From time to time we hear about Russia’s attempts to recruit poor people as mercenaries in its imperialist war against Ukraine. These efforts have extended to all continents: from Latin America to Africa and Asia. If you know anyone who is considering such an option, please tell them not to do it.

As Ukrainians, we are fighting for our homes and families. This is a rather obvious choice for us, after being attacked by an Imperial force that ruled us for many years in the past. We, the Ukrainian people, see our struggle as an anti-imperialist struggle.

Personally, I feel more solidarity with the people of the South than with anyone else. So I implore everyone to hope that they understand that Russia is just another imperial force. Even if it is not “their” empire, nor the one who victimizes them, it is still an empire.

Joining an imperial war means participating in the oppression of another people; it’s not worth risking your life, even for the promise of money.

To me, it’s sad to see poor people being recruited or forced to fight for an empire. I saw some of them while serving in the Ukrainian army. The story of one of them struck me.

I met Bibek on the front line in eastern Ukraine. He was a Nepalese fighting in the Russian army who had been captured by Ukrainian forces. Our unit was ordered to guard him before he was transferred to prison.

Bibek stayed with us a little longer than expected because our commanders had to figure out where to transfer him.

There is a clear procedure for Russian prisoners of war. They are sent to camps in the rear, where they await an exchange of prisoners of war between Ukraine and the Russian occupier.

There is a different procedure for Ukrainian citizens from the occupied territories mobilized into the Russian army. When captured, they are tried in court, where they are given a legal defense. The court must determine whether they were forced to collaborate or whether they intentionally committed treason.

But the procedure for prisoners of war from third countries was not so clear, at least initially. Bibek was our first such case, so our officers had to make a few calls to find out which authority to transfer him to.

Our captive was a tall, handsome young man with beautiful dark eyes. If I remember correctly, I was the one who untied it. I felt sorry for Bibek and he felt my pity for him. He spoke a little English, so we were able to communicate. “Will I go home now?” That’s the first thing he asked me.

I almost wanted to cry. He was so naive. The pleading eyes, the shy voice. It seemed that Bibek did not even realize that he was considered a mercenary under Ukrainian and international law. Now that he was captured and no longer a fighter, he could just go home, Bibek seemed to believe. Or maybe that’s what he wanted to believe.

Bibek was very different from the stereotypical image of the “mercenary soldier”. He was a shy, sweet kid, that’s what he was. During his first interrogation, he honestly told us his name, rank, unit, location, etc. He said he came to Ukraine with the Russian army because he needed money to help his mother. He was the only child, he said. And his mother was poor and sick, he said.

I translated his answers for the officer who was interrogating him. I also spoke to him a lot in private during his stay with us. As well as some food and water, I also gave him my own paracetamol and antibiotic tablets, in the hope that they would help with the wound on his left thigh. I bought him cigarettes, even though it wasn’t really allowed.

Bibek told me he came to Russia on a student visa with the intention of working without papers in order to help his mother. He worked as a packer in a small factory and was paid in cash. One day, another Nepalese recruiter offered him work “as a cook” for the “Ministry of Defense” in Moscow, for a salary ten times higher than what he earned at the factory. He accepted the position.

Instead of going to Moscow, Bibek was quickly transferred to Donetsk, in occupied Ukraine, where he was trained as a storm trooper. After only a week, he was sent to attack Ukrainian positions.

Bibek said he was caught in his very first battle because he got lost and also lost his team in the smoke, roars and panic. There were other Nepalis in his unit, but he didn’t know what happened to them.

What intrigued me most was that I couldn’t seem to feel any animosity towards Bibek, not at all. Even though, technically, he had come to my country to kill me, for money, I couldn’t bring myself to see him as a “mercenary.” I saw a lost young man about the age my son might be. He and I could be friends under different circumstances, I thought.

There was another Ukrainian soldier, a devout Catholic, who was also “too compassionate toward the enemy,” as some other members of our unit thought. Both of us, me and the Catholic, were mocked by our fellow soldiers for this. So, I have named Catholics and myself, ironically and also defensively, the “Mother Teresa Squad.”

I’m not sure what happened to Bibek after the authorities came to our unit and took him away. However, I later saw a video of him online. These were images of legal interrogations featuring him and other mercenaries.

It was only after meeting Bibek that I learned that Russia was luring and mistreating thousands of other people like him from different countries. They are mostly people from Asia and Africa and, for the most part, among the poorest. Sometimes these are undocumented workers in Russia facing deportation. They are promised “jobs” in logistics, in hospitals or in the kitchen, as was the case in Bibek, before being sent to the front to serve as cannon fodder.

Many are killed. Some are “lucky” and are captured alive, but risk spending years in prison.

All this is painful to watch.

Every time I hear about the deployment of a new group of Russian mercenaries from the Global South, I think of Bibek’s bright eyes. I hear his shy voice. And I’m sorry for his ruined youth.

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.

The text is part of a joint initiative of the Ukrainian Institute, UkraineWorld and PEN Ukraine.

Artem Chapeye was also a signatory of the Ukrainian letter of solidarity with the Palestinian people published by Al Jazeera.