The Kondras are a family of six Ukrainian refugees who live in Zaragoza. Like many others, they fled their home leaving everything behind and, like many others, they also had to deal with the language barrier in their new destinations. But in their case, this difficulty was aggravated by the condition that they are all deaf, a disability that made them more vulnerable during their journey until they could rebuild their lives in Spain. “It has been difficult for us, but we are happy,” they assure this newspaper in sign language.
For Vitalik Kondra and his wife Diana (35 and 34 years old, respectively), the beginning of the conflict caught them in Kherson, one of the first cities occupied by the Russians. They couldn't hear the sirens or the explosions, but they could see the military planes flying through the sky. They sought protection with more people in a shelter, but they felt out of place. “We didn't understand what was happening around us, and the children – Kristian and Marco, then 4 and 1 years old – couldn't stop crying because they were in the dark,” says the husband.
Distressed by the situation, they decided to leave Ukraine until the situation improved. First they landed in neighboring Romania, where two weeks later they were joined by his parents, Viktor (63) and Liudmila (58), also deaf. Seeing that the situation was getting worse, after a month they decided to put a stop to it. Thanks to the help of a religious community, they ended up after a two-day bus trip in Barcelona, from where they were relocated to a refugee center in Utrillas (Teruel). The problem is that, except for them, everyone there was hearing, and there were no interpreters or anyone who knew sign language. “We felt totally isolated, they were very difficult days,” they say.
Thanks to social networks, Vitalik learned that a former classmate, Svitlana Hanziuk, was in the capital city, where she worked as a sign language interpreter at the Association of Deaf People of Zaragoza (ASZA). Upon learning of her situation, she arranged for the family to move to the city, where they finally ended up in May of last year.
“Her role as an interpreter and mediator has been fundamental,” highlights Jesús Laiglesia, from ASZA, which last year launched a three-pronged support program for deaf Ukrainian refugees arriving in Spain: help in the procedures with the Administration ; Spanish sign language learning course – “very different from Spanish,” he clarifies; and support work so that they contact other people in similar situations.
According to data from the Accem organization, of the almost 36,000 Ukrainian refugees they have cared for between 2022 and the first half of 2023, about 800 had some type of disability, although they do not specify which one. ASZA also does not have data on how many deaf displaced people there are in Spain or in the community of Aragón, but its center currently cares for about 20 people from seven family units, including the Kondras.
For Vitalik, the most “despairing” thing since they arrived has been having to wait nine months to obtain the disability certificate essential to be able to apply for a job, since the one from Ukraine is not valid in Spain. “The procedure should be more agile,” he complains. “I know people for whom the wait has become unbearable and they have gone to other countries like Germany or Belgium, where the process is faster and easier,” he adds.
After months of uncertainty, they finally obtained the certificate last May, and since then everything has been better: Vitalik works in an automotive factory in the neighboring town of Épila, where they have made him permanent; his mother in a fruit company: and his father in an industrial laundry. They live on their own in a rented apartment, they go to sign language classes and the children are integrated into the city's school for deaf children. They live from day to day and do not make many plans for the future. “We live a normal life and we like the city. “Time will tell if we end up returning to Ukraine,” he says.
