On Thursday, February 5, a door that had been closed for months opened again. Ukraine and Russia concluded a new prisoner exchange: 157 Ukrainian soldiers returned to their country and, in exchange, 157 Russian soldiers were delivered to Moscow. For five months, the exchanges had been on hold. This time, silent diplomacy managed to reactivate a fragile mechanism, but vital for hundreds of families.
In the Ukrainian region of Chernihiv, near the border with Belarus, the day was marked by a persistent snow storm. Even so, Dozens of relatives remained outdoors for hours. The cold, wind and uncertainty were not enough to keep them away from the exchange point. There, among blankets, thermoses of tea and laminated photographs, they awaited news that could change their lives. Many of them were not coming for the first time.
wait under the snow
Iván Román already knew the ritual. He had attended previous exchanges hoping to hear some clues about his son, a member of the 72nd Separate Mechanized Brigade. For families, these meetings not only mean the possibility of an immediate reunion; They also represent an information opportunity. Released soldiers may have shared captivity with other prisoners, they may recognize a name, confirm that someone is still alive.
At the meeting point an almost identical scene is repeated each time:
- Parents holding enlarged portraits
- Wives checking phone every few minutes
- Friends and brothers exchanging information and words of comfort
- Volunteers handing out hot drinks
The community that forms there is a mixture of hope and contained grief. Some celebrate; others continue waiting.
Olha Kurtmallaeva, 26, also returned to the same place. Her husband, Ruslan, a member of the 501st Marine Battalion, had been captured during fighting in Mariupol in the spring of 2022. Since then, four years without hugging him, without hearing his voice more than memories. She came accompanied by friends, like someone preparing for news that could be both a miracle and a disappointment.
The notice came unexpectedly. First, a notification on the Diia government app: “The defender is released.” Then a call from an unknown number. On the other side, the voice he had been waiting for for years. Then, the video image. Relief turned to tears. In the midst of war, technology was the bridge to a simple and devastating phrase: “You are the most precious thing I have.”
Brief reunions, immense emotions
The wait lasted longer than expected. The storm slowed down the journey of the buses transporting those released. For hours they moved slowly along snow-covered roads.. It was already evening when the vehicles finally arrived at the agreed point.
The reception was spontaneous: applause, shouts, crying. However, the hugs had to be brief. Most of the former prisoners showed signs of extreme exhaustion and accumulated stress. They were wearing light clothing, unsuitable for the intense cold, and they had spent long hours traveling. After a first contact with his relatives, They were taken directly to hospitals. for medical evaluations and psychological support.
The exchange left several powerful images:
- Soldiers wrapped in national flags
- Mothers clinging to their children as if they feared they would disappear again
- Parents who repeated the names of their children between sobs
- Couples who promised to never let go again
Not everyone had good news
For those who did not find their loved ones on the list of those released, the day was a bitter mix. They remained with their signs and photographs, approaching the newcomers with an almost whispered question: “Have you seen him? Do you know anything about him?” Sometimes they receive confirmation; other times, just silence.
Meanwhile, in front of the hospitals where the liberated soldiers are admitted, family members continue to gather. They watch the windows, alert for any movement, hoping that someone who has shared captivity might recognize a face in a photo and offer a clue, a minimum certainty in the midst of uncertainty.
The exchange of February 5 did not put an end to the suffering of those who continue to wait, but it did reactivate a dynamic that seemed paralyzed. In a prolonged and brutal conflict, each exchange is much more than a logistical operation: It is a reminder that, even in war, individual lives remain invaluable.
For 157 Ukrainian families—and as many Russians—that day meant the return of someone irreplaceable. For the rest, it was an implicit promise: the possibility that, in the next exchange, they could also finally hear those words that justify everything.
