Every conversation with someone you have not spoken to in a long time begins with memories of February 24. There is no need to mention the year—everyone knows exactly what you are referring to. That date, the day Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, marked a point of no return—a day when everything changed forever.

We meet with Yuliia Dub, a volunteer, event organizer, activist, and local entrepreneur, at the Lis Art Space in the heart of Uzhhorod. As we begin our conversation about urban development, culture, and the responsibility each of us bears in building civil society, we are inevitably drawn back to that pivotal date. Because, perhaps, if it had not occurred, everything would have been completely different.

From Kyiv to Uzhhorod

Yuliia Dub hails from Uzhhorod but moved to Kyiv as an adult. It was there that she founded her small business, Cactus Bro, a brand specializing in interior decor made from live plants. Yuliia balanced her work with motherhood, with little Solia always by her side at Cactus Bro. And then…

Interviewer: “Yes, I remember, you had almost an entire greenhouse there.”

Yuliia: “Right, about a hundred plants, which we were eventually forced to leave behind.”

I was in Kyiv on February 24. At 6 a.m., my husband’s mother woke us up with the words: ‘Children, the war has started.’ It was a shock. Some people were prepared, with bugout bags ready—but not us. We were the kind of people who believed that no one in the modern world could attack Kyiv.

That evening, we decided to go to our house outside Kyiv. We designated one room as the safest in the house. It was tiny, about the size of a bathroom, and the four of us—my husband, our child, my mother-in-law, and I—stayed there.

Then I started arranging the basement, trying to make it as child-friendly as possible, so that it wouldn’t be a traumatic experience for her. I took bedspreads and lights down there, hung a flag, and even put up our photos to make it cozier. But one day, as we were sitting there, I realized that we only had one way out. And that was dangerous.

The house is old, and the explosions, even 20-30 kilometers away, made all the walls and windows vibrate. It was terrifying. So in early March, we decided to move towards Uzhhorod.

Exhausted Mothers

On March 7, we arrived in Uzhhorod. By March 11, I was volunteering at the “Owl’s Nest”, where they had scheduled shifts and needed more hands. On one hand, continuous volunteering keeps you sane—you don’t have time to constantly check the news. On the other hand, it became increasingly challenging as time went on.

One of the first instructions I received at the “Owl’s Nest” was: ‘Turn off your empathy. Just do what you have to do.’ I never found the switch to turn off empathy, though. There were mostly women in the lines for help—emotionally and physically exhausted grandmothers, and mothers.

The children couldn’t handle it, nor could the mothers. My eyes well up as I tell you this because I stood there and saw this line of mothers and children in tears, unable to cope with the reality. The first thought that came to my mind was that we needed to take these children somewhere—to give their mothers and grandmothers time to gather themselves and at least figure out where our institutions were located.

I thought: how can I contribute? I could do something with the children to relieve some of the burden on their parents, allowing them to deal with urgent financial and bureaucratic issues. I could help the children regain a sense of childhood—to show them that they are safe, that everything is fine. Here’s paper, scissors—let’s make bunnies.

Creative Volunteers

I then asked all my friends on Facebook if anyone could provide a free room, colored paper, scissors—anything for creative work with children. I received an outpouring of support, and we began to craft something special for the children.

The simplest thing I had was a collection of coffee cups my mom had collected. I asked friends if they had any small cacti, succulents, or flowers. We planted them in these cups with the children. Over time, we planted about 300 cups, maybe more. We found space: some people offered a room for a few hours, others for longer, and we started inviting various creative studios that had previously worked with children. That’s how ‘Creative Volunteers’ began.

The children were difficult—withdrawn, frightened, and here was an unknown woman trying to tell them something. It was incredibly challenging, so I started calling for help—no special skills were needed, just patience and a desire to do some crafts with children. Gradually, more volunteer girls joined us.

One day, we were sitting in the classroom, utterly exhausted—there were so many children. And we said, ‘Can you imagine? One day, we’ll have our own room, and we’ll paint the walls and do this and that.’ I said, ‘Girls, let’s visualize it, and it will definitely happen.’ And it did!

We also went to Lviv for training and took a course on working with traumatized children. It is an excellent program that anyone can learn. If you follow the structured approach, you can see very positive results. So we began to build our activities around this methodology.

Later we started organizing larger events. In addition to children’s entertainment, we included fairs where participants sold items. This allowed us to make charitable contributions to the Armed Forces of Ukraine. It gave us a stable way to raise small amounts for the military. We’ve already covered a certain sector of work with children and parental support, and we’ve begun to focus more on helping the military.

Bringing Life Back to Plants… and Growing the ‘Lis’

I devoted myself entirely to volunteering for a long time. I thought I’d only be here for “two or three weeks.” But time passed, and I had to consider my own financial security. I went home to retrieve my plants… Honestly, I cried for days.

To give you some background: as I mentioned, we bought an old house, and it had these dreadful yellowed wallpapers. To restore some beauty, I filled the space with large plants. It was so nice—the bright room, the sunlight streaming through one window and out the other. Waking up in the morning with the sun filtering through the greenery was so beautiful that you didn’t notice the ugly walls.

When we decided to flee, I took all the plants downstairs and left the heating on in one room where the plants were. But we didn’t realize that when the boiler is switched off, so is the heating. The temperature outside becomes the same as inside the house. So when I returned, I found a very sad scene—only a few of the most resilient cacti and succulents had survived.

Surprisingly, I didn’t shed tears. I felt numb. Until one day, during a workshop, a little girl approached me and said, “Do you want me to tell you a poem?” It was this child and her poem that unlocked something in me. I hugged her and said, “You have no idea how much you’ve just done.”

In the end, some plants were revived, others I sprigged, and now they’re here, at the Lis Art Space. The Lis Art Space grew out of a need for fulfillment—cultural, creative, and a need for solace. One day, one of our volunteers, Oleksiy, organized a board game night for us. At first, we thought it was too frivolous, that it was more for children… But when we came, we realized it was exactly what we needed. We were joking, laughing, talking—it was a slice of life amidst the chaos.

There was a desire for more—exhibitions, presentations, something to give us a sense of normalcy. I looked at Lviv, Kyiv, even Kharkiv, which has been regularly bombed, and saw that they still had a cultural life. They retained the desire for normalcy, reflection, and recovery.

And I realized that if this doesn’t exist in Uzhhorod, it must be created.

The Cultural Space Uzhhorod Lacks

I could write a whole story about the initial steps—finding a room, furniture, money, and so on. But I’m convinced that if you want something and have a plan, it will eventually come to you. Of course, you can’t just sit and wait; you have to seek opportunities, but they will come. We eventually found the space, I saw a state grant, and everything fell into place like a puzzle, though it required a lot of hard work.

Even before its official opening, the Lis Art Space became a magnet for wonderful people—people who would come and say, “I do this,” or “I do that.” For me, it was a sign that I was on the right track because I truly enjoyed it. So far, it hasn’t brought me any profit. We are only now breaking even, and I don’t yet have a salary from it. But I’m glad it exists. I’m glad this space exists in Uzhhorod. Even if it wasn’t mine but someone else’s, I would still be happy to see such a place because a creative life has taken root here. It gives people a chance to discover what’s interesting in our city—new people, young artists taking their first steps, craft producers making unique items.

I don’t know how profitable this will be for me in the long run. But it’s an important part of the city’s development. We organize fairs, and I can already see how this can be monetized for the local budget and how to improve the culture of these fairs and festivals. If all the participants were at least individual entrepreneurs, our budget would benefit significantly.

I have a long-term plan to teach these fair workers how to be entrepreneurs, to help them realize their potential and collaborate with shops. And when they start paying taxes, they could form an advisory body at the city council. First, to see how these taxes are distributed, and second, to allocate a percentage of these taxes to form a budget to support local ideas for city development—whether it’s greening a yard, building a playground, or holding a forum to prevent trees from being cut down. In short, any initiative.

Returning to the ‘Lis’, I want to organize city events that will shape a certain culture and taste. I want people to understand, for example, why it’s illogical to plant annuals on Petofi Square or to plant palm trees in Uzhhorod, where it’s not their natural environment. We don’t have a cultural space in the city—not a specific location, but a broader cultural presence.

I see the enormous potential our city has, especially with so many talented people coming here. We need to attract this human capital, make the city friendly to people, and turn it into a place where people would want to stay.

The work on this text was made possible by the Fight for Facts project, which is implemented with the financial support of the German Federal Ministry for Economic Cooperation and Development.

Iryna Sovyak, Varosh
Photo by Karina Asad
Translated by Yulia Lyubka