Captured foreign fighters explain why they joined Russia’s war in Ukraine

Lakshita, a 22-year-old from Sri Lanka, says he signed a contract with the Russian army, following the example of his friends. He was promised $2,000 a month and Russian citizenship. In the Russian army, the Sri Lankan was given the call sign “Laki”. He really was lucky — he came out of it almost unscathed. The small scar on his face is barely visible, lost in the crease beside his nose. Meanwhile, dozens of Lakshita’s compatriots were killed, and their families never saw the bodies.

“War is not cool, it’s sh*t. I needed money,” Lakshita says in Russian.

Russia misleads citizens of poor countries

It is now Lakshita’s working hours. In the hangar, the POWs make garden furniture. Others grow Christmas trees for the holidays and work in small greenhouses delivered to the camp by the International Committee of the Red Cross. They also bake bread and prepare food for all the POWs. Their work earns them half a Swiss franc a day — about $0.62. This minimum wage is stipulated by the Geneva Conventions. With this money, POWs can buy tea, cookies, sausages and other goods in the camp store.

A prisoner from Nepal works alongside the Sri Lankan. From this country, perhaps the largest number of people have gone to the distant war: Nepalese human rights advocates have counted at least 3,000. Concerned about the scale of the problem, Nepal has called on Russia to stop recruiting its citizens. The Russians have not responded. For them, recruiting vulnerable populations has become a system that is only gaining momentum.

Siddhartha Dhakal, 24, from a small village in the mountains of Nepal, allegedly went to Russia to study. He says he was cheated out of his money and could not enter a university. Left with debts, war seemed to be his only option. On Nov. 29, 2023, Siddhartha informed his family that he was going to the combat zone and would be out of contact for 10 days. Less than a week later, he was taken prisoner, and has been for two years now.

Nepalese journalists report on Siddhartha’s fate with concern. They do not realize that after his decision to go to war, captivity in Ukraine turned out to be the best possible scenario for him.

The status of foreigners: mercenaries or combatants?

The prisoner-of-war camp resembles a kind of rehabilitation camp. The POWs live according to a schedule: wake-up at 6 a.m., lights out — at 10 p.m. There are no bars on the windows, and beyond them stretches a green landscape. The routine includes work, a smoke break every three hours and three meals a day. They also have “free time” — a term that elicits sarcastic laughter from the POWs. During this time, they can walk around the yard, read, watch TV or exercise on the sports field. There is also an infirmary on the premises. Several doctors see patients there, and there is a fully equipped dental office. The contrast is stark with the conditions from which Ukrainian POWs return. But Ukraine fights by the rules.

Humane treatment of prisoners of war is stipulated by the Geneva Conventions. Their guarantees extend to combatants — members of the armed forces of a belligerent state. Does this apply to citizens of third countries? They could be considered mercenaries and prosecuted under the law. But Russia has circumvented this.

“If they are enlisted in the armed forces of the Russian Ministry of Defense, they have combatant status. This gives them the rights of prisoners of war and removes their status as mercenaries,” explains Andrii Yakovlev, an expert in international humanitarian law.

Russia recruits foreigners with criminal records into its army

Today, the POWs have borshch, wheat porridge with meat, a salad of fresh cucumbers and cabbage, and almost half a loaf of bread for lunch. They finish their portions in 20 minutes. They stack the trays one on top of another. A Ukrainian guard orders the first group of four to rise from the table.

“Three, four… Thank you for lunch,” the POWs say, and in a line move toward the door.

From the dining hall, the groups file into the yard. To get to the main building, they pass walls with portraits of Ukrainian figures. This way, they can learn about the history of the country they came to fight. Slovak Jaroslav Halajčik has his own view of history. In a simple way, it echoes Russian propaganda. Jaroslav believes the West is unjustly hostile toward Russia. These sentiments toward the aggressor state led the Slovak to war.

His large blue eyes show no sadness, remorse, confidence or pride. Nothing. His empty gaze, slightly crooked teeth and generally innocent appearance inspire nothing but pity. In fact, the path of 32-year-old Jaroslav is the most difficult of all the foreign prisoners.

He is from Bezhovtse (Slovak: Bežovce), almost on the border with Ukraine. In 2005, an unprecedented tragedy occurred in this village with a population of just over a thousand people. It was caused by Jaroslav, who was 16 at the time. Together with a friend, he killed his cousin. The motive — “Satan told me to do it.” Twenty years later, Jaroslav brought unwanted notoriety to Bezhovtse again — he became the first citizen of an EU country to be taken prisoner in Ukraine.

The Russians could not have been unaware that their volunteer Jaroslav Halajčik has had served nine years for murder. But the criminal past of foreigners only plays into their hands — it is easier to find willing recruits. Among foreigners, Jaroslav is one of the few who admits that he went to war voluntarily. He went to Russia because he was attracted by the taiga and Siberia. But after only two weeks in the country, he decided to join the army — he wanted a Russian passport.

When asked whether he has obtained Russian citizenship, Jaroslav shrugs. He does not know. They promise a passport after six months of service, says the Slovak. But he managed to fight only a few months.

The classic path of a foreigner in the Russian army

Pedro Pantoja, a prisoner from Brazil, says he followed the classic path of a foreigner who signs a contract with the Russian army. According to the 32-year-old Brazilian, he went to Moscow at the invitation of an IT company. They offered him a lucrative job in the field of military technology. In Russia, he was met by a so-called “manager” and an interpreter. He was taken to 5 Yablochkova Street, a well-known Moscow army recruitment center. This place became the starting point for hundreds of other mercenaries going to war. There, Pedro signed a stack of documents, including a contract with the Russian army.

After that, there was no turning back. Pedro says he tried to contact his family and the Brazilian Embassy. His attempts were in vain. Shoulder to shoulder with servicemen from India, China, Serbia and other countries, he trained at the Avangard base, 50 kilometers (31 miles) from Moscow. Then he was sent to Rostov-on-Don. In total, Pedro trained for two and a half months. Then he was sent to fight in southern Ukraine. On June 4, 2024, he was captured near Robotyne in the Zaporizhzhia region.

Pedro does not know whether it was his own mistake or a Russian scam. Clearly, he fell under the influence of an extensive network of agents who, by various methods, encourage foreigners to go to war.

Exchange with Russia or deportation to his homeland

Now Pedro knows nothing about his fate. Ukraine is ready to hand over prisoners either to their countries or to Russia. He fears the latter the most. At the thought of being exchanged to Russia, his face turns pale and he swallows nervously. “I’m afraid of that.” says Pedro Pantoja.

Because I’ve heard what they do to those released from captivity in Russia. We have people in our camp who are in captivity for the second time — they were sent back to war.

The Brazilian has no reason to be afraid: Russia is not particularly interested in the fate of ordinary mercenaries. So far, it has not requested the exchange of any foreigners held in prisoner-of-war camps. Russia has exchanged citizens of Belarus and Uzbekistan, but such cases are few and far between.

The Brazilian ambassador has not yet spoken to Pedro. Ukrainians tell him that an exchange to Russia is the most realistic option. If the Russians continue to ignore Pedro’s fate, he will remain in the camp until the end of the war.

“I saw people being exchanged, but we are still here,” confirms 43-year-old Richard Kanu from Sierra Leone.

The Sierra Leonean also negotiated with agents via messengers about working in Russia. Richard says he paid several thousand dollars for a tourist visa, help with relocation and a job. This version does not match his own statement that he earned about $80 a month in his home country. In Sierra Leone, Richard had been a serviceman, and he says a conflict with high-ranking officials forced him to leave.

Upon arrival at the airport in Russia, he allegedly stated that he had come for tourism. He had never seen winter or snow. He contacted an agent, and a taxi came for him. After that, his path was similar to Pedro’s. At the front he ended up in a unit where everyone was Russian. He understood little of the commanders’ orders. They simply said: “Davai” (roughly, “move!”). In the Donetsk region, he was wounded and taken prisoner.

I asked the Ukrainian soldiers, ‘Are you going to kill me?’ They replied that they would provide medical assistance.

In Ukraine, the Sierra Leonean citizen recovered from his injuries. Nineteen months of captivity have passed, and he does not know what to expect. He cannot return to his homeland, and he does not want to go to Russia. Therefore, he is asking international organizations for help.

Russia promised them a ticket to a “happy life”: high salaries, guarantees and citizenship of a supposedly successful country. In gratitude for their loyalty, it left them in limbo, with only Ukraine taking care of them for now.

Text: Diana Deliurman
Photos: Nadia Karpova, Diana Deliurman

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