![]() When bombs started falling from the sky over Cold Mountain, the Kharkiv neighborhood where they lived, the family hid in Anastasiia's room - at the center of their duplex, it didn't have any windows - for a week. ![]() She folds her slice in half before taking a bite.Ī laugh over a hot meal was unimaginable for the 14-year-old and her family just a few months ago. It might be the norm in Brazil but not in Ukraine. Sofiia gives a soft laugh at the thought of eating pizza with a fork and knife. Andreia places utensils next to the round cardboard boxes. The chatter among the eight - in Ukrainian, Russian, Portuguese and English - continues as they all settle in around the table. ![]() Gabriela Portilho for NPR When it comes to pizza, Paulo Bley of Prudentópolis and his two sons have a difference of opinion with their Ukrainian tablemates. He didn't grow up here and is not of Ukrainian heritage like his wife, so he's learning as he goes. When the few Ukrainian words he has picked up in the last couple months and slowly spoken Portuguese don't work, he turns to Google Translate for help. Their mothers chat as they get plates and cups from the kitchen cupboards, and Paulo does his best to talk to Sofiia. ![]() Bruno and Ruslana, classmates at the nearby elementary school, giggle as they take turns swinging a plastic sword at each other in the adjacent living room, the smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce wafting through the air. Three pizza boxes are stacked in the center of Andreia and Paulo's dining table. Its ties to home provide not only a sense of comfort to those like Laryssa and her daughters but also deep connection to those who live there and a bond that can't be broken, even if they can, one day, go home.įrom fear in Kharkiv to pizza (with a fork) in Prudentópolis This unexpected hub of Ukrainian culture has become a haven for eight families who escaped the war in the last six months with the help of a worldwide network of evangelical churches. Above: a rehearsal in their home base of Prudentópolis. Gabriela Portilho for NPR The Ukrainian-Brazilian Folk Dance Group Vesselka was founded in 1958 and performs throughout the year - and even travels abroad. Her great-grandparents were among the first families some 116 years ago to come from Ukraine and settle Prudentópolis, named for a past president of Brazil and now known as "Little Ukraine," with the hopes of making a living by farming the available land. It's an easy conversation, filled with laughter and the kind of chatter that usually only comes with years of friendship.īut in fact, the two women only just met in early June.Īndreia is one of many natives of the Brazilian town who learned Ukrainian before she learned Portuguese. They talk about Andreia taking the girls to school the next day and the menu she made to help Laryssa's baking business, which she and her husband, Paulo Bley, have been circulating on WhatsApp. When she lived in Ukraine, Laryssa earned a living by selling toys and parrots and parakeets from her home.Īs she kneads the dough for her last loaf of bread and places it into a pan lined with parchment paper, the afternoon sun streaming through the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony of her fourth-floor apartment, she calls her new friend Andreia Burko Bley, who grew up in this town and has sons the same age as her two youngest daughters. She's getting a lot of orders for Ukrainian baked goods in her new home in Brazil. Gabriela Portilho for NPR Laryssa Moskvichova bakes oreshkis, a Ukrainian cookie.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |