LUTSK — On January 3, Russia and Ukraine carried out their first prisoner exchange in five months, repatriating 248 Russian and 230 Ukrainians. Ukrainian authorities said that more than 4,000 Ukrainians remain in Russian captivity, including more than 100 women. While living conditions for women are generally better than those for men, instances of violence during their imprisonment persist.
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Alla Senchenko, a Ukrainian sniper, was captured in May 2022 and returned home in February 2023. In an interview with Vazhnyye Istorii/Important Stories, she shared why she did not want to surrender alive, the torture she faced in Russian prisons and what helped her endure her wait to return home.
Pleading to be killed
Before the full-scale war began, I was at my home in Lutsk and was in the army reserve, having completed my contract in 2021. I was mobilized when the war started and initially served in the territorial defense of Lutsk. On May 16, we were transported to positions in Krasny Liman, a city in the Donetsk region.
On May 24, our group of two other military men and myself was surrounded and captured. My colleagues were shot dead before my eyes. While pleading to be killed, I was forced to strip naked, and my captors noticed I was a woman. They speculated that I might have strategic importance and correctly guessed that I was a sniper, so they decided to keep me for a potential exchange.
During questioning at their field headquarters, they placed a gun to my forehead. The interrogator suggested that I “serve” them. My plea for basic human decency ultimately spared me from further harm.
Blindfolded and with my hands tightly bound, I was transported in a combat vehicle to an unknown location. I was then physically abused, threatened and beaten with a large stick. I was eventually taken to a police station in Svatovo, where I was further beaten on my knees and head.
Reflecting on this period, I believe the captors achieved nothing more than igniting fierce resentment within me toward all things Russian.
Guards didn’t need a reason to beat us
A few days later, I was taken to a prison in Valuyki, in the Belgorod region. We were herded like sheep and forced to walk with our arms behind our backs and torsos parallel to the ground. A special forces soldier extended his hand with a baton and if someone’s head touched it, we were punished.
I was often called in for interrogation and questioned about which Russian prisoners of war I had seen. I stayed silent. I tried to answer specific questions with only yes or no.
Sometimes they forced us to speak on camera and asked us to say, for example, that we were fed three times a day. There was no choice; I said what they told me to. They took us to work sewing overalls. I was kept in solitary confinement, then in the general section. Then I spent another month and a half in a punishment cell.
In September, we were transported to Malaya Loknya, in the Kursk region. There, we were stripped naked for a so-called medical examination during which the colony employees stuck their fingers into all our private areas. They didn’t even change their gloves every time, they just took turns shoving their dirty gloved fingers inside us. The men from the special forces stood and watched.
Before the war, I did not perceive Russian people as enemies.
In the Malaya Loknya colony, they beat us often, sometimes with their feet, sometimes with their fists. The guards didn’t need a reason for it; they just felt like it. We always stood with our backs to the guards and didn’t see anything. They gave us daily physical exercise fit for Olympic champions. We were given only small, child-sized portions of food. The windows there were old and broken. In December, a guard, who yelled at us all the time, put us still wet after a shower into cell in only our dressing gowns and opened the door to create a draft. It was unbelievably cold, I could barely move and became very sick afterward.
We were forbidden to sit during the day. If the guards thought someone was sitting down, they took the entire cell out and beat everyone.
Before the war, I did not perceive Russian people as enemies. I was born in the Soviet Union and have relatives in Russia. And yet the Russians are people who can electric shock, beat and torture you simply because they want to — for fun even.
But even among these people there was some glimmer of humanity. One Dagestani warden told us about his family, and we told him about ours. He simply spoke to us like a human being. One day he slipped us a chocolate bar through the feeding trough. I remember eating this little piece so slowly, savoring it.
Solace and fishnet lingerie
To preserve my sanity in captivity, I took solace in memories from before the war. Having traveled extensively and experienced wonderful moments in my life, I would close my eyes and transport myself back to those places. I would recall Paris — the paintings in the Louvre, the square in front of the museum, the streets and the lights — or Hurghada — the beautiful sunset, the sound of the water and the dolphins leaping out of the sea. I sew and design clothes, and I would recall the beautiful dresses I used to sew. To keep these thoughts alive, I would sketch them on the nightstand using soap, quickly washing them away to avoid the guards seeing. This mental escape helped me avoid dwelling on my circumstances.
Trying to maintain a sense of identity and defiance, I held onto a pair of beautiful black fishnet lingerie throughout my captivity. Regardless of my physical state, being skin and bones, wearing these undergarments became my symbolic protest against captivity. It resonated with the notion that a woman feels more confident with elegant and expensive lingerie.
Hope for an exchange
In December, some women were taken to be exchanged, and the rest were transported to a pre-trial detention center in Kursk. Before, we had been allowed some personal belongings, such as clothes and hygiene products. But in this new facility, everything was confiscated. I found myself wearing only my pants, the last possession that remained. The guards acted as if we didn’t exist and neglected us. At least they refrained from physical abuse. Food conditions were deplorable, inhumane. We were given essentially one dish for the entire day, often a soup with cabbage followed by potatoes from the same soup. Hunger was a constant companion and woke me up at night.
Once some women were exchanged, the six of us left behind began to hope for our own exchange before the New Year, anticipating a possible act of mercy from the Russians. The holiday season intensified our yearning to be reunited with loved ones. Every day, we went to sleep discussing the possibility of waking up the next day and heading home. We knew nothing about our relatives, we were told constantly that Ukraine would soon be dead.
I remained steadfast in my belief that my country would not abandon me.
We also clung to the hope of receiving something special for New Year’s — even just a slice of tangerine, as fresh fruits and vegetables were never provided. The guards’ office emitted the enticing smell of tangerines as people gathered for festivities, while we were left with nothing to eat. During dinner, our plastic mugs of unsweetened tea felt like a New Year’s glass of champagne to us. Tears flowed freely among us on New Year’s Eve, as we sought solace in memories of home, imagining the cozy atmosphere around a table laden with delicious food and sharing stories about family gatherings. I recounted baking gingerbread cookies with my nephews, sculpting various figures and creating each family member out of dough. The memory brought warmth to me during those challenging times.
As the New Year arrived, we clung to the hope of being exchanged at Christmas. We prayed and sang carols quietly, anticipating an exchange that never materialized. As time passed, some began to cry and trade barbs, saying that the country had abandoned us. But I refused to entertain such thoughts. I remained steadfast in my belief that my country would not abandon me, and that this ordeal would eventually come to an end.
Like a wild animal set free
In early February, a guard entered the cell and told me, “Take your things on the way out.” Confused, I thought I might be transferred again. Various people from different cells were assembled in the basement. As we were taken out, our heads were covered with bags, our hands and eyes were bound with tape, and we were placed in a paddy wagon.
The sounds indicated that we had arrived at an airport. It was minus 20 degrees Celsius, and I was in nothing but a vest. Boarding the plane, I still suspected that we might be confined again.
The initial exchange attempt failed, and we were taken to a tent camp to await the next opportunity. On the eve of the eventual exchange, the Russians subjected us to further mockery. A military man made me walk in ill-fitting sneakers, which were two sizes too small. This mistreatment made my legs swell, curled my toes and made me limp. The third exchange attempt succeeded. The moment I saw my people, a lump formed in my throat and breathing became difficult. I felt like a wild animal set free — ready to run yet lacking the strength, and freezing in disbelief.
A different person now
I am currently undergoing rehabilitation. The return to reality has been a constant struggle. My emotions fluctuate. My condition resembles the erratic pattern of a heartbeat monitor, with ups and downs. There are moments of euphoria, but often nothing brings genuine happiness. Even simple pleasures, such as drinking coffee, fail to elicit the expected joy. Everything seems dull. The bitterness of my experience lingers and is a constant companion.
I’m physically present, but mentally I’ve not fully returned. I find I am a different person now. It is not a mere transformation but a complete rebirth. Once highly sociable, I now find solace in solitude. Adopting a puppy has become a source of comfort, and I spend a significant amount of time with my new companion. I try to immerse myself in drawing and reading books, always seeking refuge in another reality.
My captivity revealed my strength, which I did not recognize before, and I now aspire never to doubt myself again.
Above all, my foremost wish is for lasting peace. Like millions of others, I wish for an end to the loss of lives and the pervasive sorrow.
