By Ionuţ Sibian, EESC member, Romania

In Romania, several civil society organisations, including FONSS, Afterhills Association, Parentis Association and Our Smile Group Association, have teamed up with the Municipality of Iasi to run a refugee centre for Ukrainians fleeing the war. The following story, which was reported by my colleague, Mihaela Muntean, is one of the many touching experiences we have been living through.

The first refugee to arrive at the Humanitarian and Social Assistance Centre for Refugees CTR Nicolina Iasi was two-week-old Iovana – tiny and quiet in her mother's arms, who was also quiet and pale, after giving birth in a shelter and a 21-day journey. Then came tall Roman, the baby's father, his mother and his 86-years-old grandfather. Four generations stepped out of the loaded car, walking slowly towards the reception.

- Where have you come from?
- Kharkov!
The word sounded painful, like someone talking about a prison sentence.

We hadn't officially opened yet, but a colleague had called from the customs point and asked if we could take them in, so we put them up on the two floors for vulnerable people.

The little girl had been born three days after they left home, in war conditions. What terror the young mother must have experienced. Roman's heart must have been torn between a duty to fight on the one hand, and so many vulnerable people to protect on the other.

When they got out of the car with their luggage, they said they just wanted to sleep. After the first night they told me it was so quiet in our house. But the little girl was restless, and the old man, whose eyesight was failing, wasn't talking to anyone. He had experienced war as a teenager. Now, leaning on his cane with the burden of old age and a life experience he could not leave behind, he moved awkwardly from one couch to another.

The first day in the centre meant baths for Iovana and a baby massage by our Parentis team. In fact, we all revolved around them. The next morning they were more rested after a full night's sleep when the little one hadn't even woken up for feeding.

Then, a few peaceful days followed - with a talkative and sweet grandmother, a discreet and pleasant mum, and a sweet newborn. Roman quickly started to come to the help of other refugees, helping in any way he could, probably feeling that he was giving back what he had received. We washed and hung laundry together, told stories. The old man brightened up enough to answer greetings and show up perfectly on time for meals.

The balance was broken again after a few days when Roman's mother, wife and little girl tried to leave for Belgium. At the airport they found that only his mother could leave. The wife did not have a biometric passport.

I don't want to know how the woman who left behind her son, granddaughter and father felt. When Roman returned with the child in his arms, we were all upset. In the end they found a way for the young mother and the baby girl to leave. Only the men remained, silent and dejected, each alone with his own thoughts and helplessness. Soon they were on the road again. They left behind the memory of a refugee turned colleague for a little while, the joy experienced by all of us the morning the mother said the little girl had calmed down and slept unturned, and a thank-you note by Roman, expressing the immense joy of having witnessed the miracle called Iovana - the child who stubbornly insisted to be born when others were dying.