A War You’ve Probably Never Heard Of

Map showing Moldova, the Transnistria region (in red),

and Odessa to the south along the Black Sea.

      Picture this: It’s 1992. You’re 8 years old, living in a Soviet apartment building in Tiraspol, Moldova, and you keep having to be ushered to the basement every time things get a little too “boom” outside.

      Most Americans have never heard of The War of Transnistria, and honestly, I didn’t know it had a name until years later. Back then, it was just... spring.

Quick history

      When the Soviet Union fell apart in 1991, Moldova declared independence. But the eastern sliver of land across the Dniester River, where we lived, said “no, thank you,” and tried to break away. Russia’s 14th Army got involved, and for about four and a half months, the area around Tiraspol turned into a little war zone.

Our family lineup

My parents were just babies themselves, looking back:

• Dad – 32, master of calm under pressure.
• Mom – 28, coordinating five kids, an evacuation, and still managing to look like she had it together.

Then there were us kids:

• Me, Yelena – 8
• Dmitry – 7
• Nikolay – Turned 6 during the war
• Olga – 4
• Sergey – 2

Life in a war zone

What I remember most? The basement.

      Soviet apartment basements were not cozy. Concrete walls, bad lighting, and damp. But somehow, our parents turned it into an adventure. I think all the grown-ups had a secret pact to stay calm, because we kids weren’t really scared, we were just told to grab our blankets and stay quiet.

      We didn’t understand politics, but we knew that when the grown-ups whispered and the electricity cut out, it was time to bring our favorite toy and head downstairs.

Odesa: the great escape

      As the fighting got closer to Tiraspol, we had to evacuate to Odesa, Ukraine.

      Thousands of people were doing the same, by train or by bus, so the roads were packed, the stations were chaos, and everything moved quickly, with a lot of yelling.

      Our family took a bus. I don’t remember much about the ride, except that it was long, hot, and smelled like sweat.

      We made it to Odesa and in a heroic attempt at “everything’s fine,” our parents took us to the Black Sea. Picture sun, salt, and a lot of families pretending it was a regular holiday.

      That’s where my brother Nikolay executed his brief disappearing act. One minute he was building a sand castle, the next he was gone. After a frantic search, he turned up at a nearby bus stop. Mom probably gained a few gray hairs.

      We stayed in Odesa for several days. I can’t tell you the exact dates, but I do remember the salty air and thinking we were just on vacation.

The ceasefire & return home

      On July 21, 1992, a ceasefire was signed. The tanks rolled back (mostly), and we returned home to find our apartment untouched.

      Transnistria, that tiny strip of land, still frozen in time. Russian “peacekeepers” are still stationed there today. It’s not quite Moldova, not quite independent, and definitely not simple.

Reflections from a now-mother

      Looking back, I’m in awe of how my parents managed to keep five kids calm during wartime, in a country surrounded by uncertainty. I didn’t understand what they carried at the time, but now, as a mom myself, I realize… they carried everything.

Why I’m telling this story now

      So much of the world feels unstable again. It’s easy to scroll past headlines about all the recent wars, not realizing there are kids hiding in basements, eating crackers and pretending it’s all a game, because their parents are doing everything they can to keep life normal.

If that was you too, in a different war, a different country… I see you. And if it wasn’t, now you know a little more about a war that shaped my life, even if I didn’t know it at the time.

Closing thought

      If you ever meet an Eastern European who always travels with chocolate, do not judge. Sometimes a square of candy is all that stands between a frightened child and full-blown panic in a basement that smells like damp cement and distant thunder.

Thanks for reading.

      May your childhood memories include fewer artillery rumbles and more ordinary birthday cakes.