On the final day of July, Russian forces struck Ukraine’s capital, Kyiv, in the deadliest assault of the year: 300 drones and eight missiles claimed 31 lives. Meanwhile, 700 kilometers (435 miles) away at a retreat near Svalyava in the Carpathian Mountains, 30 children were gathered around a fire, roasting marshmallows. Though most are from Kyiv, for now they are staying at the Zefir summer camp.
Over the camp’s 10-day duration, not a single air raid siren sounds, nor does anyone seek shelter—marking the longest stretch of peace many of these children have known since March 2022.
This Thursday, some keep glancing at their phones, anxious for updates about their families and friends.
The camp was organized by Tetiana and Alex Svatenkova, a Ukrainian couple who welcomed the children to the mountain retreat a week earlier. The program takes place at a hotel an hour from the Polish border.
Days are occupied with role-playing, water fights, theater, and dance. The children, aged nine to 16, come from across Ukraine, though most are from Kyiv, with others hailing from the eastern city of Dnipro.
Many joined simply to enjoy their summer break, but there’s another reason—escaping, if only briefly, the weight of war.
Tetiana, a psychologist, explains that the camp offers a crucial reprieve for the children.
Established in 2017, the camp originally operated in Kyiv. However, after the invasion, Tetiana and Alex relocated it to a safer area, bringing the children to the mountains.
The difference between the children who attended before and after the war is stark, Tetiana notes, particularly in their social skills. The relentless uncertainty has taken a toll.
“Before the war, the children were more open to new experiences and friendships. They were willing to try more things,” she says.
That’s why their work is now more vital than ever, Tetiana believes. She and her husband host around 500 children annually. While Ukraine has many similar programs, the couple chose to create their own—one where they could maintain small group sizes and remain closely involved.
Closing the camp was never an option, even after the war began.
“The children are noticeably more anxious now. They’re not scared of spiders—they fear the future. That’s why this refuge matters more than ever.”
Tetiana acknowledges that neither their expertise—her husband holds a doctorate in social pedagogy, while hers is in psychology—nor 10 peaceful days can undo the war’s damage. Still, the time spent here offers the children a measure of reassurance.
Alongside her husband and three team leaders, they work to understand each child’s individual needs.
Read next
"TikTok star highlights political power of South Africa's unsung culinary treasures"
Solly’s Corner, a popular eatery in downtown Johannesburg, was busy. Pieces of hake and crisp fries crackled in the fryer, green chillies were chopped, and generous amounts of homemade sauce were spread onto filled sandwiches.
Broadcaster and food enthusiast Nick Hamman stepped behind the counter, where Yoonas and Mohammed
Nazi-looted 18th-century portrait found in Argentina after 80 years
There was nothing particularly unusual about the middle-aged couple living in the low, stone-covered villa on Calle Padre Cardiel, a quiet street in the tree-lined Parque Luro neighborhood of Mar del Plata, Argentina’s most well-known coastal city.
Patricia Kadgien, 58, was originally from Buenos Aires, roughly five hours north.
"An aristocrat hid her Jewish lover in a sofa bed amid daring acts of German resistance to the Nazis"
Resistance in the Shadows: Germans Who Defied the Nazis
Growing up, our home had a steadfast rule: nothing German was permitted. No appliances from German manufacturers in the kitchen, no cars from German automakers in the driveway. The decree came from my mother. She was not a survivor of the