BEIRUT — The ad was straightforward: Sign up for one year to fight on Russia’s side in “the special military operation zone” — i.e. the war in Ukraine — and get citizenship, free healthcare, money and land.
It was one of many promotions cropping up on the messaging platform Telegram beginning in 2024, shortly after Russian President Vladimir Putin decreed foreign nationals fighting in the army’s ranks would receive passports for themselves and their families. Since then, travel agencies and brokers have drawn people from all over the world to join what they call Russia’s “elite international battalion,” dangling a raft of benefits to attract would-be recruits.
For Raed Hammad, a 54-year-old Jordanian man who worked as a cab driver until a herniated disk made sitting in a car seat all day untenable, it seemed like the opportunity he never found in his home country. He contacted a Russian businesswoman, Polina Alexandrovna, whose number was on the Telegram ad, and sent his passport information. In August, he received a visa and flight ticket and flew to Moscow.
(Other media reports put Alexandrovna’s last name as Azarnykh. It’s unclear if her name is a pseudonym.)
“As a 54-year-old who was sick, he had a hard time finding employment here in Jordan. When he found this job, and they accepted him with a very attractive salary and benefits, he didn’t think twice,” said Lamees Hammad, his wife, in a tearful video address she posted on social media in September. Because of his age, Lamees Hammad added, her husband assumed he would work as a driver or a cook; she insisted he repeatedly confirmed with Alexandrovna that he wouldn’t serve on the front line.
“He wanted to provide for our kids, to give them what he couldn’t give them in the past,” Lamees Hammad said. Hammad is a father of four sons, the youngest of whom is 13.
But days after signing a 17-page army contract that Hammad couldn’t read — he was denied a Russian translator and wasn’t given access to WiFi to translate using his phone, according to his wife — he found himself bunkered in a drone-stalked forward position somewhere in Russian-occupied southeastern Ukraine.
“He’s facing all kinds of danger … If a rifle is raised in his face, he can’t even run. They’re being treated like livestock over there,” Lamees Hammad said in a recent interview with a Jordanian TV channel, adding that Hammad contacted Alexandrovna and begged to break his contract but was told he would have to pay 500,000 rubles — almost $6,000 — to do so.
Russian military personnel, draped in Russian flags, appear after a prisoner swap with Ukraine on June 24.
(Russian Defense Ministry/Anadolu via Getty Images)
Accurate figures are hard to come by, but it’s clear that Hammad isn’t alone in fighting under Russia’s banner for benefits, with estimates putting the number of foreign fighters in Russian army ranks in the tens of thousands. Many come from disadvantaged countries in the Middle East, Africa and South and East Asia.
Some 2,000 Iraqis are thought to have enlisted, but press reports indicate thousands joining from Egypt, Algeria, Yemen and Jordan. Fighters from Nepal, Afghanistan, India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Cuba and Syria, who in the past came in significant numbers, are no longer allowed to join, according to the Russian defense ministry.
Foreigners have also served on the opposing side, with Ukrainian officials stating in the past that roughly 20,000 fighters from 50 countries joined Ukraine’s International Legion, including around 3,000 Iraqis.
In the Russian military, many of the enlisted foreigners came to Russia first as students, but their visas lapsed and they do not want to return home. A significant number also travel to Moscow on tourist visas after they are approved by the military. Once in Russia, they visit offices of companies like Alexandrovna’s and sign a contract with the Russian ministry of defense; others are met by a broker and a Russian officer at the airport.
Offers vary, but recruits can receive a signing bonus of 1.5 million rubles (around $17,000), and depending on where they fight, get a monthly salary ranging between $2,500 to $3,500 — a life-changing amount in countries like Egypt, where the average salary barely exceeds $300.
Training lasts four to six weeks and includes language instruction so foreigners can follow basic commands in Russian. They receive citizenship soon after they join, and are given a two-week paid vacation six months into their one-year deployment. If they are killed or wounded, their families can claim the money and citizenship.
Among the recruitment ads, which appear in Arabic and other languages, Alexandrovna’s channel keeps up a steady rhythm of posts extolling the Russian army’s victories in Ukraine.
Alexandrovna herself appears in several photos taken with recruits when they first land in Russia; others depict foreign soldiers after they receive their citizenship, smiling to the camera and proudly showing off their passports. Her clients appear to be mostly from the Arab world and parts of Africa.
“Each of my soldiers is a source of pride,” she writes in one post, saying that they add to the “victory against the neo-Nazis from Ukraine.”
“Every soldier must proudly and steadfastly defend the new homeland of Russia, because Russia becomes a new homeland for each of them!” she writes.
Despite the risks, there’s no lack of interest: A look on Alexandrovna’s Telegram channel, titled “Friend of Russia” and featuring a picture of Putin, shows more than 22,000 subscribers. Another channel, run by an Iraqi man who calls himself Bahjat, has almost 30,000.
Members of a thousands-strong Telegram community group run by an Iraqi with the nickname Abbass the Supporter — who served in the Russian military for three years but now works as a broker and answers questions about deployments on his TikTok channel — participate in chats asking how quickly they can get their visa and travel.
When contacted by The Times, Alexandrovna denied giving false information to would-be recruits but did not answer detailed questions about Hammad. Nevertheless, it’s unclear how Hammad concluded he would serve in rear positions: Most ads on Alexandrovna’s channel explicitly say foreigners must fight in Ukraine, with no mention of being able to join as a driver or cook, and in any case, those decisions are made by the defense ministry.
The E-visa form inquires about military experience. Bahjat, who spoke on condition of only giving his first name, said those coming to the Russian army from abroad should expect to go into combat, and that breaking the contract risks imprisonment.
“What, you think a country is going to give you money and citizenship so you come and cook?” he said in a WhatsApp chat.
“I’ll give it to you straight. Everyone coming here is going to the frontline and to the war. Anyone saying otherwise is speaking nonsense.”
The Jordanian ministry did not answer questions about Hammad, but legal experts say governments have little recourse to repatriate their citizens if they signed a contract, unless they can prove they did so under duress.
Lamees Hammad has been pleading with Jordan’s King Abdullah and government officials to communicate with the Russian foreign ministry and to bring her husband home. But in the meantime, she said, she hoped the Jordanian government would at least block Telegram channels like Alexandrovna’s to prevent others from following in Hammad’s steps.
“People should know if they do this,” she said, “they’re going to their death.”
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