"Journalist changes profession"—I never would have thought I’d end up the subject of this column. But life sometimes pushes us into unfamiliar roles, often not the easiest ones. That’s what happened to me when I tried working as a real estate agent. It was during the first wave of evacuations when my family and I left Pokrovsk for Dnipro after the start of the large-scale war.
The new surroundings, unfamiliar housing, limited social circle, negative news from home, and remote work all led to the beginnings of depression. I needed an escape. Journalists are constantly among people, always in the thick of things, and locking one up in four walls is like putting them in prison. The solution came by chance.
My husband’s sister had left for abroad with her children, but she owned a real estate business in Dnipro. One aspect of it was real estate services. Even remotely, she was trying to handle buy-sell deals as the market, though slowly, was coming back to life. When a sale came up, she even traveled to Dnipro for a week. I shared my thoughts about wanting to do something beyond my remote job, and she suggested that I help her.
My sister-in-law sold the apartment on the first showing and returned to her children abroad, leaving me to represent her interests in Dnipro. To learn the ropes of the new profession, her recommendation helped me get a position at a real estate agency. Newbies were first sent to a realtor school. That’s where I met a wonderful woman, let’s call her Tetiana. We had a lot in common: about the same age, overlapping interests, and even similar backgrounds in previous work.
Our department had about ten people, most of whom had never worked in real estate before. The war forced experienced realtors to leave, and inexperienced rookies replaced them. Our boss wasn’t thrilled about it—her commission depended on the number of deals closed, and we were far from that. The new agents were trained in legal matters, introduced to the agency's property database, and taught to use the software.
This process took about a month. Our workday started by logging into the program, selecting our area, and calling all the addresses with missing information. Usually, other agents answered. We needed to make notes on missing information: square footage, owner’s location (in-country or abroad), whether there were registered residents, if colleagues agreed to cooperate on the property, and if they consented to advertise it.
The last point was crucial. If we got the go-ahead for advertising, it meant that the apartment or house could be listed on OLX marketplace and other real estate sites, giving us a chance to find clients and earn a bit. As newcomers, we had no client base or exclusive listings. Making calls all day was tedious work, so Tetiana and I would often take breaks to chat about life.
That was where the introductory phase to the profession ended. Seeing that things were going nowhere and that we were making no progress, our department head laid her cards on the table. Turns out, if you follow the rules, you’ll sell nothing—unless you have a steady clientele with exclusive listings. But how could we, inexperienced as we were, get such listings? Only by snatching them from other agents through clever tricks.
One such trick was price cuts and fake ads. You’d select a property from the database, lower the price slightly, and advertise it to attract buyers. Or you’d publish a fake ad for a non-existent property at below-market rates. Such ads drew potential buyers. You’d tell them that the property was already sold but that you had some other great options, offering something from the database. There was a chance that the client would agree to a viewing and consider working with you.
Posting on OLX wasn’t free; without payment, ads quickly sank to the bottom of the list, and people just didn’t scroll that far. Posting more than one property ad was also considered commercial activity, so sites would block them, suggesting paid packages instead. In peacetime, agents in this company paid for ads out of their own pockets. But with the war, the firm helped out financially so agents could keep going. Luckily, my budget wasn’t impacted—though the same couldn’t be said for my peace of mind.
All these fake listings didn’t sit well with me. If someone called about an ad, I’d hesitate, sounding uncertain because I hated and struggled with lying. That’s when I began realizing this wasn’t the path for me. But I wanted to exit the situation with dignity. My perfectionist side took over even here. I decided I’d leave the agency and forget it all like a bad dream after closing my first deal, whether a rental or a sale.
At the same time, I was helping my sister-in-law. I’d go to viewings for her, as she had a house for sale way out in the boonies on Ivan Mazepa Avenue. The bus ride alone took about forty minutes one way. There was also an apartment for rent downtown; at least that one was conveniently located—just a ten-minute walk from our agency. The key was not to get caught by the boss; otherwise, she’d expect a cut from these properties, which my relative wasn’t planning on sharing.
It was a pretty tricky situation, but the experience taught me a lot. I got to know Dnipro, learned the names and locations of almost every residential complex in new builds, and familiarized myself with apartment prices across neighborhoods. All of this solidified my impression that a realtor should mix a bit of charm, a bit of deception and luck, be daring and understand the tactics to succeed.
One day, a person reached out to me, looking to rent an apartment in Dnipro. Apparently, someone from our mutual acquaintances recommended me. This client held a high-ranking position, didn’t mind spending money, and was searching for high-quality options. Naively, I first suggested cheaper listings from our database, but they didn’t meet his standards. Fortunately, I quickly realized that his expectations were higher and that I needed to view listings through the client’s eyes, based on his budget.
I consulted my sister-in-law on where to find available apartments since our database was mostly filled with fake listings. It turned out that our agency’s database and the general real estate database were two separate entities. Access to the latter required a fee but offered many genuine listings from owners. She also included me in social media groups and messaging channels where listings were posted. Strangely, none of this was ever mentioned at the agency.
On Viber, I came across an apartment listing and messaged the owner, letting him know I had a client who fit his criteria—single, no kids or pets, financially secure. The stars, as they say, aligned. I sent photos of the apartment to my client, and he was satisfied with everything, including the rental price. We were set to meet at the property the next day to sign the contract.
It’s worth noting that, due to the influx of internally displaced persons, both then and now, there was an insane demand for available housing. Apartments and houses were snatched up like hotcakes, and each listing immediately attracted a line of eager renters. I got lucky that I saw the ad and called first. The rental involved three of us—when one property has three agents, yes, that happens. In such cases, the commission is split among everyone involved in the deal.
Originally, there was one realtor who had direct contact with the apartment owner. To speed up the rental, he brought in another realtor, and the listing ended up circulating through channels where I came across it. That’s how I managed to bring them a client. We met up, my client signed the contract, transferred the rent money to the apartment owner, and paid my fee. I then transferred each realtor their share of the commission.
That’s real estate for you—lots of wheeling and dealing. I still feel embarrassed by those memories. But one thing eases my conscience. Around that time, my cat, our beloved pet and family member, fell ill. We spent a week treating him for urinary stones at the vet. A bit longer, and he might have died from a bladder rupture. We spent a fortune on his treatment, but this deal—the first and last in my real estate “career”—gave my cat a chance at life. So, technically, my client was the savior of Martin (my cat). Bless him for that.
And he holds no grudges against me. Two years later, he even recommended me to someone who called asking for help finding an apartment in Dnipro. But by then, I had vowed never to go back to that line of work. That’s my story.
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I closed another chapter of my life and said goodbye to the real estate agency. Soon, we returned to Pokrovsk, where, though times were hard, we managed to stay happily in our own apartment. There, I discovered yet another side of myself—as an organizer and host of creative evenings on a volunteer basis. It didn’t earn me a cent, but it gave me something far more valuable than the “business” of real estate—priceless emotions and satisfaction from doing something I truly loved.
You might ask, what about the money? Well, money isn’t everything, is it? Interestingly, my then-colleague Tetiana also found it wasn’t for her; she left the agency just as easily as I did. After all, everyone should be in the place that’s right for them.
By Olena Yermolenko, for OstroV
The material was created with the participation of CFI, Agence française de développement médias, as part of the Hub Bucharest Project supported by the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs.