I see you

Why is it that often, the people who have experienced the most pain are the ones who meet others with the most kindness?

That question has stayed with me ever since I came home from Ukraine.

When I travelled there this summer, I thought the war would be what left the deepest impression on me.  

I was wrong. It was the children.

Novi organizes summer camps for children who live with war as part of their everyday lives, giving them the chance to do something mots of us take for granted: simply be children. They get to play, laugh, dance and make friends. They get to fall asleep without having to wonder what the night might bring.  

To many, it might sound like an ordinary summer camp. It isn’t. Not because the activities are different. Not because there is anything extraordinary about the place. But because of the children.

I expected to meet children carrying a great deal of pain. And I did. But what surprised me most wasn’t their stories. It was the way they treated one another.  I didn’t see anyone being left out. No one sitting alone. No one making fun of someone else.  

It didn’t matter whether their shoes were new or worn out. Whether their clothes were new or old. Whether their hair was long or short. Whether they were tall or short. Everyone was allowed to be exactly who they were. Together.  

I saw children wait their turn without being asked.

I saw the older children look after the younger ones.

I saw them share what they had.

I saw them comfort one another.

I saw children cheer each other on.

Lift each other up.

In the middle of a reality shaped by uncertainty, loss and fear, they met us with warmth, respect and care. I was only at the camp for three days. But those are three days I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

One evening, the activities were coming to an end. The music had quietened, and the children were beginning to head back to their rooms. Several times, I had felt someone watching me. At first, I didn’t think much of it. But when I turned around once more, I saw a little boy standing there.  

He seemed a little shy, but he was smiling. I crouched down to say hello.  He said something in Ukrainian, and someone helped us translate.

“I see you.

I’ve seen you several times.”

We played together for a little while that evening. He and his brothers were quiet and seemed shy, but their smiles said more than words ever could. When it was time for bed, they waved and said goodnight.

The little boy started to walk away. Then he stopped. He turned around. Ran back to me. And gave me a goodnight hug.

That was the moment I realized I wasn’t going to be able to hold back my tears.

Somehow, the children I travel there to help always end up giving me more than I could ever give back to them.  

It wasn’t a big moment. Maybe no one else even noticed it. But to me, it meant everything. It reminded me how much one person can mean to another, even after only a few days.

We cannot stop the war. We cannot take away everything these children have been through. But we can choose to stand with them.

We can create safe spaces. We can be the adults who stay. We can make room for play, belonging and small moments of normality.

Sometimes I think hope is not simply a feeling. Hope is something we do. It is continuing to care when everything feels hopeless. It is sharing when you have little yourself. It is lifting others up, even when you are carrying something heavy yourself.

They remind me of the person I want to be. They remind med that kindness is not defined by how easy your life has been.  

I went to Ukraine thinking I would be a safe adult these children could look up to. I came home feeling as though those roles had been reversed. Because in the end, I was the one looking up to them. Not because of everything they have lost.

But because of the people they have already become.

Line Hovdal is from Norway. She has worked with us for just over a year. She does all our social media, and is also a great idea generator. When she is not working for Novi, she likes to go for a run or to play with her new niece.

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