More than eight months after Kherson’s capture by Russian soldiers, the city is heavy and gloomy. Everything is frozen, hidden. After 3pm, there are no people on the streets. In the morning they go out to buy groceries and then they sit at home.
Kherson is being robbed by the Russians. Everything is taken out: monuments to Suvorov, Ushakov, Potemkin and Margelov were removed from their pedestals; barges, fire engines, ambulances and office chairs. They break into apartments. Even the windows of the city hall have been removed. A total organised plunder of the city is under way. Cars carry loot to the river and from there they are transported by boats to the left bank.
A car with a loudspeaker drives around the city urging residents to leave and text messages are sent during the night. But, like me, many of my friends stayed. We buy food and store water. We do not believe in forced evacuation. People are said to be taken to remote regions of Russia – but these are rumours.
There is practically no internet in Kherson. Communication has disappeared and even Russian TV channels have stopped broadcasting. That’s why there are so many rumours. We hear Ukraine’s artillery duel with Russia and we wait for release.
I’m used to living like this. I’m feeling philosophical.
In some ways, the living conditions are normal. There is water and electricity, heating works, rubbish is taken out. There is food, but food prices are rising daily. Some shops and hospitals are closed. Although medical equipment has been removed, I read on Facebook that the doctors of the city’s first maternity hospital are delivering babies. Somewhere they found an old gynaecological chair, tools and medicines, and they work. In war, too, children are born. Three pharmacies remained in Kherson. The rest were evacuated. I don’t need medication. I do not complain about my health.
For the past few months, I have been preparing food for the winter. Occasionally, I meet colleagues at work, acquaintances. If there is internet, I advise employees. Sometimes I go to the dacha. I’m reading – mostly fiction and memoirs – and improving my culinary skills. Last Thursday, I met a colleague and went to the grocery store. While I cooked, I talked with relatives. In the evening, I read for two or three hours. Last week, I made 11 litres of grape juice with grapes I picked at the dacha. It took over six hours. In the occupied city, the days go by slowly and monotonously. You need to find something to do.
I don’t feel safe. Russian soldiers can stop you on the street and detain you. They can break into your apartment, search it and take away anything. My apartment has already been searched and we were detained at the dacha, which is near the Antonovsky railway bridge. They thought that we were gunlayers. They beat me up and threw me in jail. They took away my travel equipment – backpacks, tent, money, a phone and a laptop – but nothing incriminating was found and they released me a day later under house arrest. Now the city is in chaos. I will go to the dacha again, to help my friend move to the right bank. Everyone who lives in the dachas have been told to leave by the end of the week.
Those who wanted to leave Kherson and could, left. But we did not have humanitarian corridors and organised evacuation to Ukrainian territory. To leave was either very expensive or you needed your own car. Those who couldn’t afford to leave stayed in Kherson.
All my pro-Ukrainian acquaintances ignored Russia’s “evacuation”, which was mainly used by collaborators and their families, and those who were frightened by their false claims that Ukraine would blow up Kakhovka hydroelectric power station and attack Kherson. This is a journey into the unknown.
I believe that “evacuation” is a voluntary deportation of the population. Blackmail and intimidation of people are used. People were transported by boats across the Dnieper, and then they were transported by buses. We don’t know where these people are. There are various rumours.
I’m not hiding. I live in my apartment. I’m not alone. My cat, Hunter, lives with me. There is a family Telegram chat where every morning there is a roll call – they write to me from Kyiv, Chernivtsi, Bucharest. If there is a connection, I talk to them.
We know what’s going on with everyone.
There are few civilians left in Kherson now. I think 25% to 30%. I live in a multistorey building with 260 apartments. In the evening, no more than 20 windows are lit. Before the war, about 350,000 people lived in Kherson.
Soon, I think the right-bank part of the country will be liberated and that Ukraine will win. I am preparing to fight. I have built up food and water stocks, prepared the gas burner and decided on a reserve place to live. I stocked up on Hunter’s food as well. It is very hard to wait but I believe in liberation. I think it will happen this month.
Life has changed dramatically since Russia’s invasion. For people in occupied Kherson, the main thing now is to survive. I think about what will happen after the war.
When the occupation is over, I dream of seeing all my relatives and friends and returning to a peaceful life. I want to work, relax, travel. Faith in the imminent liberation of the city is keeping me going.
We want to create a family agricultural company and I will definitely go to the Camino de Santiago with my wife. Maybe someone else will join us, too. We had planned to do it back in 2020. But the pandemic happened, then the war. In the 21st century, only bloodthirsty savages are capable of this. They have no place in the civilised world.
As told to Kseniia Kelieberda and Miranda Bryant
