Program trains women as tractor operators to bolster agricultural workforce in Mykolaiv Oblast

Masha gets changed in the car. She knew she was going to drive a tractor, but she says that's no reason not to wear her black and white linen overalls, snow-white sneakers, and elegant jewelry from home.

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In the cabin of her silver car, she changes quickly—now she wears a comfy white T-shirt, a blue work jumpsuit, and the same sneakers.

Masha is one of eight women who are taking tractor driving courses in Snihurivka, Mykolaiv Oblast. The training takes place at a local lyceum and an agricultural enterprise, which is where the women will work after they receive their diplomas.

Before the full-scale war, a woman driving a tractor was a rare sight, but now there is a shortage of men in farming. Some have been mobilized, others have left. Liga.net visited a tractor driver training program in Snihurivka to see how it works and why it has become a beacon of hope for the community, the region, and local women.

The field

Masha walks on soft, trampled earth. Around her are tomato fields. The fruits on this edge of the fields are still green. If you touch a bush, you can smell the freshness and tomatoes.

These fields surrounding Snihurivka belong to a local agricultural enterprise. The owners agreed to provide future female tractor operators with a place and equipment for training, as well as subsequent employment.

Today is Masha's regular daily individual driving lesson, which has been going on since mid-June and will end in September. They give enough time to deal with a specific task or tractor model. If the model is new to the student, she first rides in the cab with a specialist, i.e. the teacher of the practical part, and then tries to drive on her own.

"Show me!" Masha asks the instructor in a friendly tone. Today is her first lesson behind the wheel of a tractor model she has never seen before.

Masha has already had experience with other models, so she quickly gets the hang of it – here's the double accelerator pedal, here's the clutch and brakes, and here's how to shift gears. Masha makes a small lap with the specialist, then he leaves her alone in the cab, and the girl easily makes a few more detours along the road between the tomato fields. The cab is humming and rattling, but she doesn't mind the usual noise. Later, she says that it doesn't matter what model of tractor you get on: it's like riding a bicycle – you just have to learn the principle once to never forget.

It's another student's turn, and Masha deftly gets ready to go back – she still has to drive the shuttle van. Masha works as a driver, and in an hour she will be taking people to Mykolaiv – past fields of sunflowers and solar panels, past her home, which is visible from the road, past tomato fields, looking at the clouds of demining on the horizon, riding farther and farther away from Kherson Oblast, which Snihurivka borders.

Masha has been driving a shuttle van for a year and a half, and first got behind the wheel of a van when she evacuated people from Bakhmut in the summer of 2022.

How the courses began

Tractor driver courses are held at the Snihurivka Vocational Lyceum. Before the full-scale war, there were about 400 students enrolled there, who entered after 9th or 11th grade. They studied to become cooks, painters, and accountants. Now the institution is empty because of the destruction caused by the Russian occupation. Currently, the only people studying there are tractor drivers.

From March 19 to November 10, 2022, Snihurivka was under Russian occupation. The Russians lived in the lyceum, among other places, and left it in complete chaos, destroying or taking everything from windows and doors to computers and tractors. So, after the de-occupation, the studies could not resume. This lasted until last year, when Liudmyla Komisarova, deputy director of the education department of Mykolaiv Oblast State Administration, came up with the idea to organize women's tractor driving courses at the lyceum.

"There is a shortage of tractor drivers in general: we studied data from the employment center, and it turned out that the region has always lacked 2,500 tractor drivers every year. And now it's even worse," says Liudmyla. "Some left and never returned, many volunteered to fight. Some got a draft summons, others are afraid of the military commissariat and quit to avoid going into the field, even though they can be reserved. At one enterprise, several dozen men resigned in one day. So we need to teach these professions to women. If we don't solve this problem now, in years to come there will be no one to work the fields."

At the beginning of the full-scale invasion, 70% of Mykolaiv's residents left. Liudmyla was among the 30% who remained. When she was convinced that the bridges in the city would not be blown up for defense, she went to work in the second week of March.

In the summer of 2022, Liudmyla came to one of the lyceums she was in charge of, the Kazanka Agrarian Lyceum. The director there said that his specilaist had been mobilized, and so that someone could teach tractor drivers, he was replaced by a teacher of the theoretical part.

"I asked her how to drive," Liudmyla recalls, "and she said: ‘Liudmyla Oleksiyivna, I just got on and drove it right away!’ So I decided to give it a go."

That's how Liudmyla, who had no special skills, drove a tractor for the first time and thought that other women could do it too. The director joked with her, filmed her, and she posted it on Facebook with a call for women to learn new professions. But the call alone was not enough, of course.

Inspired, Liudmyla started looking for ways to teach women to drive a tractor. First, she had to find a suitable educational institution. Already at this stage, problems began to arise. Out of 24 regional institutions, 12 were agricultural. Every year, 30-60 people were recruited to become tractor drivers. According to the state standard, they must study full-time for at least six months. But here they had to teach adults. The specific challenge of training women is that they are often mothers and the primary homemakers. And, as Liudmyla says, "they wouldn't be allowed to go."

"The school was supposed to have equipment," says Liudmyla. "But it didn't: some of it was outdated, some of it was damaged by airstrikes, some of it was stolen by the Russians. We also had to find an employer first. So that we could train the girls and they could get a job right away. The trouble is that tractor drivers work for farmers in a non-transparent way, for cash for the season. We wanted the girls to have official jobs."

They started with career counseling in the communities. Liudmyla and her colleagues told the girls about the courses and encouraged them to study. They made announcements in each of the 12 agricultural lyceums. But not a single girl came forward. Only six women from the community applied to the Kazanka Lyceum to study. They were either farmers or wives of farmers who already had land and equipment and wanted to get a profession as adults. Liudmyla was worried about Snihurivka, where the lyceum was closed and there was no education for the locals or work for the staff. So she chose the local lyceum.

First of all, it was necessary to clean the territory and restore some order in the dilapidated premises. At the same time, Liudmyla was looking for an enterprise that would hire the girls after they graduated. It was a large local tomato-growing company, which provided equipment and fuel for the training. All that was left was to find the money for the idea, as well as the students themselves.

Liudmyla also held career guidance sessions, but it was more likely to be through word of mouth – direct appeals to specific girls from her, the lyceum staff, and graduates of other specialties. In this way, 12 students were recruited, and Liudmyla turned to the United Nations Development Program with this idea.

The Danish government agreed to fund the training. They allocated about 400,000 hryvnias ($9,692), which was enough for only one group. They had to pay the teaching specialists, for fuel and lubricants, and materials for the theoretical part of the training.

12 girls applied, and 10 were selected. They didn't even have to be able to drive a car, as long as they came to class every day. After Liudmyla emphasized that attendance was mandatory, eight women remained. All of them have different backgrounds: they are between 18 and 47 years old, some have children and families, some don't, some survived the occupation and need to recover, and some have the resources to help others.

It took a month to develop a curriculum for them that would suit the employer and meet the state standard, so that the students could receive tractor driver certificates and A1 driver's licenses. For example, instead of the usual eight hours of individual driving, 27 hours were prescribed, because employers consider the practice to be fundamentally important, and the contract was changed so that the girls could legally receive partial salaries while still studying.

Theoretical training began on April 1. In June, the group started practical training, which will last until mid-September.

Liudmyla can talk about each of the girls as if they were good friends, as they have become so after regular visits. For example, there is Olena, a volunteer who goes to Snihurivka from Bashtanka every day. There is Masha, who drives a shuttle van and took people out of Bakhmut. Another woman used to walk to the theoretical part of her studies every day. After her experience under occupation, she has withdrawn from everyone and avoids being photographed. Her employer paid for an apartment in another town where she is completing her practical training and will continue to work, as she wants to leave her home village.

The fact that war brings new people to the agricultural sector is a common consequence of war. "War has the power to upend traditional roles and expectations," writes historian Margaret MacMillan in her book War. How Conflict Shaped Us. One example of such a change is the British Women's Land Army, which operated during both world wars. The women in this organization became farmers and cultivated the land when there was a shortage of male hands due to mobilization. In Ukraine, there is no separate organization dedicated to this, but in various regions, women are still mastering agricultural professions that were previously rare for them.

Masha

At first glance, the lyceum building looks abandoned: windows boarded up with plywood, a room damaged by an explosion nearby, and a door leading to a dark corridor. However, one of the specialists is sitting on the porch, the director comes out from time to time, and future tractor drivers come one by one to talk about their practice and settle things. We can hear clattering noises as repairs are being made at the expense of donors.

In the yard, there is still an orchard and a freshly painted blue swing.

Inside the building, there are high ceilings, glossy painted walls, and single offices where repairs have already been completed. In one of the finished classrooms, Liudmyla takes Masha's phone to show her a presentation video about their group of girls.

"Everyone said their first names, but for some reason, I said my first name and patronymic," Masha laughs awkwardly at her.

She is 30 years old. Masha's family is originally from Kazakhstan, but she was born in Snihurivka and has spent her entire life here. She has three sons, aged thirteen, nine, and two. When Masha talks about them, she blossoms. She looks the same only when she talks about cars and equipment:

"I work as a shuttle van driver," she giggles again.

Once Masha was driving a lyceum director from Snihurivka to Mykolaiv. The latter suggested that Masha take a tractor driver's course. Masha has been driving all her life and dreams of driving a truck, so she agreed without hesitation. Some people told her that she shouldn't do it because it was not a woman's job, but the voices that said, "Masha, you can do it," were more important.

Masha used to grow and sell watermelons. Then she was a weightlifting instructor. She had her own gym where she worked out with children.

"And then a tragedy befell me," she says briefly.

Almost six years ago, Masha was in a car accident. Her husband, who was driving, died on the spot. She was in serious condition: multiple fractures of all her limbs, internal bleeding, and lacerations.

When Masha first regained consciousness, she did not understand what had happened. she thought her tooth had been pulled out, because she had made an appointment with the dentist. And then she saw the tubes, her body, her family. Everything was explained to her.

"So many people came to my room every day, carrying flowers, and I couldn't understand how they were allowed to see me – and then it turned out that they were coming to say goodbye," Masha recalls.

When Masha was finally told that her husband was dead, she did not want to live. She recalls: "They told me to think about my two children, but you don't think about anything when your beloved husband dies at 25. He loved me very much, we were together for eight years, he was a wonderful father, he didn't drink, he didn't smoke – he just loved to drive."

After 11 days in Snihurivka, Masha spent two months in a hospital in Mykolaiv. Her brother took care of her: he fed her,, and took her for walks in a wheelchair. Masha was ashamed: just a few weeks ago she was lifting a 90 kg barbell, and now she couldn't take a step on her own. Eventually, Masha was discharged.

Doctors said that Masha would not be able to walk. But when one of her arms and one leg started working, she returned to the gym to train children and showed them exercises, and this gave her strength.

Masha gradually rebuilt her life. From time to time, she received messages from suitors, but she ignored them. Sometimes her old friend Dima asked her to go for a walk, but she refused. One summer evening, she agreed when she was bored. They went to McDonald's in Mykolaiv. Later they met again. He told her how much he loved children and wanted a family, and Masha thought: "Someone will get lucky, he's so nice!"

Later they started dating, and two months later Dima proposed to her. They got married in 2022 without guests and celebrations. Masha did not change her deceased husband's surname.

On February 20, 2022, Masha found out she was pregnant. And on the morning of February 24, her husband told her that a full-scale war had begun: "Kakhovka is no longer ours." This meant that the Russians were only 60 kilometers away from Snihurivka.

Masha could not believe it. And when she tried to, she still thought that no one wanted little Snihurivka – why occupy it? Her brother and parents, who have long lived abroad, asked her to leave, but she refused.

Overnight on March 18, Masha suddenly felt sick. In the morning, her husband carried her in his arms to the car and drove her to the hospital. A Russian tank was already driving towards them. They were stopped six times on the several kilometers of road to the hospital, and Masha could not even move to hide. At the hospital, she was given an IV for toxicosis and sent home under the sound of shelling. That day, the Russians occupied Snihurivka.

The family moved to her husband's parents' house, where at least there was heating. There were no medicines in town, and relatives and friends were dying regularly. "There was no communication, and it seemed to me that the whole world was Russians. I was giving up. And hopelessness is very scary."

So in the end, despite the shooting of evacuation convoys, they decided to leave in April. They didn't bring anything with them – they just stuck white ribbons and the words "CHILDREN" on the cars. Everyone they met was invited to join them, and 11 cars were found. They were let through, albeit after a thorough check. Masha and her children, Dima and his parents went to Lviv Oblast. In Stryi, an unfamiliar family let them stay in their empty house.

For several months, Masha dreamed that a missile was flying at her and she was covering the children with a pillow.

Masha's pregnancy was difficult, but she felt better when she helped someone. So she went to Mykolaiv to get her sister, whose apartment was hit by the missile, and then took the refugees abroad. She herself tried twice to settle with her parents in Slovakia, but everything there felt wrong—it wasn't home.

The return

In the summer, six months pregnant, Masha went to Bakhmut. Fighting was already approaching the city, but she wanted to see her close military friend. People were leaving Bakhmut, and Masha could see explosions on the horizon, while roses were blooming in the city.

Masha, like the others, paid for the way back, but when they got farther from the front, it turned out that the driver had swindled them: the bus was a volunteer bus, and he was not supposed to charge anyone. Masha was outraged and decided that, since she could drive, she should help people in trouble, because she knew what it was like to run away from the Russians. When she arrived in Lviv Oblast, she looked for volunteers, and they gave her a bus.

Masha made two trips to the east to pick up people, taking both displaced persons and soldiers who were going on short leave along the way. She got to Bakhmut, but picked up people on the way as well. She realized that it was dangerous, but being involved and helping others made her feel better physically. Dima didn't know about this—he thought she was going abroad. When he found out, he had a big argument with her.

She doesn't want to talk much about it, saying that in Snihurivka neither she nor the reason for her trip would be understood, and people would gossip. She repeats this over and over again: "But it's not worthy of publicity. I felt better when I did something good for others! It was like growing wings," Masha says and chuckles with her infectious laugh.

In October 2022, she gave birth to her third son. A month later, Snihurivka was liberated. Soon Dima returned there with his parents because he had no job in Stryi. He got a job at a power plant, and Masha stayed in Lviv Oblast for another six months. It was hard for her alone with the newborn, although her neighbors helped her.

Finally, a few months later, in the spring of 2023, Masha came to Snihurivka as her husband's parents wanted to see their grandson. She packed only the bare necessities for the trip and left with the idea that she would stay there for a week and a half, but she has stayed for a year and a half.

"After the first strike, I was already preparing to go back to Stryi," says Masha. "But there is nothing there either – how can you live there with three children? You have to fetch water, chop wood, and I have a small child. And children live well when their parents have a job."

In Snihurivka, she sewed a large pillow and uses it to cover her children when they are scared.

The shuttle van

Masha's family had a car, so she has loved cars since childhood and learned to drive as a teenager. Now she has decided to turn this passion into a profession, especially since the gym has closed and she needs to work.

"After the liberation of Snihurivka, people had to get around, and of course, there was no public transportation. So we, the sole proprietors, got our licenses and started driving," says Masha.

She and her husband sold one of their two apartments in the de-occupied town for next to nothing, and the money was barely enough to buy a minibus, so Masha became a driver of the Snihurivka-Mykolaiv shuttle van. 70 kilometers to the regional center is an hour's drive. At first, there were three drivers, but now there are three every hour. Masha is the only female driver at the Mykolaiv bus station.

The grandparents or a nanny take care of the children. Sometimes Masha has three trips a day and works seven days a week.

"I drive and earn money for my children. The war has already taken everything from them, how can I deny them anything else now?" says Masha. "The older ones have matured a lot since I had the accident. And now there is the war. I never had small children."

Masha tries to drive smoothly, lulling everyone to calmness. She is loved by the grandmothers and soldiers whom she transports for free. "I have an elderly grandmother myself—when I think that she might have to travel alone and someone might offend her…" Masha smiles, recalling, "One grandmother grabs my hand and asks, 'Can I kiss you?' and kisses me. Well, I guess it's okay," she laughs.

Despite the fact that Masha likes her job, she plans to change it because her income is unstable. Sometimes the van is full of people, and sometimes there are only three. Paying taxes, taking into account the beneficiaries, and servicing the van at the service station doesn't leave much for a mother of three growing sons.

That's why Masha enrolled in the tractor driver training course. She says that this is her way up, her chance, because it will give her a stable income. Studying without a scholarship doesn't bother her at all.

In the theory class, she and the others learned the structure of different tractor models and how they work. Masha knew all this about cars, but a tractor is still somewhat different.

"I can disassemble a car and put it back together," she giggles. "I know how to re-rivet the clutch, change injectors, valves, bearings as I had to do all of this when I had an old car. And when I first got behind the tractor, there were so many pedals! So many levers! Everything is new! I thought I wouldn't be able to do it, I wouldn't remember it, because it's not like in a car... But what? I got in and drove. And that was it! Not a single mistake."

During the month of practice, Masha learned many things: how to drive, how to drive with a trailer, how to turn around with and without a trailer, how to drive on dirt and asphalt, how to downshift and upshift. She has mastered 17 gears instead of the usual six in a car. But she likes it, and that's the main thing.

While she was learning the theory, she would study until lunchtime and then go to work on her route. Now, in the morning, she drives passengers to Mykolaiv while the other girls practice, then gets behind the tractor herself and then has time to take another shuttle van. She usually returns home at 9 p.m. If there is no electricity, she waits until midnight, prepares the children for tomorrow, and repeats the process.

"It's very hard, but it's worth it – I think you get something for all work," says Masha. "And I see that the children care about each other and about me. I think they are my reward for all my suffering. There must be something good in life. For me, it's my children. For them, it's everything in the world."

After completing the course, Masha will start working at a farm enterprise.

A second group of women is currently being recruited for the tractor driver course in Snihurivka, and they are expected to start studying in September. Also, starting September 1, Snihurivka Lyceum will receive a state order for the first time in two years. Meanwhile, other regional lyceums, without donor support, have begun to recruit mixed male and female groups of tractor drivers on their own initiative.

"We made the institution feel that they are capable of working, even without equipment and without staff," says Liudmyla Komisarova proudly. "The adult girls got a chance to learn a different specialty, they can get a good profession and feed their families."

Liudmyla says she has already received calls from colleagues in other regions who want to start training for female tractor drivers. She calls her first students all her heroes and explains to her colleagues how to organize similar training: when there is no equipment or money at first, but there is a desire to give hope to both women and the region.