I still don’t know if Alina has made it out of Mariupol, or whether she is alive.
When Russian bombs pummeled the Ukrainian city three weeks ago, I lost contact with my smart, resourceful, young translator. After the bombs fell, the city lost electricity and was cut off from water, gas and food. Since then, I have been messaging Alina daily on WhatsApp, hoping she has escaped to somewhere safer, but no replies arrived. (I am not using the last names of Mariupol residents for their safety, as Russian soldiers are kidnapping thousands of them and sending them forcibly to Russian cities.)
It seems impossible to believe that just six weeks ago, Alina and I drove all over Mariupol as if the world were normal. We traveled from the industrial half of the town with its huge steelworks to the beaches lined with modest hotels to the town center with its many restaurants, modern shops and central town square. In the square, the elegant Mariupol Drama Theater was the cultural symbol of the city for 62 years.
