On February 24, 2022, the first Russian missiles landed in Kyiv. At five in the morning, my wife and I woke up to the sound of explosions. It was very hard to believe that the war had begun. I mean, it was already clear that he had, but I didn’t want to believe that. You have to get used psychologically to the idea that the war has begun. Because from that moment on, the war determines your way of life, your way of thinking, the way you make decisions. We decided to leave for our home in the village 90 kilometers (56 miles) away. I checked Google Maps and saw that the exit from Kyiv to the west, in the direction of our village, was open. We packed up, took food from the fridge and freezer, loaded it into the car and hit the road. But when we reached the west exit of the city the traffic was still. Among the cars there were many with license plates from other cities: Dnipro, Zaporizhia, Kharkiv, even Donetsk and Luhansk. I realized that these drivers had been on the road for at least two days. You could see it in their pale faces, in their tired eyes, in the way they drove. Andrei Kurkov. was photographed in London earlier this month. Photo: Andy Hall/The Observer On the way, my wife called her friend Lena, a music teacher at the Kiev art school, and asked her if she would like to join us in the village. Lena couldn’t make up her mind. Then she said yes, she would come with her son. They came out on the street and waited 20 minutes before we arrived at our meeting point. They made their way between trucks and buses to get to our car and got into the back seat, suitcase and all. Now the car was full. The journey to the village, which usually takes an hour, took four and a half. We drove by abandoned, wrecked cars, looked at the guns and tanks set up for the defense of Kiev. We saw a lot of military equipment driving in both directions on the right side of the highway, which is usually used by cars going to Kyiv. Very few were now moving in that direction. It was hard on my heart. Nobody said a word. I turned on the car radio and we listened to the news from the front. The front today is 3,000 km long, the length of the border with Russia and Belarus. Kharkiv and Mariupol were being bombarded, hundreds of tanks had entered the territory of Ukraine in many places, including from Crimea. Ballistic missiles flew from the territory of Belarus to Ukrainian cities. The news didn’t calm us down, but it got us out of the traffic jam. When we reached the village, I turned off the radio and everything became quiet. No explosions or gunfire. The birds sang, rejoicing in the coming of spring. We brought things home, made tea. I set up my desk for work, opened my laptop, and then a friend from Kyiv called me and asked: “Where are you?” I told him. He advised us to go further west immediately. A woman in Kyiv prays on the day Putin announced a “special military operation” in eastern Ukraine. Photo: Daniel Leal/AFP/Getty Images The day before the war started, our children, including our daughter who had flown in from London, had gone with their friends to the beautiful city of Lviv in western Ukraine. They wanted to visit the cafes, the museums, the medieval streets of the old center. We decided to join them. The 420 km journey took 22 hours. The traffic jam varied in length, from 10 to 50 miles. We found our children disoriented and sad. Not far from the house they were renting, I noticed a gun shop. It was still closed, but there was a line of people in front of it. In the queue were men, young boys and girls, waiting for the starting time. I realized that I hadn’t called my older brother or my two cousins before I left Kyiv. I went easy on my older brother. He said he was sitting at home and heard the sounds of the explosions. I didn’t make it to my cousins. I wonder when I will see it all again. The bombed bread factory in Makariv, April 19. Photo: Alexey Furman/Getty Images
March 8, 2022
In the Ukrainian countryside, there is a long tradition of having plenty of bread on the table and eating it with butter and salt or dipping it in milk. In our village shop, we would buy our favorite Makariv loaf – a soft, white, brick loaf. It was baked at the well-known Makariv Bakery in the town of the same name, 20 km from our village. Occasionally, you can find this bread in Kyiv, but only in small corner shops, not in supermarkets. I have been thinking about this Makariv bread for several days now – I remember the taste. Only now, while I remember, I feel the taste of blood on my lips, like when I was a child and someone tore my lips in a fight. The fact is that the Makariv furnace was bombed on Monday by Russian troops. The bakers were at work. I can imagine the fragrant smell that surrounded them the moment before the attack. In one moment, 13 employees of the bakery were killed and nine were injured. And the bakery no longer exists – Makariv bread is a thing of the past.
March 9, 2022
We are now in an apartment in Transcarpathia, west of the Carpathians. This morning I went to the lock shop again. There are four of us, but we only have one set of keys. We need to make at least two more sets, but there are no key blanks available. It is a new kind of ellipse, one common throughout western Ukraine. The cities are full of refugees. They are welcomed into homes, given rooms and apartments, settled in hostels and schools. But most of them need keys. A woman and a child on a bus leaving Kyiv after the invasion. Photo: Emilio Morenatti/AP This apartment was given to us by a pensioner named Larisa whom I have never met before – a relative of our friends. She went to live with her daughter and wouldn’t even take food out of the fridge. He told us to eat it ourselves. The apartment looks like my late parents’ apartment – it’s like a Soviet-era museum. Two rooms, a small kitchen, toilet and bathroom. There was no heating or hot water at first. The day before the attack on Ukraine, the boiler broke down. At night, the temperature drops to -1C or -2C. We left most of our warm clothes in Kyiv. Actually, we didn’t think much about what to take with us. We thought we would go to the village, not far from Kyiv, and come back very soon. I think that always happens at the beginning of a war.
March 24, 2022
More and more children are traveling alone to Poland, Slovakia and Hungary – with small backpacks and notes sewn into jackets containing their parents’ phone numbers, the children’s names and the addresses of the people who should pick them up. I’m coming guys. Many families also travel with other people’s children trying to make sure all the seats in their cars are occupied. Every empty seat in a car going to western Ukraine is a life not saved. Romana Yaremyn poses in the bookstore she runs in Lviv on April 20, among hundreds of books evacuated from her bookstore and publishing house in the troubled Kharkiv. Photo: Yuriy Dyachyshyn/AFP/Getty Images
March 30, 2022
When we became refugees, we left all our books in Kyiv. Now, since my first wartime trip to Europe, I have a few books again – gifts from my English publisher. I wonder when I will be able to take these books home and add them to my library. Nothing is published in Ukraine now, and I can’t imagine it being read much among Ukrainians. I don’t read, although I try. War and books are incompatible. But after the war, books will tell the story of the war. They will make his memory, form opinions and stir emotions. In Mariupoli and other cities of the south and east, bookstores were destroyed along with their books. In other cities they simply closed. When they reopen, it will mean that peace has come to Ukraine. When a bookstore reopens in Mariupol, it will mean much more.
April 4, 2022
Most writers, intellectuals and artists are now concentrated in Lviv, a city that has long been the cultural capital of Ukraine. There the bookstores are open, but the customers are few. Instead of books, writers now write news columns, broadcast radio programs and participate in informational projects. There are those who have stayed in Kyiv and write from there about life in the war. There are also those who have joined the armed forces and there are also those who are no longer – those who have been killed at the front. The Kalush Orchestra celebrates its victory for Ukraine in the Eurovision Song Contest. Photo: Rolf Klatt/Rex/Shutterstock
May 18, 2022
Once again, for the third time this century, Ukraine won the Eurovision Song Contest. Each of the country’s victories in this competition came in the wake of the historic upset. I want to believe that this year’s victory will be the last for many years. I don’t usually watch Eurovision and I missed it too, but I’ve heard the winning song and I love it. Above all, I like the solidarity of the Europeans who voted for Ukraine. For several days now, Ukrainian Facebook has been buzzing with the joy that resulted from this victory. Ukrainians joke that Putin woke up last Sunday morning and was horrified to hear that Ukraine had won. It took him a while to realize that Ukraine won Eurovision, not the war – not yet.
