Kyiv has become a frontline city, and winter is on the way. Residents of Ukraine's capital are preparing for power cuts, drone attacks and bitter cold by stocking up on generators, food and 'dry showers'.
A city under constant attack
Since late August, the Russians have been attacking Kyiv repeatedly during daylight hours, rather than only at night. The crump of air-defence, whine of drones and thunder of explosions are now a commonplace waking-hours symphony, disrupting schools and workplaces and threatening life. Warehouses and city petrol stations have been targeted, and at times acrid smoke blurs the clear autumn mornings.
In the Lukyanivka neighbourhood of central Kyiv, the huge shopping complex and market were bombed out and burned in the early summer. Market traders have set up their stalls beside the ruins anyway. One lady, cheerfully presiding over slabs of salo, pork lard, proclaimed that her personal coping mechanism was going to be a plentiful supply of home distilled hooch or horilka. Another stallholder, Halyna, cheerfully selling bouquets of lavender, dahlias and chrysanthemums, was similarly fatalistic. "It will be whatever God sends us," she said.
Memories of last winter's freeze
Winter is something to dread in Kyiv. Last year the cold was terrible – temperatures into the minus 20s – and cruelly long-lasting, persisting well into February. Illustrator Sergiy Maidukov was one of many who lost heating in his flat after the Russians attacked power infrastructure. The indoor temperature dropped to 3C. He kept warm by layering up, but also by going for runs.
"At least for 10 minutes afterwards you felt a like normal person, and you could just wear a T-shirt," he said. He had a steady gas supply, so he could heat up water in a saucepan for a basic wash afterwards. At intervals he'd get up from his work and dance or do push-ups – not an option for the infirm. As film-maker Iryna Tsilyk put it: "Young and strong people – they will survive every time. But how about all those invisible people that we usually don't meet?"
Preparing for the worst
Maria Shuvalova, an editor in academic publishing, described the period two winters ago when, for several days, the water supply failed both in her flat and in her coworking space. She was drinking tea to keep warm while working, then needing the loo. So she would walk the 20 minutes home, pee in a bottle, then return to the coworking space; then drink more tea, and repeat the whole cycle. For bowel movements, there was a plastic bag, knotted and disposed of in the trash. Such details of life were, she joked, "shit you definitely don't want to know".
Now, expecting a baby with her husband, who is serving in the army, Shuvalova's preparation for winter has been detailed and intense. The couple have plans A, B and C – plan A is to stay in Kyiv, but leaving to stay with friends or family further from the Russian missiles is on the table. They have invested in an energy-storage system, a giant battery about the size of a small carry-on suitcase, that can keep appliances going for a day or so. Last winter they were on sale for 160,000 UAH (about £2,700). Cannily, the couple bought one for about half that during the summer.
Shuvalova also opened cupboards to reveal stashes of water, dried grains, rice, and tinned meat. They have a camping stove and a box full of "dry shower" packs – wipes that, with 50ml of water added, can be used to wash. The residents of their apartment block are voting on taking over the running of their own building. If they manage it, they will install a generator to power one of the lifts during power cuts, and a toilet for the bomb shelter – AKA the underground car park.
Hope for spring
Whether fatalistic, downhearted, or meticulously prepared, the boundaries of "acceptable" or "ordinary" have been pushed outwards for Kyivans in ways unimaginable to the inhabitants of other European capitals. Only one thing is absolutely certain this unpredictable, dreaded coming winter: that it will end. According to Maidukov, "In the evening when you are already blue and trembling, you're thinking, 'OK, one day is behind me, and I need to bear maybe two or three more weeks of this, which is not such a long time'." Last winter's freeze, he said, was a "weird period. Each day I was on the edge, about to fall down with my morale, but I didn't allow myself to. Because nothing will stop spring. Spring will definitely come."
