Life in Kiev, the deserted capital
by Rémy Ourdan, Le Monde, 19 March 2022, translation Deepl
https://www.lemonde.fr/international/article/2022/03/19/guerre-en-ukraine-la-vie-a-kiev-dans-une-capitale-desertee_6118235_3210.html
REPORTAGE -- Bite into a croissant on the terrace of a bakery-café, do some shopping in a grocery store with raided shelves, sit down in one of the few open restaurants or paint in the sun. During the rare moments of respite, the inhabitants who have remained in the Ukrainian capital cling to a semblance of normality.
Between the two extremes of exodus and armed struggle, there is a semblance of ordinary life in Kiev, in this capital of Ukraine fighting for its existence, to the rhythm of the air raid sirens and the bombardment of the Russian artillery that strikes at the gates of the city.
The first sign of life in Kiev, every morning at dawn, appears at the central station Pasazhyrskyi. While the Russian army gradually cut off the roads leading to the city, the trains were still running. If the station was, with the convoys of buses, the symbol of the exodus during the first weeks of the war, it has almost returned to its original appearance. The ticket offices and platforms are no longer besieged by desperate crowds trying to flee before the Russians, as the Kievians feared, razed or invaded the city. The capital has already been emptied of almost half its population: 1.6 million inhabitants have left and 2 million have remained, according to the city hall. Seeing the darkened buildings and unlit windows in the evening, this is probably a minimum estimate.
In the train station, where soldiers and policemen keep watch, the stores are closed. Pavlo, the only shopkeeper now, serves coffee to the few travelers. He used to work in a shop in the city, and believes he has not lost out. "They say that the train station is the safest place in town. Well, that's what they say... Well, yes," adds Pavlo, "I heard that the best anti-aircraft defense in the city is around the station." He himself smiles at this popular belief, as if the railway station was better protected than strategic buildings, places of power or military bases.
The five cab drivers beating the pavement in front of Pasazhyrskyi station are out of work. No one uses cabs in town anymore," says Volodymyr. The only customers are refugees fleeing the suburbs" because of the Russian military advance, and those who come to catch a train to the west of the country. The idle driver laughingly mutters a few phrases of French that he used to quote to tourists. How far away do those times of peace seem now...
The city wakes up. The winter cold is still biting but, since a few days, the weather has changed from snow to sunshine. The bakery-cafe La Fabrique opens its doors. With the old French owner back home, three employees decided a few days ago to reopen this place where chic ladies come to buy bread and pastries. "People are so happy that we are open, they come from all over Kiev," says the waitress. Bread is one of the hard-to-find commodities in the city, where only a few bakeries continue to operate.
Mainly military activity
While at a table in front of the shop window, three women are having a morning coffee and laughing out loud, the customers come and go. Baguettes, rye bread, "classic" French croissants and Ukrainian-style filled croissants are all in demand. In a few hours, there will be nothing left. If the success of the bakery is confirmed, the three employees are thinking of relaunching the pastry shop as well.
Kiev lives in a very strange atmosphere. Once the shock of the declaration of war on February 24 and the first air raids had passed, followed by two weeks of exodus for some, or life in the shelters for others, it is as if a certain normality was returning to a capital that is almost deserted, at least from the point of view of civilian life. For the activity in the city is essentially military, in the face of columns of Russian tanks that have arrived about ten kilometers from the city limits, to the northwest and northeast. The time has come to engage in territorial defense, to fortify military positions and checkpoints, to engage in armed resistance. Without knowing what awaits the capital, between an encirclement effort - which is currently extending to the western flank - or a brutal assault attempt.
In Victory Square, where the city's liberation from Nazi occupation by the Red Army is celebrated every year - on November 6, 1943 - and which is ironically today one of the axes of a possible invasion by the Russian army, the Silpo supermarket tries to provide for the needs of the inhabitants. One saleswoman says that the main items missing are "potatoes, onions, eggs and milk," but there are still pasta and canned goods, and even some fruit and vegetables.
The first aile to be stormed at the beginning of the war, as in all grocery stores in Kiev, was tobacco's. It is rarely restocked, and immediately raided. "It's normal, the cigarettes go first to the soldiers," says a young girl. Others pout. The lack of cigarettes becomes a problem that makes some people nervous. "I still have tobacco," says a young man, "but no more leaves to roll." He seems distraught for a brief moment, before picking himself up and smiling, aware that this is not really here nor there when Kiev's survival is at stake.
At the Musafir restaurant, one of the very few establishments still open in Kiev, near another highly symbolic square, that of Independence and the "Maïdan revolution", families and loving couples come to taste Crimean Tatar cuisine. Despite the scarcity of food, there are still tcheboureks and yantiks - beef or mutton turnovers, classic or fried - and cheese naans. Musafir serves them with Georgian tarragon- or vanilla-flavoured lemonade. The war seems far away for a few moments, until a new air raid siren sounds.
Islands of survival
In the Ukrainian capital, partly deserted and turned in on itself, La Fabrique and Musafir are islands of survival appreciated by the rare inhabitants who dare to go outside. There is also the "X", an underground café that very few know about - and whose name and location we will not mention, as the place is illegal -, the only bar to serve alcohol clandestinely. Alcohol has been forbidden in Kiev since the government and the mayor's office distributed tens of thousands of Kalashnikovs to the territorial defense volunteers, not necessarily all of whom are familiar with the use of weapons.
Larysa Pukhanova laughs at the sirens. After three weeks "cloistered knitting socks", this painter felt "inspired by the return of the sun". She picked up her brushes again. After painting the monument of the founders of Kiev, on the bank of the Dnipro river, she set up her easel in the Shevchenko park. She paints the statue of the poet and the red facade of the national university. She never goes down to the shelters anymore. "I think no one goes there anymore."
Apart from the gardeners and the artist, only the birds in the park remain to keep company to the spirit of Taras Shevchenko.
"At my death, stand up, brothers,
Tear off your chains,
Let the enemy's blood sprinkle
A free and healthy life," he wrote in Testament.
Ukrainians often refer to the famous poet, seeing in Taras Shevchenko, a long-time prisoner in Russia who never stopped writing clandestinely about Ukraine, the embodiment of their taste for freedom.
A siren sounds. Larysa quietly continues to paint. "I'm not afraid anymore, it's over."