In Przemysl near Poland's eastern border, people sacrifice themselves, oh what: they literally tear themselves apart.

The numerous voluntary and full-time helpers from all over the world who take care of the many more Ukrainian refugees, who provide them with food, places to sleep and information, work day after day at the limit and even beyond.

Most of them are deployed at the Tesco, an abandoned mall where hundreds of people, all women and children, have now found a first refuge.

From here they hope to get on, to relatives in Poland or elsewhere, to friends.

somewhere.

Jorg Thomann

Editor in the “Life” section of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Sunday newspaper.

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The volunteers help them with this.

Anyone offering a ride can register in a room right at the entrance.

That's the least I, the journalist, can do: driving the two and a half hours back to Kraków alone in a rental car would feel completely wrong in this situation.

On the walls, notices warn the refugees what they should watch out for in order not to fall into the wrong person's hands: Photograph the driver and the license plate number and send the pictures to friends;

if he refuses, don't go with him.

Don't get in the car with someone who is tired.

Who do you take with you?

Young women and men use computers to register ID cards, license plates and the number of seats.

The woman next door, also from Germany, wants to take 44 people with her, she drives a bus.

Those who are registered are given an orange wristband and instructions to go to a helper with a megaphone in the corridor or to go directly to the room reserved for refugees with the right travel destination.

There's no sign of anyone with a megaphone, so go to room 14.

In front of and inside are dozens of people.

Young women, older women, big and small children, some with heavy travel bags, others only with bags.

How should you pick your fellow travelers from the crowd, who do you take with you and who do you leave behind?

Helpless, I go back to the entrance, where I discover a helper in an orange vest in the crowd.

The man, who comes from Norway, says he actually has three people here who want to go to Kraków: three old ladies whose extensive luggage – there is also a wheelchair in one corner – I look at with skepticism.

But communication is difficult, as is generally the case in this Babylonian confusion of languages, I don't speak Ukrainian or Russian, the elderly women don't speak English, German or Polish, nor can the Norwegian help.

At some point it becomes clear that the women were hoping for a bus, they wave their hands and say goodbye in a friendly manner.

Google translator helps

An Austrian has gathered in front of room number 14, offering eight places and two more to be allocated;

we decide to join forces.

We are quickly surrounded by several women and children. Is it a large family or are there several small ones?

Again, communication is difficult.

An older woman signals interest, but someone else is in the toilet;

how many there are remains to be seen, and anyone who has seen the line in front of the only toilet here knows that it can take a long time.

At some point a young woman appears with her son, maybe eight years old, but the language barrier remains.

Finally, I type the sentence “I have a normal car and can take four people with me” into Google translator on my mobile phone and I tap on “Ukrainian”.

The young woman reads and smiles.

It fits.

The Austrian also has his load together.

Then on to the car.

But they only met the young woman, her son, her mother and an acquaintance who, like the family, is from Kyiv, on the train to Lemberg.

This woman, let's call her Anastasia, speaks English, a conversation is now possible.

She is a translator and teacher of Italian and wants to go on from Kraków to visit friends in Italy or Spain, whom she met on vacation.

She talks about the Kiev cellars where she sat, about the empty shops that finally forced people to barter groceries, and about the ban on alcohol, which is supposed to prevent Ukrainians from becoming careless.

How did she choose what to pack in her only suitcase?

Anastasia says she took her best clothes with her, after all she doesn't know what her apartment will look like when she returns.

She definitely wants to go back, after two months away from home she gets homesick.

And then she talks about her mother and how she urged her to come with her, but the old woman wanted to stay in her apartment in Kyiv.

When we reach Kraków's Kazimierz district, the old Jewish quarter with its synagogues and food truck plazas, where their chosen hostel is located, the Ukrainian girls are delighted.

It's almost as beautiful here as it is at home in Kyiv, says Anastasia, adding: just as beautiful as Kyiv used to be.

Then the four go to the hostel.

I drive to the airport and from there travel back to a well-ordered German life.