But hundreds still flee each day, tumbling off buses or unfolding themselves from crowded, stuffy cars just before dusk into a supermarket car park that doubles as a reception area for those forced into exile in their own country. The adults look exhausted, the children’s smiles are timid, as if they’re not quite sure whether they’re safe yet. Steam gushes from beneath the bonnet of a blue Lada like it’s about to explode. After security checks, volunteers offer food and clothes and, for some, there are tearful reunions with waiting relatives.
