Dr Natalia Novikova’s daily commute these days requires a little more creative thinking than her usual rush-hour drive to and from her doctor’s practice in Cape Town’s city centre.
Trailers full of sedans without number plates, headed for export to Ukraine, only add to the traffic — a sign that optimism about the future might cautiously be making its way into Ukrainian hearts. Evidence too that the urges ofremain irrepressible even in times of war, as the cars will go to buyers free of import duties, which wartime Ukraine has abolished.
Novikova says that many old men, reluctant to leave their homes in the first place, have to be forced past the border by their wives and relatives. Alongside the big players is a congregation of smaller NGOs — volunteers who have rushed to the border to be of whatever help they can, and charities of various sectarian shades doing their respective lords’ work. Today, however, is relatively quiet, and aid workers seem to outnumber refugees.The atmosphere is almost festive, with volunteers offering passers-by free artisanal coffees and pizza slices, while someone in a giant Pokémon costume distracts war-weary children.
People were quick on the ground, she adds. The site for the tent was staked out by an American woman with Ukrainian links, and volunteers started working in the field clinic a week into the war, weeks before the major international aid organisations, encumbered by more bureaucratic processes, moved into the area.“There is much better infrastructure now around the border crossing and things are improving,” says Novikova. “But this war is not going to stop tomorrow.
“Hypertension, diabetes, and if they have any chronic illnesses and they stay in the line for eight or 12 hours, then everything is going to be bad… there’s anxiety, insomnia, stress,” says Novikova. “After hours, it turned into a war zone, especially at Cecilia Makiwane Hospital in Mdantsane [a township outside East London], and Frere Hospital was not all that different.