Interrupted lessons. A reportage from Ukraine.

In Odesa, a port city in southern Ukraine, the prolonged effects of war on the education system are visible every day. Drone and missile attacks strike the city multiple times a week, forcing schools and families to adapt to an unstable reality. Classes are regularly interrupted by air raid sirens, while some school buildings remain closed due to structural damage or the lack of adequate shelters.

Since the start of the full-scale invasion, over 3,500 schools have been damaged or destroyed in Ukraine. In Odesa alone, according to local authorities, at least 20 schools have been directly hit. Meanwhile, the influx of about 200,000 internally displaced people has increased pressure on an education system already strained by years of instability and logistical shortcomings.

Many children follow a hybrid learning model, alternating between online and in-person lessons, depending on safety conditions. Decisions about who can attend physically often come only a few days in advance. Teachers and school leaders report a significant rise in emotional and behavioral difficulties among students, especially younger children and displaced teenagers.

To provide educational continuity and psychosocial support to families, AVSI has set up an educational center in Odesa. Located in a basement to offer greater safety for the children, adolescents, and parents who attend, the center offers remedial lessons, art therapy, and recreational activities to reduce the educational and psychological impact of war.

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The first explosive drone crossed over Odesa just before curfew, around midnight on April. The sound of its engine—loud and siren-like—preceded the explosion by several seconds, which occurred near the city center. Iranian-made Shahed drones are slow, noisy, and less precise than missiles, but also much cheaper. That’s why the Russians launch them in large numbers every day across Ukraine. On the night of May 1st, sixteen more drones would land on Odesa, killing two elderly people and a young railway worker in their apartments. They also destroyed a post office, damaged residential buildings, a supermarket, and a school.

"We face attacks like this several times a week, every week since the war began," explains Darina Kravchenko, 25, a police officer in Odesa, a city of about one million inhabitants, home to Ukraine's main port on the Black Sea and a crucial hub for the country’s commercial exports and military logistics. Darina leads the service created by the city police to ensure safety in schools. After each attack, she and colleagues inspect school buildings near the impact sites for damage.

One secondary school in the south of the city remained closed on May 1st: a drone exploded on its roof the previous night. "Since the start of the war, 20 out of Odesa’s 123 schools have been hit at least once," says Darina. "And this has affected student attendance, because many parents are now afraid to send their children to school."

Another of the 70 schools under Darina’s supervision was struck during the school day. "The children were already in the shelter, as per safety protocols during alarms. But the impact caused panic. The school remained closed for several weeks, and some classrooms are still under reconstruction."

Odesa schools also operate intermittently. Students only find out if they’ll attend in person or remotely a few days beforehand. "Technology helps, but it’s very hard not to work with the kids face-to-face," says Karina Budulutsa, an English and French teacher. "Many teachers have left, some abroad, others far from the cities. Schools have been closed too long, and this has taken a toll on the kids. Many have become withdrawn, they don’t communicate, they struggle socially."

A delivery driver on a motorbike hands pizzas to a teenage girl in one of Odesa’s characteristic courtyards. She takes the boxes and joins some peers in the building’s basement. A movie screening is about to start, followed by a discussion. On the table, alongside the pizzas, are popcorn and drinks. "Tonight we’re watching Moneyball, with Brad Pitt," the girl says.

The film club is one of many activities hosted at the educational center set up in Odesa by AVSI, an Italian organization that has been supporting Ukraine since the start of the war with various projects, especially in education.

"We set up the center in this lowered floor space. That way, we’re safer during attacks and don’t need to relocate to a shelter," explains Ruslan Isaiev, AVSI’s country manager in Ukraine, who launched the Odesa center together with local organization Potribni Tut. "We’re trying to build a place of reference for children, teenagers, parents, teachers, and psychosocial workers. The goal is to mitigate the educational and psychological impact of the war on all of us."

In the room next to the film club, some 6-to-9-year-olds are painting a wax bunny with watercolors. Art therapy sessions help them relax and recover from trauma, which is common. "My daughter Tala is 6. She stopped speaking for several weeks, and her hair turned white. Explosions terrify her every time," says Tetiana Fedorova, a mother attending the center's psychosocial courses. "Now she talks and smiles thanks to the psychologists’ support, even if she still struggles to express herself."

Olena Parakhonia is a psychologist in Odesa who works full-time at the AVSI center. She sits near a window, studying drawings made by the children she supports. "When they first arrive, they seem happy: they come in, see the colors, the toys," says Olena. "But then, little by little, the fears emerge. Sometimes it’s silence, other times anger or hyperactivity. Often it’s in the drawings."

In Odesa, the frequent alarms andeducational instability worsen the situation: children switch schools, change friends, teachers, habits. There’s a constant sense of danger.

"But parents are in a very difficult state too. They’re struggling, just like their children. They’re afraid too."

According to the center's psychologists, the only way to cope is to create protected spaces where children and teens can feel normal again—even just for an afternoon. After nearly a year of work, early signs of improvement are appearing. "I want these kids to be independent, self-sufficient, and happy," says Olena. "And it’s essential that they be safe. Ukrainians, young and old, need a just world."

Odesa is one of the Ukrainian cities most affected by Russian airstrikes, yet it still lies relatively far from the front line and from Russian positions—"the enemy," as they are called here. That’s why, in addition to its milder southern climate, it has become home to over 200,000 internally displaced people since the conflict began. Many come from the Donbas region or cities like Kharkiv or Sumy, heavily hit by the ground invasion.

Sofia is one of them. She arrived in Odesa with her mother after months in air raid shelters in the country’s northeast. "We left Kharkiv looking for a city with functioning schools and activities for children. Odesa seemed like a possible place," says Olena Horylchanyk. "We changed cities many times. It’s tough, especially for her. But we try to protect her sense of normalcy."

Now 13, Sofia goes to school on alternating days and participates in AVSI’s educational center activities. She often turns to drawing and always carries a small stuffed animal. "During the bombings, I hug it. I bought it with my own money. It makes me feel safe," she says.

Also working at the center is Daria Zvekova, a clinical psychologist who left her hometown near the border at the start of the war and took refuge in Odesa. "Odesa is beautiful, but even here the sirens go off every day," she says. "I chose to stay in Ukraine because there’s a need to rebuild and a need for my work with children and parents."

The war in Ukraine has displaced over 3.7 million people within the country. Many of them are minors: children who have lost their homes, classmates, sometimes a relative, and now must start over in an unfamiliar city under constant alarms. For them, having a classroom, a teacher, a peer group, can mean everything.