"The war has changed my understanding of home"

Maryna M. Kornet, a scientist at the University of Düsseldorf, initially wanted to come from Ukraine to Germany only for a research stay. On the third day of the Russian invasion, she decided that her daughter’s safety was more important than her attachment to her homeland.

I first came to Germany on my own as a researcher in February 2022, initially only for a limited period of time. For me, working in the group of Thomas J. J. Müller at the University of Düsseldorf was an opportunity to see how research is organized in a different country, to learn new approaches in organic synthesis, to meet new colleagues, and to return home with valuable experience. I had never planned to build a new life in Germany. My life was in Zaporizhzhia, with my family, my daughter, my university, my students, my laboratory, and the people I had been working with for many years.

On February 23, I was working in the laboratory with my colleagues at Düsseldorf University. We were discussing what costumes everyone would wear the following day at the Düsseldorf Carnival. My colleagues explained some local traditions to me and told me that I might even be allowed to cut Professor Müller’s tie. That evening, I went into the city to find something suitable for the celebration and bought a small carnival hat. I never wore it.

Everything changed on February 24

When the full-scale invasion began in the morning of February 24, 2022, I was alone in Germany. My daughter, my husband, my parents and the rest of my family were in Ukraine. I felt terrified and completely helpless because the people closest to me were in danger while I was far away and unable to protect them. I spent almost the entire day crying. The distance that had seemed temporary and manageable only the day before suddenly became unbearable.

On the third day of the Russian full-scale invasion, I set off to bring my daughter to safety. Since then, her safety has been the main priority in my life. I wanted her to be able to sleep without the sound of explosions, go to school, make friends, make plans for the future, and simply remain a child.

The journey to Ukraine

To reach my child, through acquaintances of my sister who works in The Hague, I found people who were travelling towards Ukraine. I decided to join them. My husband was extremely worried about me and tried to persuade me not to make such a dangerous journey. He shouted at me not to go anywhere because he was afraid that something might happen to me as well. Eventually, I had to switch off my phone. I only turned it on again after I was already travelling through Ukraine.

Before leaving Düsseldorf, I packed my belongings but left almost everything in my apartment. I took only a small backpack containing my documents and a drone that my sister’s husband had given me. I was not sure whether I would be able to return to Germany or continue my research stay. At that moment, the only thing that mattered to me was reaching my daughter.

That same evening, I arrived in Zaporizhzhia. During the night, my husband persuaded me that the safest decision would be to return to Germany with our daughter. Even then, however, we did not know whether this would be possible. Trains and railway infrastructure were being attacked, routes were changing, and no plans were certain. Together with my daughter, I also took our Yorkshire terrier, Spike, who was unable to walk.

On the way back, there were sixteen people in a train compartment designed for four passengers. The corridor of the carriage was also completely full. The train journey lasted approximately twenty-five hours, and for most of that time people could barely move through the carriage to reach the toilet. In the crowd, I was constantly afraid of losing my daughter. I therefore wrote a telephone number on her arm so that, if we became separated, someone could find her and contact me.

At the border with Poland, we continued on foot to the border control. It was winter, I waited in the queue for more than twenty hours with my dog and my daughter. At that time, we simply continued step by step, not knowing how much longer the journey would take or whether we would manage to reach Germany safely.

Learning to become a scientist again

Germany gave us safety, and it gave me the chance not to lose myself as a scientist. After receiving support from the DAAD, I continued my work through MSCA4Ukraine, an EU-funded program to support displaced researchers from Ukraine. Currently, I am supported by the Philipp Schwartz Initiative, which enables universities to host at-risk researchers.

My research focuses on biologically active compounds, including potential antioxidants and radioprotective agents. Since the invasion, protection from radiation and chemical exposure, as well as their long-term effects on human health, have ceased to be purely theoretical: the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant has been under Russian occupation since 2022. My family, colleagues, students and friends continue to live with the risks created by the war.

While doing research in Germany, I remain closely tied to Zaporizhzhia National University. I teach, work on educational programs, and support students and colleagues. Much of this work is done remotely from Germany. Sometimes, I feel that, because of this, I am not present enough in the academic life of the university in Germany. At the same time, I cannot simply walk away from the responsibilities I still have in Ukraine. I am still learning how to find a balance between these two professional worlds. Perhaps, living between them is the most accurate description of my experience as a foreign researcher.

At home in a foreign country

I have not fully found my place in the German academic environment yet. But here I have learned how to become a student again. I enjoy attending scientific schools, colloquia, and practical courses, meeting people from different universities, and looking beyond the boundaries of my own field.

One of my strengths is recognising connections between people, scientific ideas, and opportunities for cooperation. It matters to me that the experience I gain here is not only useful to me, but also to Ukrainian students and colleagues.

For me, being foreign often means feeling like a beginner again. Unfamiliar rules, the language, bureaucracy, and the need to ask for help even in simple situations can sometimes make me doubt myself. This feels especially unusual when you already have many years of teaching, research, and responsibility behind you. Over time, I have understood that starting again does not mean losing your previous experience. It stays with you, but it has to find a new form.

My understanding of home has also changed. Zaporizhzhia remains my home because my family, my university, and a large part of my life are there. At the same time, home has also become the place where my daughter feels safe, where we now have familiar streets, daily routines, and people we can turn to.

Looking back, I see not only displacement and loss. I also see the people and institutions who supported me when I did not know what would happen next.

Thanks to that support, I have been able to continue working, raise my daughter, and gradually build a new life without giving up the life I had before. Today, what matters most to me is that my child is safe, that I remain useful as a scientist and teacher, and that the connections between Ukrainian and German universities become part of a shared future.

Maryna M. Kornet

Wissenschaft + Forschung