
Dmytro (right) and Davyd (left) with one of their cats
Davyd: “Why did my family die, and not me?”
Davyd has been living in the shelter run by the organisation Zahid Shans for just over a year. “Before this, I couldn’t sleep well and washed my clothes in the river. But I was always very neat. No one could tell I was homeless,” he recalls.
The first months of the Russian full-scale invasion in Ukraine were brutal for him. He had lost his parents and two sisters during the shelling of Mariupol, and afterwards was forced through the so-called “filtration camps”, Russian-run facilities in occupied areas where civilians were detained, interrogated, and screened for their political views or links to Ukraine’s military. Many were mistreated, some tortured, and thousands deported to Russia.
“I witnessed my family die. I carry survivor’s guilt all the time,” he says. “Why did I survive? Why did my family die, and not me?”
Before the full-scale invasion, Davyd lived a very different life, he was sporty, trained in kickboxing, and didn’t smoke or drink. But after losing everything, he turned to drugs. It just helped to silence the voices in my head,” he explains.
He came across Zahid Shans almost by accident. Their team was on the street distributing clean syringes and condoms as part of their work to prevent new HIV cases. “I told them that I had nowhere to live, and they said they could help. Thanks to them, I came to live in this shelter. They also offered me medication-assisted treatment. They changed my life completely. I can finally eat and sleep again.”
Davyd in front of the shelter where he lives
Dmytro: “We even have chickens – fresh eggs every day”
Dmytro’s story is different, though no less shaped by the war. Originally from Kryvyi Rih, he fled in 2022 when Russian troops drew close. All he carried with him was a small supply of antiretroviral medication.He got HIV in the mid‑1990s, a time when prevention, stigma, and treatment were extremely challenging.
“I knew almost nothing about HIV back then. At the time, theories denying the existence of AIDS and HIV were quite popular. There was no treatment available, so I just lived my life. But in 2009 I became seriously ill. I received HIV treatment for the first time and it saved me,” he recalls. “Now my viral load is undetectable. I can stay healthy and I can’t pass the virus on to others.”
In the early months after the full‑scale invasion, Dmytro stayed in schools that had been converted into large hostels for refugees. After registering at a local hospital to continue his treatment, he learned about Zahid Shans.
“They first helped me rent a flat. Later I moved into the shelter. We have everything here: a proper kitchen, a newly renovated bathroom, firewood for the winter and even chickens, so we always have fresh eggs.”
As administrator, Dmytro takes pride not only in what the shelter provides but also in how its residents contribute. He points to Davyd’s efforts: “He painted the walls white and helped set up a children’s room, that was his idea. It’s wonderful to see him becoming more active. At first he was hardly ever around.”
Dmytro supported Davyd in moving beyond his past and encouraged him to pursue training as a social worker, which would allow him to work at the shelter. “And he did it! He successfully completed the training and now works here as a social worker,” says Dmytro.
Dmytro believes that time is the most precious resource the shelter can give. “You cannot stay here forever. But it gives you the time you need to get back on your feet.”
Davyd and Dmytro’s stories are both similar and unique – bound together by loss, survival, and the strong will to begin again.
Emergency support fund for Ukraine and CEECA region
The Central and Eastern Europe and Central Asia (CEECA) region is the only region in the world where both new HIV infections and AIDS-related deaths are rising, with an estimated 2.1 million people living with HIV – of which half do not have access to life-saving treatment (source: UNAIDS). The war in Ukraine has worsened the HIV crisis in the country and the wider region. In response, Aidsfonds, with partners ECOM and APH and support from Gilead, set up the Emergency Support Fund for Ukraine and the CEECA region. The fund helps community-led organisations like Zahid Shans continue providing vital HIV services to people living with or vulnerable to HIV despite the war. Read more here.
Written by: Nataliia Bushkovska
Photo credits: Anna Klochko