In 2019, we moved to Poland for work because we couldn’t find employment in our small town in the Odesa region of Ukraine. Our initial six-month visa expired just as the coronavirus pandemic began, but we were given special documents that allowed us to stay. We later applied for the Karta Pobytu (residence permit).
On February 22, 2022, we received our residence cards and planned a trip home to see our family, especially our son. Two days later, February 24, 2022, the war in Ukraine began.
Our family was strongly against us returning due to the Russian invasion. My mother assured us they were safe and our town was protected. We decided to stay and work, believing the war wouldn’t reach them. We mainly worked in large warehouses and factories. Our income covered rent, food, and utilities, and we managed to send some money home, though not as often as we wished.
Our major mistake was not knowing how to save. Whenever life brought a problem—a sudden toothache, a broken car, delayed wages, or reduced work hours—we ran into financial trouble. Over four years in Poland, we accumulated significant debt. We managed to make payments, but the burden was heavy. Every winter brought problems, preventing us from celebrating my December birthday, the New Year, and even my partner’s birthday. We realized that money was the solution to all our issues.
The Fatal Offer
We were determined to pay off our debts, send a good sum to our family, and permanently close the chapter on “credits.” In January 2024, we found a good job with eight-hour shifts and fair pay. The work was easy, and we began planning our future and how much we could save.
Around the same time, a mutual friend, who had recently returned from a “trip” and paid off his debts, shared the contact of a person named Roman on Telegram. We—fools that we were—wanted to solve all our financial issues just as quickly.
Roman was an intermediary, not the boss. I wrote to him about the “work,” and he told us to wait until the “suitcases” were ready. We continued working and almost forgot about him.
Then, around the end of January, Roman messaged: “The suitcases are ready. Have you changed your mind?” We had not.
He instructed me to download specific apps, buy bus and plane tickets, send photos of our passports, and make my Instagram public so they could track us via IP address “just in case.” Since we were broke, I also had to give him my bank account number for the ticket funds. He sent the money via the Binance app, which I now realize meant the boss paid Roman in USD, and Roman then sold the USD to other people who sent the Polish Złoty (PLN) to my account. I know nothing about Roman beyond his name.
The Journey and the Handover
I purchased the tickets on my phone: a bus from Poland to Frankfurt, and a flight from Frankfurt to Hong Kong, with one-night hotel stays in both cities.
Roman provided instructions: Check into a Frankfurt hotel, send him the address, and wait for the evening. People would come to the hotel to give us the suitcases. The same process would happen in Hong Kong, where they would retrieve the suitcases and either give us money or pay us via Binance.
We never imagined we were getting involved with drugs or trafficking; we thought this was the fastest way to end our financial troubles.
Our bus arrived in Frankfurt at 4 AM on February 4, 2024. We checked in and informed Roman. At 8:30 PM, he wrote: “Come downstairs.”
Outside, a young Slavic-looking man, no taller than 175 cm, approached us and introduced himself as Roman. He claimed he was in Frankfurt on business and wanted to meet us, but he did not have the luggage and didn’t know who would deliver it. The three of us waited. After about 10 minutes, an Asian-looking girl handed my partner two heavy suitcases, said “Thank you,” and quickly left.
We took the suitcases upstairs. The black one was empty. The green one contained three black shoeboxes (possibly empty), dirty linens, and towels from the hotel. The suitcases were not as full as they should have been, but there was nothing inside. We never touched the contents, so our fingerprints were not on them. We transferred our personal items into the new suitcases, leaving our original travel bag and backpacks behind with our documents and cosmetics.
The Arrest and the Regret
The next morning, February 5th, we took a train to the airport. We were unfamiliar with airports and struggled to find our way, writing to Roman frequently so he wouldn’t suspect we fled. We passed through all security and check-in procedures without incident.
After the 12-hour flight, on February 6, 2024, at about 7:30 AM at Hong Kong International Airport, we were stopped—not for a luggage check. We were arrested. Our suitcases contained drugs.
We knew we were transporting something illegal, but we didn’t know what it was or the quantity. During the arrest, we immediately told the truth with the help of a translator, and we repeated the truth in the police and court interviews. We have nothing to hide. We realize our mistake now, but it is far too late.
We have been together for ten years and have a son, yet we focused only on money. By sacrificing our freedom, we learned that family, freedom, and love are the most important things, and that all problems can be solved legally.
Whoever reads this story: Think 100 times before you act. We are only 25 and 26, and we will likely receive a sentence of at least 10 years.
Value your life and freedom. Do not repeat our mistakes. We wish we could go back; we would never have gone again for anything.
Now, we do not know when we will see our family again.
TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES AND YOUR LOVED ONES.
Note: This letter was translated from Russian and edited for length. Read the original document in the images below.
