Romance blooms amid chaos of war

When war broke out in Ukraine, Zhanna Tsvir didn’t leave Kyiv. She stayed to be near her parents and to be useful.

In her whole apartment building – more than 200 homes – she was the youngest person who stayed. The rest were elderly, too attached to their homes to contemplate uprooting their lives.

She began volunteering, helping those who were affected by the fighting and the damage in her city, and then one day a friend asked her for help finding an apart- ment for a Canadian officer – and she did so.

Months passed, and then the Canadian officer asked if she would show Kyiv, her city, to some military friends of his who had come from overseas to fight. Tsvir said it would be an honour.

That’s when she met Dominic Abelen. The 28-year-old Kiwi was on leave without pay from the New Zealand Defence Force when he was killed by Russians in the east of Ukraine. His codename was Tolkien, a nod to New Zealand.

Tsvir’s first impression of him was that he was peaceful, kind, introspective, and curious about the world.

They had an instant con- nection when they met on May 6, and began ‘‘some kind of roman- tic relationship’’. They corresponded for months, but only had one date and a week together, before Abelen went back to the front in Donetsk. He was killed in action on August 23.

Tsvir reiterated what all the stories have already said. Abelen didn’t have an ego and he didn’t want to be a hero.

‘‘At the same time he was a military guy who liked war.’’

Maybe he found something in the war, she said – purpose or fulfilment.

‘‘A lot of foreign men who come to war and experience the adrenaline, some of them really like it. I don’t know what exactly Dominic liked, but maybe he liked to be useful.’’

A lot of foreign soldiers wanted to leave, she said. ‘‘When they come to Ukraine and they see real rockets, real tanks, you see real war, real mines, real wounds, real deaths . . . they become very scared. Dominic didn’t want to leave.’’

He’d spent nine years training in the New Zealand military, and Tsvir got the impression he wanted more. After training for war, it felt right that he should use those skills to help people.

At the beginning, Abelen was training Ukrainian troops in new weapons and modern military tactics.

Tsvir remembers when it came time to go to the front, Abelen was most scared of mines.

But one day, that fear seemed to disappear, and after his commander left the role, Abelen was put in charge.

‘‘The guys really liked him and really respected him,’’ Tsvir said. ‘‘And he liked being their commander.’’

She had seen pictures of Abelen with a Ukrainian medal, but he had never told her about it. ‘‘He was a very modest person.’’

A family member found out later the medal was awarded to him by the Ukrainian Army, after he pulled his comrades to safety following a collision between two vehicles during a firefight.

Tsvir found out he had been killed through a friend, one of the same men she had shown around Kyiv when she had first met him. ‘‘We talked on Monday and he died on Tuesday.’’

Aware that his family might not know he was even fighting on the front, she reached out on Facebook, exchanged messages with his sister, and sent her some photos of Abelen and thoughts he had shared with her before he left for the front that final time.

It was strange, she said, but she felt she had grown closer with him after his death, because of this connection with his family.

For now, it was ‘‘more or less safe in Kyiv’’, Tsvir said, and they held a memorial service for Abelen, with Tsvir saying some words on behalf of his mother.

Knowing people were coming from all over the world, from places as unexpected as New Zealand, to fight for Ukraine, made a big difference to morale, she said.

‘‘If more people know about Ukraine, the better for Ukraine. Dom died for this.’’