Our city wasn’t especially patriotic, but now people understand

“I didn’t believe it at first.”

I’m originally from Crimea — my mom is there. On February 23, reports appeared that at six in the evening they suddenly closed all checkpoints on the border between Crimea and Ukraine. Nobody could explain why they’d been shut so abruptly. Alarming news started emerging about Putin’s statements.

On the 24th, we were woken by a call from my husband’s mother saying the airfield was being bombed. At first we didn’t believe it. Then, when I picked up my phone, I saw a flood of messages — from acquaintances, from my child’s school teacher, missed calls from a friend. I called back. My friend was screaming that they were bombing our airfield, that war had started. She told me what to do, how to pack, what to bring, because I was in a state of shock.

The teacher wrote in my first-grader’s school chat that everyone should stay home, check in on who was home, that war had started.

“Russia will come, and we’ll thrive here.”

There was panic. My husband, our child, and I packed some things into a bag and decided to go withdraw cash. We went outside, and there were crowds of people, enormous lines at the ATMs. Some walked around laughing: what are you panicking about? Old ladies in line were saying: “Oh, it’s nothing scary, it’ll be like in Crimea. Russia will come, and we’ll thrive here.” These conversations made me sick, because I know what it’s like in Crimea. We went there every year — there’s nothing good. We could go there now, but we don’t even consider it. Good thing my husband said to take the bag with our documents and essentials. I thought: why, we’re going home soon. “No, put it in the car, just in case.” We drove off, tried to buy some groceries along the way, I managed to withdraw money — all under explosions, under rumbling, smoke rising. We still didn’t believe it was all real. My husband said: what are you grabbing so much for, it’s fine, tomorrow if anything [we’ll buy more]. We didn’t know tomorrow would be worse.

“People were hauling TVs, microwaves without packaging, sacks of groceries.”

We went to check on my husband’s parents in a residential area and decided to stay, because it started thundering from all directions. We thought a private house would be safer than our nine-story building near the airfield. The shooting continued around the clock. I called my apartment neighbor later — she said our entire stairwell sat in the basement for 24 hours straight.

On the third or fourth day of the war, we tried to leave the house, to go to the apartment and grab some things. We witnessed a horrific scene. People were hauling TVs, microwaves without packaging, sacks of groceries. We thought: God, where do people have so much money? But looting had started. We saw smashed shops, pharmacies, pawn shops. People were dragging out everything. One man shouted: “What are you doing!” — but it was useless. Some man tried firing some kind of pistol, I don’t know if it was real or not, to disperse the crowd.

“Russian soldiers looted the pharmacy, then the grocery store.”

We walked up to a pharmacy near our house. A crowd there. I think: it’s open. I needed medication I take regularly. Then I see — two Russian soldiers coming out through the broken door, dragging a huge crate of medicine. They’d looted the pharmacy, then the grocery store. At this point, there’s almost no medicine left in the city. No food either. Only the local dairy plant, the meat-processing plant, and the oil extraction factory are still working — they’re keeping things going somehow. Prices are insane.

People can’t withdraw money. All sorts of characters have appeared who’ll cash out your money for 30 to 40 percent. They brought us humanitarian aid from Crimea — and a stage production. Correspondents came, filmed these old women crying on camera, thanking them for the aid, for being liberated, about how scary it was here, how the Nazis had terrorized them. They handed out some expired sprats, some grain. We of course didn’t take any of it. Right next to them, in the same square, Ukrainian humanitarian aid was being distributed — normal aid, from our own entrepreneurs.

“Men started disappearing. Many are currently missing.”

Our mayor wouldn’t cooperate with the bandits, so they came — I’ve seen the security camera footage — put a bag over his head and dragged him out. They held him captive for six days. Right away they appointed some former deputy from the Opposition Bloc, who started placing her people at municipal enterprises. They say: don’t pay your utility bills, pay us directly at the cashier, we’ll direct the money where it’s needed. Entrepreneurs were told not to pay taxes to the city budget.

The occupiers set up in the House of Culture and the SBU building. At first, peaceful protests took place in our city, with more and more people, and then they opened fire on the crowd — they wounded one person in the leg. Automatic gunfire could be heard across the entire city. Then they started abducting activists. Men started disappearing. Many are currently missing. One man’s car was found with slashed tires somewhere in the fields — the man was never found. Our mayor was freed in an exchange for nine Russian conscripts. But the rest of the abducted people are still in captivity. The head of administration, some activists, the 75-year-old father of a local journalist.

“We delete all messages on our phones, because they say they check.”

They say that starting April 1st, they’re requiring schools to reopen and conduct classes in Russian. They’re pressuring principals. They say we’ll have rubles soon. They say Russian passports will be issued. They’ve already started requiring people to surrender documents for Russian passports in exchange for humanitarian aid — people still don’t want to.

They seized the Tekhnotorg enterprise — it’s a large chain across Ukraine — dealing in agricultural equipment, trucks, vehicle repairs. They kicked out the director and all employees, told them: don’t bother coming back. They took the trucks. Around the city, they confiscate people’s cars, paint the letter Z on them. They simply take people’s keys and force them out of the car. We don’t use our car, we walk everywhere, always the three of us with the child — we never go alone. We delete all history, all messages on our phones, because sometimes they check your phone, they can stop you, and nothing good will come of it if they find something. A witch hunt has begun.

“We don’t want to live in this incomprehensible republic.”

They say they want to shell Ukrainian cities from here — meaning it’s dangerous for us to stay, because return fire could hit us. All this time they’d been launching some rockets — and seemingly shooting them down themselves. They’d report that they’d intercepted hostile Ukrainian rockets, like, we’re protecting you.

A few days ago, we were at the playground with our child, and rockets exploded right over our heads — clouds of smoke. We all ran home, grabbed the children. It feels like they’re trying to scare us. Whether something is actually coming from Ukraine, or from who knows which direction. The child is afraid of the explosions, the rocket trails, the rumbling. He holds our hand constantly. He’s seven years old.

Many people in the city feel this way: let there be an uneasy peace, as long as nobody comes to bomb us, as long as it’s quiet. But we personally don’t want that. We don’t want to live in this incomprehensible republic they’re trying to create here.

Our city was never particularly patriotic, but now people have more or less understood what’s happening — they’ve come together. They don’t want any “Russian world.”

“We’re at a loss.”

A few days ago, refugees from Mariupol started arriving. Three families moved into our stairwell. Some cars have plastic wrap instead of windows. Local residents organized themselves, helping with clothes, food. My friend’s father has been missing in Mariupol since March 2nd — he’s right in the combat zone. There are so many people like that.

We live one day at a time. The city has turned into some kind of ghost town. In recent years, it was very nice to live here, and now — these destroyed shops, everything smashed, dirt, some kind of spontaneous street trading everywhere, stores aren’t working, people just bring whatever they have from their cars and sell it. Personally, I trade unneeded medications for food — I sorted through my medicine cabinet. People bring what they have. I’m grateful to them. Because my husband and I are both out of work — I wasn’t even paid my February salary. My company is in Kyiv, they’re doing volunteer work, helping people, but they didn’t pay me. We have the option to go to Europe — we have relatives there. But they won’t let my husband out, and honestly, the road is terrifying. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe there will be fighting here. We’re at a loss.