WATCH: Blind Ukrainian couple’s plea for an ‘ordinary life’ in Limerick

For Pavlo Romaniuk, 31 and Yuliia Nahaiets, 30, the journey from a war-torn Ukraine to the relative safety of Limerick has brought them one step closer to peace, but no closer to the ordinary life they so desperately want.

Their dream is not wealth, or a glittering career. It is a home where they can feel secure, work that allows them to contribute, and the freedom to make plans without wondering whether the ground beneath them will disappear.

In short, they want a quiet life.

It is a modest ambition. Yet for the Ukrainian couple, both blind, it has proved remarkably difficult to achieve in Ireland.

They arrived in Ireland from Odessa in July 2023, having escaped a war torn country. They brought with them Amigo, their faithful guide dog, whose importance to them extends far beyond the harness he wears.

Now, three years after leaving their homeland, Pavlo and Yuliia are trying to establish themselves in Limerick while facing an uncertain future under the changing arrangements for Ukrainian refugees in Ireland.

Their story is one of war and displacement, but also of the less visible obstacles that follow people long after they have escaped the immediate danger: housing insecurity, barriers to employment and a system in which the very disabilities that make support essential can complicate the pursuit of independence.

“We are like two pieces of wood in the river,” Yuliia says of their present predicament. “We don’t know about our future, we don’t know what will be next.”

It is a striking image of two people who have already navigated a continent with little more than careful planning, two suitcases and a dog to show them the way.

When Russia’s invasion brought war to Ukraine, the couple found themselves confronting the danger of surviving daily air raids.

“You know, in practice there is no safe place when you have explosions in the city,” Pavlo recalls.

On one occasion, an explosion struck near their home. People in the basement scrambled from place to place, each trying to find the safest corner of the shelter. Pavlo and Yuliia stayed where they were, sitting on a sofa.

“There is no sense to move somewhere,” they told themselves. “If it falls down, it will fall down.”

He remembers feeling the building shake above them.

For a sighted person, war announces itself in images of burning streets, shattered windows and columns of smoke. For someone who is blind, its terrors can arrive through other senses: the concussion of an explosion, the vibration of a building, the sudden absence of familiar sounds and the bewildering loss of landmarks that once made a place navigable.

The consequences of the bombardment were not confined to the moments when missiles struck. As infrastructure failed, the business of living became a daily calculation.

Without reliable electricity, there was no guarantee of water, refrigeration or the means to cook. Hygiene, normally so unremarkable that few people give it a second thought, became another problem to solve.

Pavlo described their apartment as resembling “a stone tomb”.

Necessity, however, has a way of turning even deprivation into arithmetic. Through trial and error, he said, they discovered that two litres of water could be enough to wash themselves from head to toe.

For the couple, the danger was compounded by their blindness. During power cuts, generators would roar into life. The noise, while offering some reassurance to others, created another hazard for Pavlo and Yuliia, who could not see approaching traffic and could struggle to hear it over the din.

Eventually, they made the decision to leave Ukraine and the family they had behind.

The escape itself was a formidable undertaking. Pavlo and Yuliia painstakingly mapped possible routes from Odessa to Warsaw using Google Maps, planning each stage of the journey before setting out with two backpacks and two suitcases.

There was no easy margin for error. They travelled by train to Poland, where a volunteer helped them find a bus to Warsaw. After a night in a hotel to recover, they flew to Amsterdam and then on to Dublin.

Through it all, Amigo was their constant companion.

“Our only help was Amigo,” Pavlo says. “He was full of stress, we were full of stress. It was horrible, but thank God we managed it.”

Amigo was more than a guide through unfamiliar streets and stations. He was a source of continuity when almost everything else had been taken away.

“He is a member of our family,” Pavlo says. “It is much more than just a guide dog, maybe like a son for us, because he is the only one who we have from our relatives.”

The couple’s affection for him is unmistakable. Now eight years old, Amigo has problems with his joints and a heart condition, they look after him “as much as they can”.

After arriving in Ireland, the couple were moved to Lisdoonvarna in Co Clare, one of the places able to accommodate them with a guide dog. They spent about a year there, but employment opportunities were limited, prompting them to look towards a larger town or city where they hoped their skills might find a use.

Pavlo holds a master’s degree in International Relations, Social Communications and Regional Studies and previously worked in telesales. Yuliia taught at a school for the blind in Ukraine. Both have obtained Cambridge English certificates.

They did not arrive in Ireland without experience, qualifications or ambitions. They arrived needing a fair opportunity to put those skillsets and educational background to work.

Finding accommodation in Ireland was difficult. Finding accommodation that would accept two blind tenants and their guide dog was even harder.

When they eventually found a place in Limerick in September 2024, it seemed that fortune had at last relented. The couple liked the owners and there was local bus routes nearby.

The promise of stability did not last.

Pavlo and Yuliia described difficulties with heating and water, which they said they could not adequately control. They also alleged that their landlords sought additional money beyond the support provided under the State scheme for accommodating Ukrainian refugees.

Pavlo recalls being told by their landlord: “I can evict you in three hours, we can just throw you away because of your sad faces. We don’t like such atmosphere in the house.”

The words left Yuliia devastated and the experience has left a traumatic mark on both of them.

For someone who has already fled a war, the prospect of losing a roof over their head carries a particular weight. A home is not simply a place to sleep. It is the foundation from which a person can begin to recover some semblance of control over a previous life that has been destroyed.

Friends and teachers from their Conversation Club in Lisdoonvarna helped the couple leave the situation, and they were subsequently placed back in refugee accommodation in Lisdoonvarna.

They have now subsequently moved into semi state supported accommodation in Limerick, however they face the devastating prospect of this accommodation being closed down soon.

Their experience is a reminder that displacement does not end at the border. Safety may come first, but security, dignity and a sense of belonging can take much longer to find.

The couple now face another obstacle, the prospect of building a future in Ireland under rules that they fear could leave them with few viable options.

Under Ireland’s new Temporary Protection Transition Scheme, Ukrainian refugees seeking a longer-term route to residency must meet strict criteria, including at least six months of employment, gross annual earnings of €29,432 or more, and living outside State-supported accommodation. Successful applicants can receive a Stamp 4 permission, which can be renewed and may help them work towards Irish citizenship.

However, the requirements present significant challenges for people with disabilities who face barriers to employment. While EU temporary protection for eligible Ukrainians has been extended until March 2028, the withdrawal of State-provided accommodation is being phased in, leaving some refugees uncertain about their housing and long-term future in Ireland.

For Pavlo, who holds a master’s degree and has years of experience in telesales, and Yuliia, a university educated teacher who worked at a school for the blind, the new requirements present a formidable obstacle.

Despite their qualifications, both have struggled to secure employment in Ireland, which they believe is largely due to their visual impairments. Having already worked with employment support services for a year without success, they fear the income threshold could place a longer-term future in Ireland beyond their reach.

Returning to Odessa remains fraught with danger, while the prospect of having to start again elsewhere offers little certainty. “How can we find a way to naturalisation, if the government literally blocks such opportunities?” Pavlo asks.

For the couple, the concern is not simply finding a job or somewhere to live, but whether they will ever be given a fair opportunity to build the peaceful, ordinary life they came to Ireland seeking.

Pavlo says they cannot meet the relevant income threshold, despite their efforts to find work. He has taken part in employment programmes and worked with job coaches, but the search has brought disappointment.

“We worked with Employability for one year,” he says. “And we finished because it was said to me, unfortunately, it was not possible to find a job for you.”

The couple fear that their options may ultimately narrow to returning to Ukraine, where the war continues, or seeking another form of international protection. Neither prospect offers the straightforward path towards stability for which they have been hoping.

They argue that a system built around income and employment must also reckon with the circumstances of people whose disabilities can make securing work more difficult, even when they have qualifications and a willingness to contribute.

“Unfortunately, we didn’t choose the fate of being blind,” Pavlo says. “Unfortunately, now it looks like we have to pay for this.”

For Yuliia, the uncertainty has left her feeling exhausted and afraid.

She does not speak of grand success or extraordinary achievement. Her aspirations have contracted to something far more basic.

“I do not dream about big career, riches and so on,” she says. “I want just a calm life, ordinary life.”

She had also hoped that she and Pavlo might one day have a child. For now, she says, they feel they must concentrate on looking after themselves.

There is a palpable mix of frustration and exhaustion in their words, but also a stubborn insistence on being heard. The couple have written Just to Be People, a book recounting their experiences of war, escape and life as disabled refugees in Ireland. Each chapter is written by one of them, offering two perspectives on a crisis too often reduced to statistics and policy.

The title is a statement of the case they are trying to make. They are simply two young people with disabilities requiring support and being given a fair shot at building a life in Ireland.

They are currently being supported by Limerick Volunteer Centre, which has been working to help them find opportunities, including the possibility of volunteering or employment.

Their future remains uncertain. What is clear is that they have already shown incredible resourcefulness and courage. Planning an escape across a war torn country, learning fluency in a new language, and continuing to seek work despite repeated setbacks.

Amigo, meanwhile, remains beside them, older now and with his own health problems, but still part of the small family that made the journey out of Odessa.

They are not asking for the extraordinary, only the chance to live an ordinary existence, free from the fear of what tomorrow might bring.

“I am very exhausted,” Yuliia says. “I just want a calm life, an ordinary life.”

It is a simple wish, and a painfully modest one. Yet for Pavlo and Yuliia, that quiet, ordinary life remains tantalisingly out of reach. A future they have travelled so far to find, but which Ireland has yet to offer them.

To Read or listen to their book, Just to Be People, free online: HERE

Anyone who may be able to offer support or an employment opportunity can contact Limerick Volunteer Centre on 087 738 7481.