War in Ukraine: Marharyta went back to the country with her father
At the end of May and the beginning of June, my father and I set out on the route Prague – Lviv – Kyiv – Mykolaiv. My father drove a car from Germany and I drove with him. The decision is for Ukraine was spontaneous and at the same time the only possible.
To date, a volunteer car with an experienced driver and a fuel card (again for volunteer cars) are probably the only way to get to their Ukraine and return within a week. In two, it is also safer and knowledge of Czech has also helped at the borders.
Border
The crossing of Vyšná Německá welcomed us with a relatively short front and friendly Slovak border guards. “We’re taking pumps, he needs a temperature regime – he can’t warm up. Is it possible to pass the check in the accelerated regime?
On the Ukrainian side – bustle, fuel tanks, humanitarian supplies. Help is flowing. But it is not, of course, enough. You look at all those tanks at the border and it doesn’t seem to end. But you come right to the first gas station – and you’re lucky if there’s anything at all.
The closer to the border with the EU, the better – in most cases you will find oil somewhere in the city. In Mykolaiv, for example, it happened to us that we had to borrow from a neighbor who had made supplies to go back at all.
Lviv
The lion city lives. It is like the aorta of the Ukrainian body – endless proud people. People from all parts of the country have found refuge and security here. Some go on to Europe, some return home, some stay. At first glance, the war is immediately visible at checkpoints in the city. She is reflected in the boarded up windows of the cathedrals. She wraps the monuments and statues in white cloths.
But the war is not heard in the main square Rynok, where thousands of voices sound at the same time, it is not heard in cafes and bars, where life continues. Yes, life stops sooner – at eleven o’clock, life hides from the curfew. But he continues: when we sat in the cafe at nine o’clock in the evening and sounded the alarm, he could only be heard from the warning on something on the phone. And the street siren was not heard behind the voices of people living their lives.
Buca, Irpin
We planned a trip to Kiev via two of the many martyr cities, via Buča and Irpin. Cities of heroes where I already feel hope in the air. People are welcome, the pain is coming back and there will be lives again.
Residential house, two floors. The fence is like a sieve. (Debris (or better variant for small pieces střel) bullets or submachine guns?) On the broken balcony is spread the Ukrainian flag. At the front door, the holes are such that the living room gradually merges with the street.
And three people are rummaging through that front door. They clean, repair, build the wall and with it new life. And a mother and child walk two blocks through the park. I can’t help but ask myself: “Did their father survive the shooting of the men in Buč? Will he go for a walk with them? ”
There is a car cemetery at the exit from Irpina. These are the cars in which civilians tried to get to safety and which were mercilessly shot by the Russian occupiers. The cemetery has already become the target of a kind of “patriotic tourism”.
If you go further between the cars, you will find yourself surrounded by car skeletons, you will feel a heavy odor. This is probably one of the smells of war. Heavy, slow-moving air, as if cut with a knife. And it has been weeks since the deaths of the passengers …
If you look through the holes in the car bodies, you will see several other identical shots. In one of the cars there is an abandoned bicycle, in the other a warm overalls. Remnants of one’s everyday stories and one’s lives.
He walks on, looking back at the city for the last time and hitting the bridge under which the frightened civilians hid. Here is an overturned bus, and through these ruins a Ukrainian soldier carried a baby in white. The baby in the white jumpsuit probably survived. But is there a chance that a child who wore clothes left in one of the cars also lives?
A man is sitting on a torn bridge, with a camera over his shoulder. He just sits and looks at the gap between Kiev and Bucha. He doesn’t take pictures, he just watches. He may also imagine that he is standing under the bridge and thinking: what is it like?
Kyiv
Quick visit to the capital. Go to the hospital, unload insulin. It’s Sunday night, people usually return home from vacation outside the city. But there are few cars on Povitroflotská Street.
Kyiv is alive, but he is still tired – he is still recovering, gaining strength after the blows.
We made two hours in the evening to walk to the Independence Square (Independence Square). The monument stands. And it will always be there – as well as our independence.
There are “hedgehogs” scattered on the sidewalks of Chreščatek – the laser is already off the road, the traffic is coming to life. But they did not eliminate them completely, because the war did not go anywhere. Majdan Nezaležnosti metro station is closed for entry. “Congratulations!” The man shouts at us happily. “City Day!” On May 29, war-torn Kyiv commemorated its 1540th anniversary. Ukrainian, strong and independent.
Mykolaiv
The city-hero, defender of the Ukrainian South and my hometown.
The occupiers are 30 kilometers from Mykolaiv and you cannot subdue it. And even if they approach the nearest city limits again, the inhabitants are ready: there are folded tires and Molotov cocktails on the corners.
There are far fewer people in the city now. They left to save their lives and the lives of their children. The city is quiet now, especially in the evening. Everything closes sooner, and there is no noise in the background that we are used to without knowing it… It is incredible darkness at night. Camouflage for safety reasons – at home we don’t light up almost anywhere except the kitchen – there my grandmother put thick blankets on the windows.
Dad has a hunting rifle by the bed since the first day of the total invasion. In the event of an air alarm and the sound of explosions, we meet in the garage or cellar. But not always – if people spent every dangerous moment in hiding, we would never have ever lived.
We are lucky (can the word “luck” be used at all?… It is strangely said…) that our house is on the edge of the “risk” area, it does not fly over it too often, more often around.
The next day I was used to it. The next day we sat on the main street of Soborná (formerly Soviet, by the way) and drank coffee while the siren roared. An elderly couple was talking about something on the bench, a cyclist was passing by.
Frankly, when the siren surprises you on the street, you often have nowhere to hide, no open shelters or cellars nearby. I look at the hole in the regional office building, and I see a hole in the heart of every Nicholas.
There is a huge trident on the lawn at the entrance – it once adorned the office building. Now there is an empty “nothing” in his place, as well as in the place of the office of the chairman of the regional administration Kim.
War is completely different when you experience it, not read. I walk down the corridors of the office as I hear the crunch of glass every step of the way. Numerous documents are scattered on the floor – no one cares about them anymore. We took one flower from there, it remained in one of the offices. We’ll keep her alive.
On March 29, one of the guards we met survived the strike. “They sewed me,” he points to his head, “I’m already at work.”
Only media and authorized persons can enter the building. A few journalists from Italy and then the BBC were with us. Photos, live broadcasts, interviews. According to official figures – 36 dead. It is: “Mykolaiv September 11, a monument to the Russian world,” comments the press attaché of the chairman.
The Mykolaiv Regional Authority is just one of the wounds on Mykolaiv’s body. And those wounds will not heal. Although Denmark will help restore the building, the people of Mykolaiv will always see a terrible emptiness in it.
Living in Mykolaiv means reconciling – no one guarantees that tomorrow will happen. But to believe in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, to support territorial defense, to work and support the economy, to fight for sowing and harvesting.
“A lot of people have left, so I’m working as an engineer now. But I’m normally a lab technician during the heating season. “
“I ride my bike to work. About 50 minutes … I’ll wait for them to shoot and I’ll go. “
Living in Mykolaiv means you can meet a friend for coffee (we haven’t seen it in a long time, about a year or two) and not drink it because of the explosions. In the park the boys play basketball, on the playground children on swings, in line for coffee – two pairs of young people.
The first explosion somewhere close – they jumped into place, frowned and thought: are they ours or ours? The second explosion: it’s clear here – it arrived, moreover, somewhere close.
Fast through the park – car – garage. We are coming home – on the way you can see a black column of smoke.
And so lives Mykolaiv!
I brought a fragment of a cluster. They are banned by the Geneva Convention, but used by Russian fascists against the civilian population. This one broke through the window of my own grandmother’s apartment on the fifth floor. I am going to make it a pendant and give it to the children one day – so that they never forget the price of Ukraine’s independence.