Written By Brad Harness
The train pulled into a smaller train station than the one at Kyiv. It was old, grey, with columns in front.
Borys took his luggage and left the train. The platforms were very busy, with hundreds of passengers coming and going. Inside the station, hundreds of benches were occupied by even more passengers.
Borys did not need to sit down. He had spent the past five hours on the train from Kyiv to Dnipro. Now he was here, where he was supposed to be, where the Foreign Legions trained new recruits to be sent forward to the front lines.
The signs of war were everywhere in Dnipro. The city of a million, perched on the banks of the wide Dneiper River which ran the length of Ukraine, had obviously suffered in the three years of war. Blackened buildings, twisted metal, and rubble strewn land where homes and businesses and office towers used to stand. Sandbags in front of doors.
His next challenge was to find an English speaker. Not an easy task, but after a half-dozen attempts, a young university student helped him find where he needed to go in conversations with the armed police working in the station.
“They say to find the bus for Yasalivka. It is about 10 kilometres from here, on the east side of the river. This taxi here…he will take you to there,” the young woman explained, pointing out a yellow taxicab and its eager driver standing with the trunk open awaiting his bags.
Borys turned to her and smiled. “Many thanks for your help!”
She nodded and then turned and disappeared into the crowd. Borys Nadiya put his suitcase and army kit bag in the trunk and climbed into the front passenger seat. Soon they were off, driving briskly through the rush hour traffic in the city. Across a very long bridge over the river, and then inland on a secondary highway. In thirty minutes the taxi pulled into a laneway with large, well-defended gates. Two soldiers inspected their papers. The taxi driver said something to them - presumably who Borys was and why he was being dropped off here - and then he asked for money, pointing to the meter. 75 hyrivni, the local currency. About $2.50 Canadian.
One of the guards spoke English and he asked additional questions before sending Borys inside the camp to meet the commandant.
“Come in! Come in!,” bellowed a deep voice inside the building. “Another Canadian, eh?”
NEXT WEEK: PART 6
