From the whistle of rockets to children’s smiles: a refugee mother’s new beginning

Some sounds belong to childhood: the hum of a lullaby, the clang of a school bell, the rustle of pages in a classroom. Others, like the whistle of rockets, never should. Cristina Shuljenko has heard both. Her story is about moving her children from one soundscape to another, from the noise of war to the rhythm of ordinary life abroad.

When home becomes uninhabitable

Cristina’s home was once in Shabo, a small village in southern Ukraine. She studied languages, dreamed of teaching, and was raising her 2 children, Eva and Vlasii. Then came the night when sleep itself became unsafe.

'I woke up to the hiss of a rocket above our heads. I grabbed my son; we hid under the table. I called my mother and told her, ‘if anything happens, this is a goodbye. I love you.’

That moment brought fear, but also clarity. Rockets made the decision for her: motherhood now meant leaving. In 2022, Cristina crossed into Moldova with her children. 

Cristina told herself the move was temporary, just a pause until the shelling stopped. 

But uprooting is deceptive: it pretends to be a break and then stretches into years. 

She remembers her first weeks in Chișinău as a race against paperwork. Rent compensation forms, school registrations, questions. ‘I didn’t wait for pity. I went everywhere alone, asking questions, solving problems. It was hard, but it made me stronger.’

Building a life, not just surviving

Survival was not enough for Cristina. She wanted her children to have a normal routine again – school, homework, playground quarrels, even boredom. Now Eva is in fourth grade and Vlasii in first, studying at a Moldovan lyceum (secondary school). They carry new books, learn a new language, join school plays – small steps towards rebuilding a sense of a future.

Cristina now works as a social pedagogue with AVE Copii at the Divertis Centre (a type of day centre), supported by UNICEF and the EU. She helps Ukrainian and Moldovan children through play and psychological support. 'When I enter the room, they shout my name and hug me. For a moment, you forget the hardships outside', says Cristina. 

Work gave Cristina more than income —  it gave her purpose, and proof she was more than a refugee.

Her story reflects a reality that the EU and partners like UNICEF monitor daily. Since Russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022, over 2 million people have fled to Moldova, with about 100,000 still there — 40% children and nearly 60% women. This prolonged crisis strains the national child protection system, limiting access to education, welfare, and support. 

Strengthening integration is crucial — without inclusive policies and trained specialists, both refugee and local children risk losing the stability and opportunities they deserve.

With support from the EU, UNICEF, the Ministry of Labour and Social Protection, and AVE Copii are strengthening Moldova’s child protection system, helping both refugee and local children access care, protection, and opportunities. Through safe spaces and recreational activities, partners improve children’s mental health and psychosocial well-being, giving them the support they need to grow and thrive. The impact is visible in numbers and daily realities.

‘Since February 2022, the AO AVE Copii team has supported thousands of refugees and local children at risk. Today, we coordinate 25 child-friendly spaces nationwide, where every day more than 590 children, both local and refugee, find a safe place for educational and recreational activities, receiving timely and professional support regardless of their status,’ said Mariana Ianachevici, Executive Director of the AO AVE Copii.

Integration as a daily practice

Cristina’s story shows what helps a displaced family truly live, not just survive. 

'Life is not about money, new clothes, renovations. No one remembers those things. What matters are the small moments, your children laughing, the walks you take together.'

For her, safety is not a place but the rhythm of ordinary days that help children believe the world still makes sense. 

Cristina’s life reflects what real victory looks like for many refugee mothers: building a temporary but meaningful life for their families.

For Cristina, being a winner means her daughter will one day recall not the whistle of rockets, but a school recital. Her son will not remember nights under a table, but a summer camp in a city far from home.