Thousands of Colombians have travelled to Ukraine in the last two years to fight alongside the Ukrainian Armed Forces. While many have been killed at the front line, others have escaped with life-changing injuries that led to amputation.
Multiple challenges still await, however, in a country whose language they don’t speak and a system where they are not quite welcome.
‘Loco’
I visited Superhumans Center in Lviv for the first time in October 2023, documenting many Ukrainian amputees in rehabilitation and recovery.
So the last person I expected to meet there, from anywhere in the world, was a fellow Colombian: callsign “Loco.”
Loco had trained with the Colombian Armed Forces, where he was a non-commissioned officer for nine years. Having enlisted at the age of 18, he enjoyed being a soldier. But while it came naturally to him, he found himself increasingly unfulfilled in Colombia – both professionally and financially.
He started looking at possibilities elsewhere, passing through the French Foreign Legion and the UN peacekeepers before taking the opportunity for a more active role supporting Ukraine in the Donbas region. He convinced his younger brother, who also held the same rank, to join him.
Loco’s life changed dramatically, however, when shrapnel from a nearby explosion seriously injured his left leg, leading to an amputation.
“I lost my leg,” Loco kept repeating. “What should I do without my leg?”
His brother had escaped with light injuries and had returned to his family in Colombia, whereas Loco was somewhat traumatized, a little depressed, very much abandoned, and entirely disoriented.
He was grateful to have someone to speak Spanish to, and we both agreed that he was very fortunate to have been taken in by Superhumans Center, which offers first-class expertise and which is hugely oversubscribed.
By August 2024, it was clear that eight months of recovery had made a world of difference to Loco. He had found much calm and strength, working out at the gym and relearning how to swim. He had trained himself not to feel the phantom limb through reflection-eye coordination exercises involving a mirror. But there was some new blood on the stump wound, so he had to apply a special cream whilst awaiting a new adjustment surgery.
“I exchanged my leg for this country.”
How was his Ukrainian coming along? Using downtime during recovery to improve the language could open future opportunities, offer a positive daily goal, and build self-confidence.
A veteran fluent in Ukrainian would also be more widely recognized as a hero alongside other national veterans.
There was certainly no rush to return to Colombia. Staying in Ukraine would allow Loco to process the compensation claim for the loss of his leg while on active duty. It could even lead to a Ukrainian passport – something that was adopted in draft law last December by the Ukrainian parliament.
“In Ukraine, I have the medical tracking of my amputation,” he said. “I’m left with a strong connection to this country. I lost my leg here. I exchanged my leg for this country, so I deserve an opportunity. Let’s see.”
‘Membli’ and ‘Coronel’
When not receiving treatment at Superhumans Center, Loco stayed in a far simpler military hospital on the other side of Lviv. Alongside a few hundred Ukrainians, there were at least 15 Colombian amputees there, including callsigns “Membli” and “Coronel.”
Membli reminded me of an even younger version of the Loco I’d first met. I could feel the pain and the confusion. He asked me many questions. He asked himself many questions. He could not see a pathway forward with the clarity he might have known months earlier, while still an active soldier.
“I am not sure what to do,” he said. “Comrades have asked the nearest Colombian Consulate in Warsaw for advice, and they feel like they almost got punched in the face! The consul says ‘Who asked you to go and fight?’ The consul shouts ‘Nobody asked you to go!’”
“So I will go back at some point anyhow, to see my son. But first my recovery. And my compensation.”
The official response of the Colombian government is not surprising. Colombian President Gustavo Petro was once a Marxist guerrilla of the M-19 group, long before he became the mayor of Bogota, and even longer before he became the president of the republic.
As an ideological leftist – as is often the case in the West – it is boringly predictable that Petro holds much undeserved sympathy and nostalgia for Russia, though not quite at the level of Venezuela or Cuba.
There is an actively hostile environment towards Colombians fighting alongside the Ukrainian Armed Forces, with Petro’s government unfairly labelling them “mercenaries.” There are even rumours of attempts to propose a law for them to lose their nationality if they were to return to Colombia.
“Colombia is my country, right? So I will go back at some point anyhow, to see my son,” Coronel said. “But first my recovery. And my compensation.”
Coronel exuded confidence and maturity – perhaps like a future version of Loco. He focused on the positives of his situation and the fact that he was still alive. He had been working out, appearing both mentally and physically fit.
“People die here all the time.”
‘Arabe’
Another fit and motivated Colombian veteran is “Arabe,” from the coffee-producing region of Risaralda. He has become a bit of an online celebrity on social media: His TikTok account @ArabeMontanero has received millions of views and is currently followed by 130,000.
Arabe recognized his life had changed, without giving up on his own future. He is an amputee who might play basketball with a local Ukrainian team. He creates a lot of content online, ever optimistic in spirit. Many Colombian soldiers whom I have interviewed follow him, and for many, he is a source of inspiration.
After one kamikaze drone had destroyed the roof of their trench, another entered and exploded, breaking Arabe’s femur and piercing the other leg with shrapnel. With the heavy bleeding, another soldier rushed a tourniquet, but it was slipping everywhere, leading to further blood spills, leading to more slipping.
So Arabe made himself another tourniquet higher up still, which was better – but trying to move around led to even more blood leaking and him feeling dizzy and disoriented. With additional shrapnel in his back, he feared the worst.
“I don’t believe in gods, nor do I place my life in their hands,” Arabe said when we met. “I survived ‘thank-God,’ but then others prayed and prayed, and got killed. I think it is best I don’t pray.”
After his injury immobilized him, another Colombian – Andrés – rescued him.
“It’s another level of death here,” Arabe continued. “In Colombia we’d have injuries, mines – occasional massacres. But I remember just one week here when 18 Colombians were killed in Donbas. Twelve confirmed and the others missing.”
“People die here all the time.”
Arabe thought it would be difficult to return to civilian life while still processing such events. He certainly didn’t see himself doing an office job any time soon. The adrenaline rush from being a soldier; the dopamine high that nothing else could match – there was a level of fulfilment that a 9-to-5 job simply could not satisfy.
“I’d drive a tank with my leg if they let me,” Arabe hoped.
“It would make sense to settle here. I was ready to give my life for Ukraine. And the people here are good people. They thank you. They hug you in the street with tears in their eyes.”
“Yes, it’s the vocation to serve others,” Arabe said. “We don’t just work for money as so many say back home. We don’t enjoy killing people either. We are not hitmen. We are not Colombia’s worst export, as the tabloid press tries to frame us.”
“Nobody has our back, it’s just us on our own.”
‘Zeus’
“Zeus” is a triple amputee, with limited use of his remaining right arm. He has a motorized wheelchair and is still undergoing therapy to walk upright with two prosthetic legs. By August 2025, he is still receiving daily treatment at the Superhumans Center, despite Loco, Membli, and Coronel ending their treatment many months prior.
While receiving electric shock therapy to the muscles on his back, his shirt is off. An area on his right shoulder where flesh was grafted from his lower back is visible. Minutes later, Zeus rolls over on the bed in a specific manner, in order to get dressed on his own, and to attach the silicon liners needed for walking to both his stumps. The extent of his personal sacrifice is clear with every move.
“I don’t like photos because photos don’t change anything. Us foreigners we don’t gain much,” Zeus said.
“Nobody has our back, it’s just us on our own. Nobody has told us, ‘Yeah, it’s true – you’re f**ked. How can we help you?’ Nobody. Nothing. Nobody.”
Zeus said that almost every Ukrainian in therapy around him has received the latest electronic knee prosthetics, whereas he has only been given a mechanical knee. This includes Ukrainian double amputees who were injured at a similar time to him.
“We all suffered an accident on the front line doing the same job. All of us. Veterans should be dealt with based on their disability, prioritized that way. But to be honest, we don’t see this,” he said.
“Latinos are always the last in line.”
An electronic knee would not only reduce strain on his body when walking, but its response would also speed up the process of relearning how to walk. When challenged on this apparent disparity, the Superhumans Center explained that Ukrainian veterans often receive donations through their own fundraising and extended social networks.
Zeus remains unconvinced. He claims many Ukrainians admit that the Superhumans Center gave them superior prosthetics.
Zeus is helped into a harness that supports him as he completes slow laps of the physiotherapy studio. He has used the word “patience” multiple times when describing his pathway to recovery.
“It’s tricky, because I have very poor balance,” he said. “I cannot exert much force with this arm – it is only useful for the most basic tasks. And the other arm... Well, it’s not there!”
“But I am a beast with my stumps,” he said, patting his leg with his right hand.
“They can withstand my full weight. Other patients can suffer when adding weight; it can lead to their wounds reopening. Every injury is different.”
Ultimately, Zeus is a positive presence. He smiles at every other Ukrainian with the greeting “Amigo!” and sometimes “Privit!” He is much respected by staff and patients alike, who feed off such supportive interactions within their community of healing.
“Some of these issues can bring us down, but we cannot abandon the ship because then it is worse,” he said. “This is all about patience. If you don’t have patience, you will suffer for the rest of your life.”
“Now I cannot get any compensation unless I have a residency permit.”
‘Loco’ in limbo
It has been a year since I last met Loco.
It is August 2025 and he has completed the core therapy at Superhumans Center. He even managed to rejoin his old Carpathian Sich battalion, on duty for some weeks in Avdiivka. But when he started the compensation procedure with his unit, he was dismissed.
“First, you get a certificate of medical disability. This is needed for your unit to process the compensation. But my unit just dismissed me,” Loco said.
“Why? Because they felt like it. I gave them the right documents, and they told me to wait. Suddenly, a week later, I am formally dismissed and told to get lost.”
Loco said that in principle they knew which steps to follow, but that somehow the commander in charge “forgot” that the compensation request had been made. Military dismissal is irreversible, so Loco must now follow a different pathway – a bureaucratic one that is much more convoluted.
“So now I cannot get any compensation unless I have a residency permit. But I cannot get the residency permit unless I have a fixed address. I need a sponsor to offer an official address, signed and stamped by the notary,” he said.
“The military barracks do not count. It’s all quite frustrating.”
Loco is fortunate to be staying at military barracks for free, as he cannot receive a salary after dismissal. He sleeps in a dormitory with other soldiers and receives lunch at midday – cooked by a Colombian chef. But after two months, he finds himself rather stuck.
“I have actually been offered an office job here in the barracks, helping to process all the Latino soldiers. But I cannot start unless I have the residency permit, and I couldn’t start before dismissal from my unit either,” Loco said. “I don’t know. It only pays Hr.20,000 per month – that’s just under $500.”
I point out that this job could open other doors, yet to be discovered. At best, it would bring him back into more of a routine and purpose. At the very least, it would immerse Loco into a Ukrainian language work environment, to continue building his vocabulary and grammar, which have stalled somewhat since leaving Lviv.
Loco said the passport ruling should come into effect from January 2026. He would love to apply for a Ukrainian passport – but first, of course, he will probably need a residency permit.
If compensation is approved, it tends to take six months. Loco would expect about Hr.900,000, equivalent to about $22,000. This would not even buy him a house in Colombia, let alone the Genium-X3 prosthetic leg he dreams of (which costs triple the compensation award).
So like Zeus, he will also have to settle for a mechanical leg for now.
His stump has developed an ingrowing “osteophyte” – a bone spur from the amputation that can feel like it pinches him from within if in the wrong position. This limits his walking time to about half an hour and will likely lead to minor surgery further down the line.
As for a future career, he has no clue.
“For better or for worse, I have never worked outside of the army. What will I do? I ask myself this question every day, but I get nowhere. I want to be a soldier on the offensive!”
‘Coronel’ back on duty
Loco mentioned that Coronel had rejoined his unit at the International Legion, so I paid a visit.
After he was given the all-clear in March 2025, he rejoined a quiet base in western Ukraine – where he helps to man a checkpoint over 8-hour shifts, alongside other injured Colombians.
He has not processed his compensation claim yet, but neither has he been dismissed – so he remains optimistic. He is grateful to have a steady salary as a soldier, even if it is a fraction of what he used to earn at the frontline.
“Our commander wanted to give us a chance – he did not want to abandon us to our injuries,” Coronel said. “He could have dismissed us, but instead, we are useful as guards. He is a good guy.”
While this part of the country is relatively safe, Coronel has heard drones nearby once or twice. More critically, their military base is a potential target by default – so whenever there is an air raid alarm, everybody must sleep in the woods, while trying to fend off the mosquitoes. The month of July was particularly exhausting in this respect, as there were multiple attacks that triggered the sirens.
“It’s peaceful with all the trees. We are quite remote here, so I don’t get out that much,” he said. “Unless somebody drives me, the nearest village will take you almost an hour to walk to – so imagine me with my leg!”
Every few weeks, they arrange a Sunday BBQ. I was very fortunate to arrive at such an occasion and enjoy Colombian-style “papitas” with freshly prepared ají sauce. The meat was grilled with real charcoal – open-air amidst the forest – and you could taste it.
Coronel and his colleagues have not been able to get hold of yucca and plantain, however, as was mentioned multiple times over the meal. Even fresh fruit in Ukraine is relatively expensive compared to Colombia. So no fresh passion fruit juice either, even if the same word – “maracuyá” – is used in Ukrainian too.
With a running commentary on that day’s football matches with a beer, regular complaints about Presidente Petro and WhatsApp chats with their families on the phone – I was pretty much transported to a Sunday afternoon anywhere in Colombia.
And by the way, Coronel mentioned that Arabe had claimed his compensation and was back on the front line again – this time around Sumy...
Author’s note: With special thanks to Loco, Membli, Coronel, Arabe and Zeus for their time.
This is the fourth installment in a weekly series exploring the role of Colombian fighters in Ukraine’s war against Russia. Read the first part here, the second part here and the third part here.