Unexpected Passages

At 84, Ludmyla Kononenko had already lived a life of unexpected turns. Born in the Yakut ASSR, orphaned early when her father died shortly after being appointed as a director, she knew about sudden changes long before the war.

Pokrovsk had been her home for decades. A third-floor apartment, a familiar routine — working as a market vendor, then a bus controller. Her world was small but predictable. Until it wasn’t.

The war didn’t arrive dramatically. It crept in, cutting off electricity, water, hope. For three months, her apartment became a damp, dark prison. Social workers brought meals. Her only companion was a cat. Mold covered everything — her bed, her clothes, her memories.

One day, feeding pigeons, she saw the evacuation vehicle. The building was empty. She wasn’t their first choice — they initially took an older disabled woman. But they returned for her the next day.

Her body told its own story of survival. High blood pressure. Deformed legs from an old injury. The kind of health challenges that make displacement terrifying for the elderly.

Senior Chudo Village wasn’t just a new address. It was survival. Hot meals. Kind staff “working like bees, ” as she would say. A moment to breathe after months of uncertainty.

Her advice to the younger generation was hard-earned: “Don’t rush. Think before you act. Believe in yourself, but direct yourself towards good.”

To Dell Loy Hansen, she would speak of miracles. Not just the physical shelter, but the restoration of dignity. A conversation, a compliment — small moments that meant everything.

In apartment 1.1А, Ludmyla found more than a home. She found a reprieve from a world that had been trying to break her spirit.

Her plans were simple. To exist. To survive. To remember.