A Cuban Dancer on Escaping Ukraine and How to Survive War

By Melissa C. Novo (El Toque)

HAVANA TIMES – When they left Sumy, Ukraine, the city had already been rocked by war for seven months. Bombs fell so frequently that the devastated landscape began to look normal. From her window, Lisandra had seen the sky light up; she had heard the noise; had sensed the tanks in the streets and had been so terrified that she stopped eating. Her hands trembled, she barely slept, and she cried a lot.

Trapped on the ninth floor, Lisandra, her husband Eugene, and their daughter Camila lived the same way each day, as if caught in a loop.

Waking up was the first miracle; being alive at nightfall, the second. The girl was three years old when she had to learn to take shelter in the hallway after the sirens warned of incoming Russian airstrikes. She had to learn to stay quiet, to be calm, to stay inside.

Looking back with the distance of time, the third miracle was that their building was never hit by a missile, that it remained untouched—out of the radar’s path.

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I had contacted Lisandra, a Cuban and a dancer, just six days after Vladimir Putin invaded Ukrainian land in February 2022. We had spoken, by miracle as well. It was one of the many times my job became anguish. I was safe in Guadalajara and she was under the bombs. I couldn’t do anything. Neither could she.

Now, three years later, we can talk more calmly, with less danger. I don’t have to wait for her to get a signal, I won’t hear sirens in the background, and she no longer stays up all night fearing the worst.

I think of them as the survivors they are. They carry the misfortune—and the beauty—that comes with that. Their lives are forever marked by the war that took away their home and their country. But also by the love and the miracle of escaping hell. Being safe. Living to tell the tale.

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Lisandra is from Bayamo and has all the energy and beauty of women born in that part of Cuba. She’s actually from Siboney, “a backwater place” as she calls it. From downtown Bayamo, it takes about an hour to get to her village—first by horse-drawn carriage, then a 30-minute walk. That’s the route she would take to and from dance rehearsals.

Lisandra remembers dancing since she was four years old. She started with rhythmic gymnastics. But her teachers told her she couldn’t continue because she was a “bit chubby” and technically not good. They also claimed she’d have large breasts when she grew up.

Later, another teacher enrolled her in dance because she thought Lisandra had a beautiful technique. But she didn’t make it past the first year at the school. They told her she had “issues with arm and leg positioning”.

Dance seemed to be slipping away. Her mom didn’t want her to keep dancing. Enough was enough. But a cousin encouraged her to join the local cultural center, and another teacher started giving her classes. Lisandra began to dance all around Bayamo. Eventually, that teacher convinced her grandmother to let Lisandra live with her in the city so she could have more opportunities. Her grandmother agreed.

One day, Lisandra was asleep when she was woken up and told to hurry to the cultural center—they were holding auditions for the National Ballet School. Out of 30 kids from the area, seven were chosen, Lisandra among them. She went to Havana to complete her exams with other children from the province. Only two others passed alongside her.

She graduated from the National Ballet School in four years, equivalent to eight years of study. Since she hadn’t come from a prior ballet school, she had to complete two years’ worth of classes each year. She was placed with the Santiago de Cuba Ballet and did her mandatory social service there. They paid her 250 Cuban pesos a month. She lived in a ballet housing unit with many other dancers and worked at the Heredia Theater.

One day, they had a chance to audition for a contract in China. Lisandra and other dancers sent photos and videos to the recruiter. Five were selected. In 2010, at age 23, Lisandra boarded a plane to travel halfway across the world.

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It was her first time leaving Cuba. She spent a long time in the air, flying farther and farther away from the Caribbean—over 15,000 kilometers. The Pacific Ocean seemed endless. She flew from one island to another and landed in Sanya.Sanya is at the southern tip of Hainan. The tropical climate reminded Lisandra of Cuba: heat, beaches, hotels, coral reefs.

The first week, she was in shock. She didn’t eat. She cried. Everything felt distant and impenetrable. The contract was for one year, with the possibility of renewal if you “behaved and worked well.” If they “liked you,” you could stay.

Little by little, Lisandra adjusted—whatever that means. The routine was fairly simple. They rested in the mornings. Around 2 p.m., they rehearsed for the night show, which began at 8:30 p.m.

For an hour and a half, in a full theater, Lisandra danced at the Měilì Huángguàn (Beauty Crown). By 10 p.m., she was back at the hotel. The contract paid for her room and gave her 25 yuan a day for food.

But sometimes, she and her coworkers had to borrow money because it wasn’t enough to get through the month. Dancers would look for side jobs to survive. If the recruiters found out, they’d send them back to their countries.

Lisandra worked hard and eventually performed solo roles in various styles; she also did some modeling. A large poster with her photo advertised the show at the theater entrance. She lived in China for four years, alongside many others from different countries.

A Ukrainian man—first just a friend—fell hopelessly in love with her. She fell for him too. He was a musician. A director they worked with once told Lisandra that when she danced, the guy looked at her like she was an angel. After a date and a dinner, they started a relationship.

Lisandra finished the contract that had brought her to China. She went back to Cuba and then returned to China. They lived two more years working together. Her boyfriend encouraged her and trained her voice so they could sing together.

Sanya eventually became their wedding city. They married there and conceived their daughter there. When she was five months pregnant, they decided to move and settle in Sumy, Ukraine. When the baby was nine months old, Lisandra’s mother was able to visit. She stayed a few weeks. It would be the last time they saw her. Who imagines a farewell could be forever?

When their daughter turned one, Lisandra began working in Sumy. She taught salsa, bachata, and fitness dance. She also continued singing with her husband. They were a completely normal family in a country that had become Lisandra’s homeland because her daughter was born there. Then the war came.

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Ukrainian men are required to serve in the military, unless medically exempt. Sometime after February 24, 2022, Lisandra’s family decided it was best for her to flee alone with the child to Poland. But it was extremely dangerous and difficult to get out safely. Many civilian cars had been attacked by Russian forces.

Lisandra’s husband had stomach and gallbladder issues. His last diagnosis in Ukraine recommended surgery. He was unfit for combat.

On September 26, 2022—after seven months of surviving bombs—they finally managed to leave Ukraine, all three of them. It wasn’t easy. They left behind their home and their dreams of building a life there. They packed what they could into backpacks. They said goodbye however they could. Their daughter hugged her cat so tightly and lovingly that maybe she thought they could become one.

At that time in September, the attacks had calmed slightly, giving them a chance to flee. They took a train to a city near the Polish border. Friends drove them as close as possible to the crossing point. They had traveled all the way from eastern to western Ukraine. Finally, they were at the border.

They walked for about ten—or maybe five—minutes (Lisandra isn’t sure) to reach the Polish agents. Ten—or five—minutes in the rain and freezing cold. Lisandra and Eugene carried the luggage, Camila, and themselves the best they could. Lisandra burst into tears on the path—tears of joy and anguish. Some emotions are easy to explain. No one leaves a country by force for pleasure. Becoming a refugee is not a choice but knowing that fleeing will save your life is a form of peace.

At the border, they began the usual document checks. Camila and Eugene crossed into Poland without issue. Lisandra was held back because her passport was Cuban.

She doesn’t remember being held long, but she had to explain a lot: why she was there, why she lived in Ukraine, how she got in. Phone calls were made to verify her marriage before she was allowed to leave. They took a bus to another train station, then went to a friend’s house.

They stayed in Poland for a week. On October 2, 2022, they flew to Miami. Lisandra’s relatives in the US welcomed them. They spent almost five hours in US immigration, along with several families with small children, who were let out first.

Lisandra, Eugene, and Camila are among the nearly 7 million Ukrainian war refugees.

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Lisandra had crossed another ocean to start again. Siboney. Sanya. Sumy. Now Orlando, Florida. Ten years after leaving Cuba, she started over, shaken by the pain of war but with a vibrant family.

In two years, life moved fast for them. Camila is learning English, but she speaks Ukrainian and Spanish. She hangs the Ukrainian flag in her room. She loves dancing and singing like her parents and is the perfect mix of Caribbean and Slavic: green eyes and curly hair.

In the US, they first lived with Lisandra’s relatives. Then in a mobile home. Then they found an apartment they could afford. Eugene had a minor accident and worked driving trucks delivering goods across the country. Lisandra worked at a hotel and then at her daughter’s daycare. Amid the chaos, they started singing together again at local restaurants.

Lisandra hasn’t returned to Cuba in a long time. She lost her mother weeks after arriving in the US and didn’t get to say goodbye.

Much of their family still lives in Ukraine. They hope to return someday.

First published in Spanish by El Toque and translated and posted in English by Havana Times.

Read more from Cuba here on Havana Times.