War diaries from Kyiv

The Kyiv underground is not only a means of public transportation but also the largest and safest bomb shelter now. Photo: Drop of Light/Shutterstock

Kyiv woke up to the sounds of shelling and military aeroplanes at sunrise today. Believe me, this is impressive, especially when the glimpses of the distance shelling can be seen in the dark. The light was switched on in every window. People found out that Russia had declared war on Ukraine.

When the sun came up, citizens started to take care of their family issues. Those who had houses in the countryside took their wives, elderly parents and children there. Many decided to stay with their relatives in small towns, away from big cities. Lines were formed in the supermarkets, cash was being withdrawn from the ATMs, necessary medicine was being purchased in pharmacies. From the news, we found out that martial law had been introduced. Since the early morning, President Volodymyr Zelenskyy and Vitali Klitschko, the Kyiv mayor, have been saying that all the vital infrastructure of Ukraine and its capital were operating. Later the news came that the air defences shot down Russian planes and the infantry is stopping tanks from pushing through Ukraine’s borders.

There was no shock, no thrill, no panic. Ukrainians have been waiting for Putin to attack for several years, since the start of the war and especially during the last few months. Everyone had their evacuation planned. To some extent, it reminds me of a sick person who is waiting for surgery. When this day came, he was ready because he had been getting ready for a long time.

The scale of the intervention becomes clearer in the morning. Ukraine has been attacked from the East, from the sea, from Crimea, and from Belarus in the North. Saboteurs and drones are blowing up military warehouses, army headquarters and TV towers, even those located far from Ukraine’s borders. Tanks are moving to Kharkiv and Odesa was shelled. And Kyiv, of course. Kyiv was shelled.

Khreshchatyk Street, Kyiv’s central avenue, heard a strong hum in the middle of the day. Passers-by stopped just for a moment, only one teenager ran towards a metro station. This sound reminded my friend – a veteran – of a near-miss of a large-powered artillery piece. Later we found out that Russians shelled a military base on the Kyiv outskirts, on the other side of the Dnieper River. Six people were killed, 12 were injured. Meanwhile, the Ukrainian military shot down helicopters that were taking Russian paratroopers to the other side of Kyiv.

Mobile data and connections are operating without any problems. If some bank card does not work with one ATM, it works with another. Public transport works free of charge. Citizens are constantly calling each other and talking about the war. They are checking up on the news from the ministry of defence and the government. I need to admit that there was a lot of news. On social media, people are supporting each other and asking each other to only trust the official messages of the ministry of defence. From time to time, you can see desperate posts of those Russians who were shocked by the war. Ukrainians accept their curses towards Putin and themselves with restraint.

An acquaintance of mine calls me, “Help me find a blood donation centre! Their lines are always busy!” She wants to donate blood to the army and other future victims of the war. I spent 30 minutes on the phone, failing to reach any hospital. Finally, someone picks up and tells me the address. “Come here, do not distract us! We cannot talk on the phone and accept blood donations at the same time.”

Along with housewives who went out to buy some milk and dog owners, one can already notice people who are rushing to the railway station or a bomb shelter. This is usually a man and a woman with backpacks and suitcases, accompanied by their daughter or son who is usually cheerful and thrilled – for them this is just an adventure. This picture reminds me of sending a child to a summer camp, with the only difference being that the parents look too focused. Six new armoured vehicles appear on the street. They are on their way to taking defensive positions.

The Kyiv underground is not only a means of public transportation but also the largest and safest bomb shelter now. Those who believe it is too dangerous to stay in their buildings stay here in the halls of the underground stations, sitting next to the walls or on the benches or their bags, alone or in a group. Hundreds of such dormant people at every metro station. There is a lot of movement around military commissariats. Men of all ages are coming here. Most of them are in their 30s, wearing sports or summer clothes; but some are wearing a military uniform. Their backpacks are jammed full. At military commissariats, they can join the army or territorial defence forces under a simplified and hastened procedure.

I join them. I show my passport and military documents to the officer in charge. Then I am redirected to a large room where around 50 men are waiting for an interview in line. All of a sudden, an officer enters the room and says loudly, “Air alarm! Follow me!” We descend into a large basement where we stare at our smartphones to kill some time. A man in his 40s who has a Cossack moustache and wears a British military uniform directs my attention to the screen of his phone. “Have you seen it?” Here is a video of Ukrainian drones destroying a Russian tank column. I reply that I have already seen it, but it will be nice to have a look again.

Later, the same officer returned to the basement and announced, “All clear! Those who have signed the contract should present themselves to their commanders. You will receive weapons.” I say that I have some urgent business and go outside. I am not ready to go to war with a rifle yet. And, I am sure, they will manage there without me.

Ukrainians have been waiting for this war for too long, for eight long years. Everyone was waiting for it. Those who were at war and came back, their wives and children, refugees from the occupied territories, relatives of the dead, teenagers and elderly people, alcoholics at cheap bars, athletes, owners of fancy bistros, musicians, peasants from the villages. All of them have seen Putin’s real face and they are not scared. They were scared before. Now they have some confidence.

Day two

I am writing this in the evening at the editorial office. I can see the residential buildings from the windows of our office – there are almost no lights on. It used to be the opposite. In those expensive apartments and offices, people work late. But not now. Car noise is very rare too. It is almost a complete silence. Almost.

I can hear something exploding in the distance when I go to the balcony for a smoke; a heavy bomb in the distance. During the day, air raid sirens kept going. There are several reasons why there are no lights turned on in the neighbouring building. Many people left yesterday when it became clear that the Russians aim to take Kyiv. Others do not want to attract the attention of Russian pilots or drone operators. A lot of people prefer to spend the night in the bomb shelters that are usually at the closest metro station. I do not hide in the underground and do not switch off my lights. I feel that there is a low probability that my building will be shelled. Yet, those whose houses get shelled always think like this. Last night, a downed Russian drone fell over a nine-storey residential building. It sparked a fire and all the residents were evacuated. The building is not habitable anymore. Eight people were injured.

In Hostomel, a town nearby Kyiv, the latest generation of Russian missiles fell in an alley between multi-storey residential buildings. Russians are bragging about these high-precision missiles but this one went off course and did not reach the target, a place where Ukrainian troops were concentrated. The Kyiv authorities announced that this night may be very disturbing and even “decisive”. Tanks are moving towards the city from the north. Belarusian President Alyaksandr Lukashenka permitted the training of Russian army forces on his territory, but they decided that Belarus provides the shortest way to Kyiv. They should overcome this 200 kilometre route in one day and night. The Ukrainian military believes it will be easier and more secure to stop this convoy on the outskirts of the cities than in the woods and swamps.

At the metro station, around 150 people, mostly women and children, are lying on blankets, sitting on benches, or just wandering around. At the exit, a group of men in sport suits and with backpacks are asking me where they can register to join the territorial defence. I explained where to go. We go together across the streets of Kyiv. We meet men in civilian clothes but with orange armbands and rifles on our way. Those are the volunteers that we want to join. Their headquarters is located in one of the industrial buildings. Around 100 cars are parked next to it. Future members of the territorial defence drove here in their cars. In the distance, I can see a line of army trucks. All of them waiting to receive weapons. Hundreds of such people are here. While new people arrive, the others who already received their rifles, ammunition and orange armbands, leave the building. This reminds me of a conveyor providing the unarmed with weapons.

I get a little confused. Does this mean that anyone can show their passport, take a rifle, and go search for the enemy? Later, I found several experienced people who explained to me how it works. After registration, volunteers join a small group, become subordinate to a commander who is chosen among them. This commander is responsible for the weapons and discipline. They receive a specific task, for instance, to patrol and guard an area or help the military.

At the roundabout of the last city avenue, excavators dig trenches, the military check arriving transport and military vehicles come and leave. The last time I saw a similar territorial defence point was in Mariupol in 2016. Back then, the attack from the Donbas separatists was expected. Trenches and roadblocks are located next to residential buildings. This is a place where fights, crossfire, and shelling may take place. I meet my old acquaintance, a veteran of the war in Donbas, a twice injured holder of several state orders. He was a commander of a survey team. He looks like he has never returned from the war, even though he has been working as a truck driver for the last several years. I point to the body armour and a helmet that he is wearing and ask, “But they do not give out these things here, right?” He says that these are his personal belongings. “I had all my equipment in order. We knew that we would have to fight.” His friend also has good equipment. He wears an American winter uniform, infantry helmet and light body armour with plastic details. Those are also the personal belongings of a veteran who has been preparing for the war for a long time.

Suddenly we see how not far away from us, military police stop a young man, turn him over in a second, take some documents out of his pocket and take his phone. An officer says something loudly to his colleagues, but we also can hear his words, “Yes, he was taking pictures of the positions”. In 20 minutes, all this time the young man is lying down, afraid of making a move, the police car arrives and takes him away.

I asked, “Wow, are they not being too harsh to him?”  

“Maybe they are, but just this morning they liquidated an infiltration team on the roundabout over there,” my friend who used to serve in a survey team says. “They stole our military trucks, wore our uniforms, and were moving towards the city centre.”

Day six

I go down Steven King-like, empty and mysterious halls. This hospital, like many others in Kyiv, has been shut down because of martial law, but I know that trauma specialists still should work. I get to the second floor and take several turns down a corridor, with no one in sight in the treatment rooms. I eventually find them, a middle-aged doctor and two old nurses. My recently broken arm hurts and I felt I would need a professional to have a look at it. These days, many local doctors continue to work. They have organised in such a way that someone is always on duty, ready to provide consultations online or on the phone. It is not the worst option during these times of curfew, shut down public transport and empty hospitals. One would at least get an idea of how to act next and what medicine to purchase if needed. This hospital belongs to a chain that offers a variety of medical services, from psychologists to urologists and professionals treating asthma. I first considered reaching out to them but then found a list of open trauma treatment points on the city council website. One of them is not far from my home, so I decided that it is what I need. I wanted a professional to check my arm in person.

The doctor examined my arm quite inattentively and told me to have an x-ray. After that, he had a look at the picture and said that everything was fine. I felt calmer when I left his office. He also gave me a prescription, written in typical doctor-style, an unclear doodle trying to pass as handwriting. But why are there no other patients here waiting in line? A nurse explained to me, “When do people get injured? When they move a lot. And now everyone is sitting at home. Or builders injure themselves on construction sites, but what construction site would be open now?” She adds, “But we still work because there are still some people coming.”

This is true. Those affected by the shelling are immediately taken to the hospitals for emergency care by ambulances. Injured military personnel and policemen are taken to military hospitals. But a few trauma points should stay open in every district for such worried patients like me.

There is a famous saying, attributed to, I believe, Bismarck: “War is war, but lunch has to be on time.” These days, Kyiv residents have brought this back in style. They use it under different circumstances like a password. Housewives say, “War is war, but laundry has to be done on time.” A security guard of an empty hotel next to my house says, “but duty has to be on time”. A truck driver says, “vehicle inspection has to be regular”. Dog owners say, “walks have to be done on time”.

Kyiv is struggling to live a normal life. Those who can work continue, even if part-time or remotely, as much as they can. Colleagues, bosses, clear and understandable office tasks are still there, even though we have no clarity about salary. But what is important is that this activity grants you a feeling that you are doing something useful and significant, something that you are good at. It is so vital now, otherwise you would have to call a therapist every day.

When approaching my residential building, I notice a woman holding a small rake – she is taking care of the lawn under a small tree. Wearing gloves and boots, she gives an impression of a person who is well-prepared for gardening. I stop by her and ask, “Why have you decided to start gardening? It is, how can I put it, not the best time for that…”. She stands up and answers me gracefully, “And what, what war? Should I abandon everything? I have wanted to start gardening for a long time.”

This day, the sixth day of defence, has left a blank impression on me, as probably many not the best and not the worst days of this war will. There was no shelling, it was quiet on the city outskirts. The city council keeps giving recommendations, soldiers keep fighting, air raid sirens keep blaring. Children keep growing up, the elderly keep getting old. Those who are between them are supposed to feed, warm and comfort them. Kyiv residents are prepared to wait… but for what? No one knows. What if the electricity goes out? What if there was no bread? What if aspirin will disappear from the pharmacies? What if it will be given away for free? What if the Russians will start a new attack and shelling? “We will wait”, people say.

P.S. While I was writing this small chapter, the Kyiv television centre was reportedly shelled. A missile could have landed in the buildings where the technical systems of the centre were located. The centre can be seen from many districts in the city, before the war, it was beautifully illuminated at night. Five people died, five were injured. This is a part of the Russian military and Putin’s plan to damage Ukrainian information infrastructure. Does it matter? No one is watching television now, even grandfathers watch football on smartphones.

 Day eight

The editorial office is empty. Everyone has gone home or never left. When rummaging through some closet in the most distant room of the office, I found a bottle of Port 1993 from Massandra. I was stunned. Massandra wine from Crimea … for me?! You could try to find it here, in Kyiv, but… that would be too sentimental to have Crimean wine in Kyiv. It would bring not joy but longing. I would drink it and think that those bastards who now manage Crimea have it too. But it is still hard to find this wine, anyway.

I was 14 years old in 1993. That summer, I was diving for crabs. Water got in my left ear and it was aching. I also scratched my stomach on shells. Once, when I was crawling over the seaside rocks, the water suddenly receded, and I hung on to those rocks. That year, we moved from Simeiz to Simferopol. My childhood came to an end. I remember becoming aware of it.

And here is this bottle. Prohibition was announced in Kyiv … no one has any alcohol. The first week of the war came to an end. I remember life before it quite ambiguously. Amazing, amazing taste. Simple, deep, astringent, slow. Warm. Pale amber in colour; liquid grace! But, oh my God? What if it will be possible… Unbelievable hope warms my soul – will I be able to see Crimea again? Will I go back, walk there, breathe, wave my hands? And here is this bottle, God knows how it got here.

Day eleven

I visited one of my friends the other day. I came in right at dinner time. He gave me quinoa with canned ham, canned tomatoes and homemade unleavened pita bread.

“I bought them at the closest Silpo store. No kasha this time,” he explains. He received the canned ham as a reimbursement for his patriotic service in the territorial defence. “Silpo” is a nationwide chain for middle and upper-middle-class customers. The way its stores look now gives a weird impression. There is nothing where kasha and pasta used to be, but the showcase of meat delicacies, pieces of Spanish jamon, ice with oysters and aquariums with lobsters all remain intact. I talk to the salesperson. He says that the store received a new supply of fish on the eve of the first day of the invasion, so the cheapest fish has already been sold out while no one wants to buy the expensive ones.

“I have never tried this quinoa. But now I got a taste for it,” my friend says and swears with restraint. One box of quinoa cost him the same as five boxes of rice.

Food supplies in the stores have been more or less restored. There are no lines, no bread shortage, milk is available again. The first shock passed and many residents have started to think about what sociologists call the “financial cushion”. This refers to the money that you have saved for a rainy day, in case you were saving or had something to save. In Kyiv, only a few continue to work, which means that most residents will not receive their salaries by the end of the month. Municipal services have informed us that water and electricity bills will not be suspended due to the war, but late payments will not be penalised. I am sure that they know that they will be lucky to receive one-third of their usual income for February. And how much will they receive for March? Flat owners probably will not be too strict with their tenants – anyway, it looks like a significant part of Kyiv’s tenants have already left. Those who rent accommodation usually pay from their monthly salary that they will not receive this time.

Also, there is some pleasant news. Mobile operators have waived payments for calls and data for a month. Without any irony, this is very important during wartime – it grants us communication! This is now part of the simple arithmetic done by the majority of families staying in Kyiv. All they are left with is to watch how their financial cushion deflates, much as an ordinary inflatable cushion deflates because of a broken plug.

The city of millions does not produce anything and spends the rest of its money. The middle class that has some savings constitutes less than one-third of the city’s population. But they cannot count on anything else other than the money they already have in cash or saved in their bank accounts. It is impossible to sell some property or take a loan. Two-thirds of city residents do not have any savings and live “pay check to pay check”. If you are a man, you can join the territorial defence – they will not let you go hungry there. But what if you can’t go? The majority of people here cannot.

“We need to form some sort of labour battalion for food rations, this is a real chance,” my friend says. “They will find things to do, people can at least do clean ups after the shelling or build fortifications.”

I ask, “Does Klitschko suggest that?”

“Not yet. But this is obvious, something needs to be done.”

As a person who has experience in sustaining order, he knows very well that order is only possible in a well-kept city. There are no signs of hunger protests yet, but we all are trying to prepare for the worst-case scenarios. Production in Kyiv – in those parts that are still operating – leaves a paradoxical impression because the industry is struggling with understaffing in a city where everyone has plenty of spare time. Low-skilled workers in different industries, including bread factories, have always been coming from the regions surrounding Kyiv. Most of them returned home, with no one in sight to replace them quickly. Three out of five Kyiv bread factories stopped, and it caused a bread deficit last week. The second reason was the collapse of public transport. Many residents of the city have to commute from afar and transfer somewhere on their way to work. When transport stopped, there was no one at the bread factories to unload flour sacks or prepare the fresh bread for delivery. Even the drivers did not show up sometimes.

Maybe the city council has some plans regarding how to compensate for this loss of labour resources with those residents who do not mind working? Maybe they provide these people with transport to the factories? Meanwhile, people are already compensating for labour shortages at a grassroots level. At Silpo, competent smart young men are now cashiers. One of them explained to me that he is replacing another employee, a girl who left home to a village in Volyn, even though at this store, he is a professional dealing with logistics.

However, so many people in Kyiv have neither a financial cushion nor something that would even distantly resemble one. The other day, I saw a woman and her son, around ten years old, who were pushing a baby carriage with huge bottles of water. They were taking it from somewhere to their dwelling, a basement of an abandoned building. They do not have any documents and cannot receive food rations that the city council is providing people. They do not have a cell phone and therefore cannot call any volunteer organisation that helps the homeless. If earlier they have used expired products given by stores for free, now there are no expired products left and stores are barely open. The boy tells me this story while his mother is having a rest, smoking a cigarette that she got from me. I wonder if Klitschko, the city mayor, has any plans for such people – the homeless, unemployed, undocumented, surviving in a city almost under siege?

Translated by Anna Efimova

Andrey Kirillov is a Ukrainian journalist. Originally from Crimea, he escaped during the 2014 occupation. He now resides in Kyiv.

Kyiv, Russian aggression, Ukraine, Ukraine at war, War diary