‘Russians are the ones killing us’

‘We’re like sitting ducks’

Oleksandr, 44. The city of Kherson, west bank of the Dnipro River (liberated by Ukraine)

We have been getting by without bread for three weeks: the ovens in bakeries run on electricity, and there’s no power. But it’s better to not have bread than to live in the “Kherson people’s republic”. The water utility department and the thermal power station have been blown up. [Russian soldiers] looted everything: schools, hospitals, museums, fire departments, hotels, and even private houses. But people are happy.

We’re like sitting ducks. Daily shelling is now our biggest enemy. The only thought anyone has is: “God, please spare us.” When you hear the sound of a blast hit somewhere not in your backyard, it means that you’re safe for now.

My solar panels, which I had installed before the Rashists (Rashism, or Russian fascism, is a term used to describe the political ideology of the current Russian government — translator’s note) withdrew, are in working condition, they’re the only way for me to get by. There has been no power, heating, and water for three weeks. 

My heating works off of power, too. Solar panels aren’t enough to use for heating, but everything else in my house works. When the sun is out, I charge my car. Recently, I was able to charge it, so I managed to get some errands done around the city.

Mobile connection has gone back online, the stores are open again. 

The post office and the banks are operating again, so are some cash machines. 

Law enforcement agents are looking for and arresting the collaborators who hadn’t managed to leave in time. I don’t know what will happen to those who received Russian passports. I don’t have any such acquaintances. I think that only a handful of people received them.

Most likely, those who had campaigned for Russia, had helped to carry out the “referendum”, left the city. They understand that people would, let’s say, be out there with pitchforks, looking for them.

I don’t know whether mob justice is on the cards here. I doubt it. But these bastards will not escape justice and prison terms. We’re not Russians, so we won’t be taking people to unknown locations with a black bag on their head in the middle of the night. On the other hand, I can’t answer for people whose relatives were tortured to death because of collaborators’ snitching or bidding.

After Kherson’s liberation, I was finally able to go back to my factory, from where the Orcs (a term Ukrainians use to describe Russian soldiers — translator’s note) had dragged me out with a rifle against my back in March. Our servicemen said that all facilities had been mined, so I shouldn’t go there for now. They say that if somebody is very nosy, they can enter the factory, but no one guarantees the safety of their limbs if they do. 

Basically, I haven’t been back yet, although I’m very curious as to what is left of my factory and what was looted. In any case, I can’t turn the production back on today, even if the guys demine the building — there’s no power.

When the first supermarket opened after the city’s liberation, I made my way there quickly, as did many. There were so many people inside. The queue was stretched from the entrance up to the cash registers.

But I didn’t even go inside the store — I made it only to the cash register — to buy Ukrainian cigarettes. I disliked the Rashist cigarettes so much that I almost quit smoking. I tried all of their brands, the ones which were shipped to the city from Crimea. There must be something wrong with the way they produce them. 

The market is open again, too. But for now, they’re selling the remaining Russian items. 

No one accepts Russian rubles. People don’t have rubles anyway. The people who used them were mostly collaborators and Russian soldiers. They left the city — and so did their currency. 

A lot of humanitarian aid and hot meal distribution points have been opened around the city. If a person can’t leave their house, they have to find a way to let someone know — then food will be delivered to them. It’s important not only to provide humanitarian aid to people but to make them feel protected.

We’re very angry at Russians. Our relationship had been great until Putin attacked Ukraine. My parents are Russian, they moved to the Kherson region from a closed town in the Urals. I was born here, in Ukraine. 

My entire life I spoke Russian, but now I have to speak Ukrainian, because I am ashamed to use the language of the invaders.

On the day of the liberation, I was installing the solar panels on the roof; then I saw a military vehicle drive by. I couldn’t believe it. I thought the Rashists were planning some hoax, that they used the Ukrainian Armed Forces’ colours on purpose, to make people exit their houses. Then I saw many more vehicles drive by — the happiness was overwhelming. 

I haven’t seen any soldiers around the city lately, they went further on their way. The Security Service of Ukraine, police, firemen, and doctors have returned to Kherson. Life is going back to normal, however, we’re constantly being shelled from the east bank [of the Dnipro River]. They fire at random, it’s impossible to guess where the Rashists will fire next. In general, the shelling mostly damages residential buildings.

A shell hit the house of this guy I know; the ceiling fell down in his daughter’s bedroom. The only thing that saved her was the bed having a tall iron headboard; the ceiling fell on it, so the girl didn’t die. 

A few days ago, a mine hit the dog house in a neighbour’s backyard, the dog was killed. The fence between the houses was blown up, the building was damaged, the windows were blown out. Surprisingly, everything was fixed within a day.

Just a few days ago, I was thinking: what is the point of going somewhere else if all of Ukraine is being shelled — you can’t escape your destiny. I know some Kherson residents who were able to escape occupation but ended up under fire and were wounded or even killed by Russian missiles on the Ukraine-controlled territory. 

After the attack on my neighbour’s backyard, I was left with a strong desire to leave, but we will stay for now. My car runs on electricity. As luck would have it, for the last week it’s been cloudy and raining, so I can’t charge it. Even if I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t be able to. 

On the other hand, Kherson has come back to life. People go out in the streets, the looks on their faces are lighter than before. Children are now running around the city. So, we will carry on.

‘We’re not slaves anymore’

Lydia, 75. The city of Kherson, the west bank of the Dnipro River (liberated by Ukraine)

I haven’t been outside once since the day Kherson was liberated. There’s no power, so the lift doesn’t work, and I can’t get far with just my cane after the stroke. Sometimes the mobile connection turns back on, and I can talk [to my relatives] for a couple of minutes. But that doesn’t happen every day. 

There’s no water, power, or gas in my flat. It’s cold, but I have put all the blankets in one room; I get warm, as much as I can. My 15-year-old grandson comes by every day. He tells me the latest news, brings me water and food. Every few days, he takes my phone and takes it somewhere to charge it. 

I live near the river. We get shelled several times a day. My house hasn’t been hit yet. My grandson and I have put duct tape on my windows. 

Everything trembles during explosions, but my windows have remained undamaged for now. 

You know, my husband died a year ago. For half a century, he and I went through all hardships together. 

You won’t believe it but every time I pray to God I say: “Lord, I thank you for not making him go through this.” He was Russian, our children live in St. Petersburg. He wouldn’t be able to survive this: Russians are the ones killing us.

‘I’m tired of being scared’

Natasha, 44. The city of Hola Prystan, the east bank of the Dnipro River (still under Russian occupation)

My children and I continue waiting for the Ukrainian Armed Forces to arrive. It seems that the Rashists realised that local residents were not planning on leaving the city, so everything they had closed down while getting the administration out of Kherson is now open again. Also, all of their restrictions blew up in their faces.

A week ago, I was biking with my kid, going home after seeing my sick father, when a military [vehicle] Tigr stopped beside us. The soldiers asked me where they could find an emergency service. Someone was moaning in the vehicle. But where will they find doctors if their authorities have shut everything down and left?

So, the soldiers drove around the city with their wounded, trying to find any help at all. They went to the city of Skadovsk after. I don’t know if they made it, they needed to drive 60 kilometres before reaching the Skadovsk hospital. But I don’t feel sorry for them at all.

We were left without power and water for some time. The gas didn’t get turned off, so we used it to get warm. We turned on the stove and the oven — if the kitchen is warm, the house isn’t as cold. Everything works now, although with outages. The Russian phone service continues working, although not always. Luckily for us, the Ukrainian service sometimes gets through, too, although there’s still no Internet.

Explosions are heard around the city every day. Last night, the blast was so powerful that my children and I jumped up. But then we looked around: the house was undamaged, we were unhurt — so, we went back to bed. But I couldn’t fall back asleep. I haven’t gotten enough sleep in nine months, but I’m not as frightened as I was in the beginning of the war — I’m tired of being scared, I want to be free of the invaders, and I am ready to endure hardships, waiting for our soldiers to arrive. 

‘Will I be sent to jail?’

Pavlo, 76. The city of Hola Prystan, the east bank of the Dnipro River (still under Russian occupation)

I’m too ill now, I don’t leave the house at all. I had one joy left — I used to go fishing; on the days I had enough strength to move around with my cane. Now, I don’t go anymore — I no longer have the strength to do it, and the river bank has been mined. I was upset when Kherson was liberated. Apparently, Ukraine’s army can reach us, too? And what will happen to us? Will I be sent to jail? I did agree to start receiving the Russian pension when I was no longer able to receive the Ukrainian one. 

My son says that Ukraine’s Armed Forces are burning the houses of the people who received Russian passports and pensions in Kherson. Will they burn down my house, too?

Indeed, I did participate in the referendum. Three women came to my place and said: “Here, sign this.” I only just started asking them questions when a soldier carrying a rifle entered the house. So, I stopped talking and signed the document, just so they would leave.

‘The neighbours try to simulate life inside their houses’

Iryna, 53. The city of Hola Prystan, the east bank of the Dnipro River (still under Russian occupation)

On 18 November, the clinic opened back up in the city; on 21 November, so did the hospital. The doctors who didn’t leave the city are back to work. That’s good news for us. My and my husband’s parents are very sick. Recently, we were thinking of what we should do: if we decide to bring them to Skadovsk, then how do we get there? While we were searching for someone to drive us there for cheap, the doctors came back to work.

We’re not planning on leaving the city — we’re living one day at a time and praying that no shell hits our house. But whatever happens, happens. 

They don’t accept rubles at the market. Nor in the stores. Although we have one store that was opened by Russians, you can pay there using Russian bank cards and cash. But if someone needs to buy something in a pharmacy, they have to go to Skadovsk. The deliveries from Crimea get shipped there. I bought medicine for my mother, it cost twice as much as it does in Crimea.

Russian soldiers built a fortification near our houses, installed machine guns there, and they have been sitting there for days. They go to our neighbours’ places asking for boiled water or to charge their walkie-talkies or phones. How can you say no when they’re entering the house carrying a rifle?

They keep asking whether we have empty houses nearby. But no one near us has left the city. And when it comes to those who did leave, their neighbours try to simulate life inside their houses and flats: they come around in the evenings, turn the lights on. Or someone from the family goes to the neighbours’ house to sleep. And the same happens all around the city. Although [Russian soldiers] still managed to occupy empty houses that they had managed to find in time.

I’m scared of one thing: that they will start shelling Kherson from our area, and then the “response” from Ukraine’s army will come. We thought of moving to my father’s place, but his house is near the river — all surrounding areas were entrenched, the pieces of land untouched having been mined instead. We’re scared to leave our house, to be honest. But we’re scared to stay inside with such “neighbours”, too.