2 years ago
Since Russia launched an attack on Ukraine on Feb. 24, many Ukrainians have joined the territorial defense or fled the country. Even more, however, have stayed in their homes, abiding by the curfew, going to shelters when an attack is expected, and helping their neighbors in any way they can. One of those people is Kateryna Shvedenko, a 26-year-old who lives in Kyiv with her boyfriend Edem Seytyagyayev. She’s an English tutor, a TikToker, and an aspiring entrepreneur and amateur actress. And when her family left Kyiv for a safer location, she stayed behind. This story is a result of many interviews conducted through Telegram texts, audio messages, and audio and video calls that took place over the past week.
We rarely go to the shelter now when the sirens go off. We are tired of being afraid.
When the sirens blare — as they do every couple of hours to warn of upcoming missile attacks — my boyfriend Edem and I sit by the front door of our 16th-floor apartment next to an emergency bag stuffed with food, a change of clothes, documents, medications and cash. We packed it more than a week ago now, just after Russia invaded Ukraine. When we do run to a nearby underground parking structure, we take the bag with us in case we lose our home. Many Ukrainians have a bag like this now.
Several times a day in Darnytskyi, the district of Kyiv where we live, we hear shots and explosions. Mostly they are from miles away, but sometimes I feel our 25-story building shake in response to an explosion. Despite this, we still stay home.
In my 26 years, I did not think Russia would attack Ukraine in the brutal and decisive way that it did.
That’s why, when I was woken up by an unfamiliar noise on Feb. 24, I didn’t think it was the first sound of war. It was 5:35 a.m., and I was at my childhood home in Boryspil, a town about a 30-minute drive away from Kyiv, visiting my parents.
Those are just fireworks, I thought. Or something on the railroad. These things happen. Definitely not a war.
I even called Edem and told him that it was fireworks that woke everyone in the house up.
“Fireworks at 5 a.m., can you believe it?”
“It’s not fireworks,” I recall him telling me. “We have the same thing happening here in Kyiv.”
My mother came into my room, and we both stood by the window looking into the unusually orange sky. It sounded like something was burning in the distance and soon the air started to smell. I Googled something like “war in Ukraine” and was in disbelief after several credible articles showed up saying that Russia was planning to launch a war on Ukraine that day.
Edem came to pick me up from Boryspil soon after my call. My parents and extended family decided to go to a village where it was much safer than in Kyiv, but I wanted to be with my boyfriend in our apartment. As we were loading my bags into his car and promising my parents to be safe, neighbors came up to us crying and asking where we were going. No one knew what to do, where to run and what to expect.
Ukrainians are not new to turmoil; neither are we new to the need to stand up for our country. Just nine years ago, there were mass protests in Kyiv that captured the attention of both Ukrainians and foreign observers. I came to the protests at Independence Square, also known as the Maidan, when I was 17, as a political tourist of sorts. There, I saw Ukrainians of all ages and backgrounds coming together to stand up for the future they believed Ukraine deserved.
Something changed within me, and I kept coming back in the following months. I sometimes skipped classes in college and stayed overnight in a large tent with other protesters, going days without a shower. As the tension between the protesters and the regime grew to what would become known as the Maidan Revolution of February 2014, people in my tent began making Molotov cocktails in addition to the hot teas and sandwiches we had been providing.
There was one day when police started shooting at us. I remember running to our tent to grab my bag with my passport because a friend told me not to let the police find it at any cost. After I got it, I ran for my life with a crowd away from the special riot police who were shooting at our backs. Some people fell, others were carrying their injured friends.
The revolution culminated with an overthrow of the Ukrainian government along with then-president Viktor Yanukovych. The total death toll was about 130, including the police. Soon after, Russia invaded, seized Crimea and started a conflict in Donbas. I didn’t think it would last that long; I thought we would get it back within months. But things have only gotten worse.
Despite living through the Maidan, the recent morning of Feb. 25 in Darnytskyi, after my return from Boryspil, was one of the scariest of my life. Around 5 a.m., Edem and I heard a sudden loud sound, as if someone broke hundreds of windows at once. At first, we hid in the bathroom, but then we grabbed our bags and ran to an underground parking structure about 600 feet away. As we ran, we heard bursts in the distance, and I saw a man I couldn’t recognize breaking the door of a store near us. We were so scared.
We spent that night at the shelter along with 200 other people holding tightly to their kids and pets. People, however, managed to ease up, chat and even laugh at some memes they saw online. I read a book I packed for myself and caught a couple of hours of sleep. After all, it’s simply impossible to be scared all the time.
Edem and I have adjusted to the new life with sirens and sounds of shots. We even have the luxury to get bored sometimes. I spend a lot of time reading news and making TikTok videos — before the war, I liked making videos promoting the popularization of the Ukrainian language. While many people in Ukraine grew up speaking mostly Russian, my family always prioritized Ukrainian. I love our history and our traditions — I’m a proud Ukrainian through and through. I even have a map of Ukraine tattooed on my upper chest above my heart. The couple of videos I posted since the war started were just funny ones about patriotism.
Earlier this week, Edem and my father both signed up for the territorial defense forces, Ukraine’s military reserve. People stand in long lines to sign up because so many want to fight. My grandfather tried to sign up as well, but he is 70 and they turned him down. Edem and my dad have been expecting a call back for several days now. They don’t have experience handling a gun and so far, Ukraine has been favoring volunteers who do.
I spend a lot of time on Telegram channels connecting volunteers and people who need help, and it warms my heart to see how much Ukrainians want to help each other. People post about needing groceries or medicine or a ride to a hospital, and volunteers in the vicinity come to their aid. For days now, Edem and I have been trying very hard to find an opportunity to contribute, but it’s very competitive. Some requests in our area get deleted within five minutes after being posted, because someone already claimed the task. Other times, I call people who asked for help, often women with young kids, and they beg me to delete their number because they got the assistance they needed with groceries or supplies from several volunteers, and they keep getting calls.
After days of searching, I finally found something: There is a big need for contact lenses because the stores selling them are closed. Can you imagine being in territorial defense and not being able to see clearly? I managed to find people willing to donate some of their supplies, and I’ve called local stores trying to persuade them to open and let us buy in bulk if we must.
I think Putin miscalculated: He underestimated how hard Ukrainians are willing to fight for our country. Watching how Ukrainians came together to protect our motherland and help each other through the hard times makes me feel hopeful. I don’t think that Russia can ever take over Ukraine. There are too many of us willing to fight until our last breath, for years, if we must. A lot of us will die, but it’s just a matter of time until we win.
English (US)