The Cost of Hosting Ukrainian Refugees
… with no end in sight.
Against all odds, and with a lot of aid, Ukraine has not fallen. But it’s not the country it once was, and even if it wins the war with Russia, it will take decades to rebuild.
Many families have fled. You’ve no doubt read stories about refugees who’ve made harrowing escapes to places like the U.S.
You haven’t read any stories about the people hosting these families once they arrive.
That’s where Wells $treet steps in. I follow the money behind the headlines, and this story hits close to home.
My long-time friends, Cherie Phoenix and John Longawa, are hosting the Kurtas, a family of five Ukrainians who fled the city of Zaporizhia last year as rockets rained down. The region is home to Europe’s largest nuclear power plant — which the Russians now control — and the city is currently surrounded by Putin’s forces. A missile strike there killed three people last week.
The Kurtas — mom Yulia, dad Andrii, and three children, ages 5, 8 and 14 — made their way out of Ukraine and landed first in France, then found a temporary sponsor in North Carolina, before ultimately ending up on Cherie’s doorstep in Thousand Oaks, California, on Feb. 10th.
That was nearly a month ago.
Cherie and John were told they’d only need to house the refugees for two to four weeks, but finding permanent housing has turned out to be more difficult than any of them expected. “That has been insanely hard,” Cherie says. She now has no idea when they’ll leave.
She and John originally signed up to host a refugee family through an Airbnb program launched after the fall of Afghanistan. They heard nothing until a few weeks ago. Suddenly, Cherie says, “I got a call from Nova Ukraine asking if we would still accept a family.” Nova Ukraine is a humanitarian organization, and it offered to pay for the Kurtas to get to California. Cherie and John briefly talked it over before replying “yes.”
The Kurtas showed up the next day — five people and 10 suitcases. “They came into our house, not knowing anything about us, and we didn't know anything about them,” Cherie says. “You kind of have to learn about each other quickly.”
She discovered that Andrii and Yulia were granted humanitarian parole by the U.S. government, allowing them to live and work here. But in a sort of Catch-22, it’s hard to look for work when you don’t know where you’re going to live, and no landlord is willing to rent to a family with no money, no jobs, and no credit history in America.
“Everything was very difficult,” Yulia tells me via Google Translate. “We don’t live now, we just survive.”
Cherie, who used to run a non-profit, has made repeated calls to various groups seeking answers. “I am truly shocked at how little organization there is among the refugee organizations that I'm working with to help them find someplace to live.” She says that even though some of these charities promise on their websites to help with housing, “When you talk to them in person, they say, ‘Oh no, sorry, we don't do that. They need to find that on their own.’”
The Kurtas do have a contract with the International Institute of Los Angeles to provide a federally-funded matching grant that will help pay for expenses, but it’s contingent upon the Kurtas finding housing first. Cherie says the Kurtas’ caseworker at IILA made it clear to her that the refugees are on their own in securing a place to live. The contract also is supposed to help them with English-language classes, but that hasn’t happened either. (I’ve emailed and called the agency to obtain more information, but I haven’t heard back.)
The Kurtas tell me they have about $3,000. Some of that they received from selling a car in France, and the rest is from charitable groups helping them flee Ukraine.
What they may lack in resources they make up for in hope and ambition. “We like everything in America,” says Andrii. Yulia agrees. “America is the most independent, stable, developed, safest country in the world.”
They’re looking for jobs in their trained professions — he’s an auto mechanic who can do construction, she’s a hairdresser. “Initially we need to find a house,” Andrii tells me through the translation app, “and then identify the children, and then go to work.” I think by “identify” he means register the kids for school — Googling between English and Ukrainian has room to improve! Here’s part of our tortuous interview which I edited down for time:
But I want to get back to the people you never hear about in these war stories — the hosts. Cherie thought “two to four weeks” meant two to four weeks. Instead it’s… who knows? She’s providing more than a home to the Kurtas. She’s now their English-speaking advocate, spending hours with them every day trying to find someone, anyone, who can help.
“I’m pleasantly stressed out,” she tells me.
Going from a household of two empty-nesters to seven people — including kids — has naturally become more expensive, especially when it comes to food. Andrii makes soup for lunch every day, and Cherie and John are clearing out their meat locker in the garage. “We are now spending about four times what we usually spend,” she says.
Cherie also expects to see a jump in her water and utility costs. Then there’s the time spent driving the Kurtas to appointments and interviews, helping them sign up for Medi-Cal and the SNAP program. Cherie also drove Yulia to a job doing hair for a client found through a Ukrainian Facebook group.
My friends don’t receive any aid for being hosts, nor do they want any. They just want the Kurtas to get settled. “We aren’t going to throw them out on the street,” Cherie tells me. “I think they’re very eager to get their own place, and we’re just doing what we can to support them in that.” She’s launched a GoFundMe campaign to raise money for rent, security deposit, and a little furniture.
Despite the challenges, Cherie and John have no regrets. Quite the opposite. “I think more people should know how good it feels to help others,” she says. “I mean, it's a win-win.” John remains supportive of this crazy adventure, emerging from his home office at mealtimes to say hello. “He tends to forget that they don't speak any English,” Cherie jokes.
However, there are limits to the help Cherie and John will provide. They describe themselves as “comfortably middle class,” but they don’t believe they can afford the financial risk of co-signing a lease with the Kurtas. They are allowing the family to use their home as a permanent address for things like federal benefits.
So what’s next? Stay tuned.
They continue to look for housing and for aid that doesn’t violate the terms of the Kurta’s federal matching grant. For example, the family cannot accept money from another federal grant program, as that would be double-dipping. They can, however, accept private aid.
The refugees are grateful beyond measure for the hospitality they’ve received, and while they miss Ukraine, they hope to build a new life in the United States. Their oldest child, 14-year-old Marharyta, continues her studies online, but the younger children, 8-year-old Seva and 5-year-old Adriana, are not yet in school. Parents Andrii and Yulia regularly communicate with family back home in Zaporizhia. “They sit all day in the dark,” Yulia tells me. “They don’t have any heating.
I asked the children what they like about America.
“I like the food,” says Adriana. Marharyta is anxious to make new friends. And Seva, the boy, has plenty to say: “Small apples are big…” “My dad told me everything is here, even English boxing…” and “This is the world of the future.”
It’s exhausting and chaotic, but there are moments of joy. “When we all eat dinner together at the dinner table and talk, we’re just one big family,” Cherie says. “We laugh and the kids say the funniest things.” She’s impressed by how courteous the children are. “One of the first English phrases they all learned to say was, ‘Can I help you?’ And it just warms my heart every time they say that.”
There are also signs of hope. The story has received some local news coverage. Cherie put out a call for help on Nextdoor, and a woman who left Ukraine with her husband in 2009 responded. They live two blocks away. The GoFundMe campaign has raised over $7,000 so far, not enough to rent an apartment and cover first/last month plus a security deposit... but it’s getting close. Once again, here’s a link.
“This whole thing is a change to our lifestyle, but it’s worth it,” Cherie tells me. She also knows the saga won’t last forever. “I went through two pregnancies without drinking, so I know I can do anything for a while.”
🇺🇦 🇺🇸 🇺🇦 🇺🇸 🇺🇦 🇺🇸
I think *I* need a drink.
I like to think I’m compassionate, but, WHOA! What would you do in this situation? Leave a comment, and if you know someone in the Los Angeles area who can help, email jane@janewells.com.
Jane, your story has my gut tight and tears in my eyes. putin will go down in history as among the worst.
Another great piece of writing. Thanks for including the go fund me link. I sent in a small “howdy” so they know we all care. Please do a follow up story and make sure they see your article! Hey guys, welcome to America! How can I help you! :-)