LIFE IN KYIV
AT the weekend, a small group of European leaders visited Kyiv to join President Zelensky in pledging that Ukraine would fight on against Russia’s all-out invasion. It seemed a little underwhelming.
Two years earlier, February 24 fell on aThursday, and I awoke more concerned about being out of a job than of the blaring of air raid sirens.
It all seemed so unreal, on the one hand, and so familiar on the other.
Sometimes reality takes time to set in, to wake us from our slumber, from the dreams that give us child-like hope, but also cloud our vision as adults.
February 24, to me, was the next rite of passage in the life of a nation. But unlike during the childhood challenges of its past, independent Ukraine is now fighting for its life as well as that of future generations.
On February 25, 2022, everyone was fleeingWest. Mile-long columns of Russian tanks and APVs had surrounded the city as street fighting got closer to the centre.
Explosion
My local grocery store was also under assault by a line of people so long, until all that was left was some really expensive imported stuff.
Cement pill boxes manned by uniformed volunteers with Kalashnikovs appeared at intersections overnight. A careless photo found on your phone could get you bound, hooded and hauled off in the back of a jeep for interrogation.
I would tell them I’m going to the grocery store, then to church, then to check on my family, gradually making my way across town.
The church was a real oasis, where I would share some soup and bread that the nuns were serving with a new friend from Congo, who had been kicked out of his flat and forced to live in the Metro.
When the Russians withdrew, I hitched a ride with the military, first north to Kyiv’s devastated northern towns. As we exited Kyiv, I could see all the apartment blocks standing burnt out or shot up. Further on, the villages were littered with charred tanks and lightly dressed corpses, many Russian or Buryat.
By autumn, life in the capital had returned to a routine, at least until the Russians started hurling missiles at our heating and power plants.
Freezing in a dark flat with a torch attached to my head like a coal miner became the new normal. Cafes with power points were suddenly overcrowded with people trying to charge their phones.
By spring 2023, air attacks had become more sophisticated with the Russians launching waves of drones in the late evening followed by missile attacks at dawn.
I saw a drone assault on an anti-aircraft battery that turned out to be located only about 100 yards from my home.The rounds from the guns lit up the sky, the drones hummed, spluttered then burst in a loud explosion when hit, their remnants crashing down upon the urban landscape below.
Not much has changed since then, except the mood, largely influenced from reports that support from America is drying up, that the Russians may win after all, so why help Ukraine, especially as the army is finding it harder and harder to find men willing to fight.
Two years ago, in the days leading up to February 24, the mood was no less dismal. But the faith of a relative few fuelled great success against overwhelming odds. Ukraine’s fight for independence did not start two years ago, nor even in 2014, but from the day the Soviet Union fell apart. And anyone in Ukraine, Europe or North America who welcomed that moment must understand that it’s going to require more than child-like enthusiasm, noble words or the laying of wreaths at war memorials in Kyiv to finish the job.
As for me and everyone else who has believed in Ukraine’s independence, especially those who have made heroic sacrifices towards that end, the memories will live on, as will the nation, for as long as someone is ready to support it, fight for it and believe in it.