War reporter Hans Jaap Melissen tells the story of the people behind the war in Ukraine for NU.nl. This week he stayed near the front at Bakhmut, in eastern Ukraine. “I’m not going to an air raid shelter, because then you’ll be trapped under the rubble.”
“Kijk, dit is de sleutel van jouw appartement. Het is op de bovenste verdieping”, zegt mijn tijdelijke huisbaas.
De hotels in Kostiantynivka zijn dicht, dus heb ik ‘via via’ dit appartement geregeld in deze half verlaten stad, die een uitvalsbasis vormt voor de Oekraïense troepen bij Bakhmut. “Is er niks op de begane grond?”, vraag ik. In een land waar steeds meer bovenste verdiepingen van gebouwen worden weggeschoten, is zo laag mogelijk logeren een betere optie. Maar helaas.
Even later stappen we het appartement binnen. Het ruikt er naar riool, en het is van iemand die gevlucht is. “Ik zal je nog iets laten zien.” We lopen het balkon op en ik kijk naar de overburen, of wat daar nog van over is. Een heel stuk van het identieke gebouw is weggebombardeerd. Een weinig bemoedigend uitzicht, ook al zou de schade van maanden geleden zijn.
The war never sleeps
The wry view comes on top of the experience of a few hours earlier in Kostiantynivka.
When I had just arrived and was having lunch in a restaurant full of soldiers, there was a loud bang. Much louder than the explosions of the battle around Bakhmut that you keep hearing here. A projectile had landed near the cultural center of the city: a lot of damage to the facade, but no serious injuries. The happiness of a city half empty. Shopkeepers who had received shrapnel and pieces of stone against their facades swept it all together and lived on.
I also swept my worries into a garbage bag and fell asleep pretty quickly that night. Every now and then I woke up to new explosions in the distance. After all, the war never sleeps.
Ontvang een melding als hij een nieuw verhaal heeft geschreven
‘Thanks to the Ukrainian army I can stay here’
The next morning I check to see if this neighborhood is still alive.
Older ladies in thick hats shuffle carefully through the snow to the supermarket. I don’t hear the sound of children anywhere. Families have almost all moved away from here. Soldiers do appear from various staircase portals. Some of them are standing around an old Lada Niva with the hood open. The men try to get the off-road vehicle running again and a little later drive to their ‘work’: the front line at Bakhmut. They pass a gas station that does good business thanks to the heavy military traffic.
Natalia (63) meets me in the snow. She was retired, but went back to work for the gas company. Because so many employees have left for elsewhere. “I make sure people here still have gas. And I need the money in addition to my pension, because prices have risen so much.” It is indeed warm in my apartment, and there is also permanent electricity. I understand that this has been arranged extra well because so many soldiers are here, who need to be able to recover comfortably from the battle.
Natalia says she is often very scared when bombs fall. But she doesn’t want to leave. “Thanks to the Ukrainian army I can stay here, they defend the city. I have lived here all my life and I also take care of my elderly mother-in-law.” She is not afraid that the Russians will immediately be in Kostiantynivka if Bakhmut falls. “Even if this becomes the new Bakhmut, I want to stay as long as possible.” She says she misses friends and acquaintances very much in this quiet neighbourhood.
‘We see people returning because their money ran out’
Inna is behind the counter in the supermarket on the corner. “Prices have risen a lot because of the war. They are sometimes two to three times as high. Eggs used to cost 25 and now 66 hryvnia (about 1.69 euros, ed.).”
She notices that customers only buy what they really need. Some products are hardly sold anymore. The corner with sweets remains almost untouched, because there are hardly any children around. “And we no longer sell macaroni, because that is in the aid packages that humanitarian organizations hand out.”
Another employee, Svetlana, lives above the supermarket and was at home when the bomb fell across the street. “I immediately ducked under the table.” She never goes to a bomb shelter. “Because then you will soon be trapped under the rubble.” None of the employees want to leave Kostiantynivka. “Something like that costs money. We’ve seen refugees return because their money ran out,” says Inna.
“I have a bottle of champagne ready for the win”
Further in the neighborhood, two soldiers are standing outside: Vladimir and Victor. Vladimir says that he has rented an apartment on behalf of his combat unit, where a few soldiers can relax in turn. “A shower, a bed, a washing machine.” Simple things, but a gift if you have to fight in the trenches near Bakhmut.
They’ve only just moved into this flat. “We first stayed in a different neighborhood, but local residents had passed on to the Russians where we were.” According to him, many old people who grew up in the Soviet Union and who are pro-Russian live in this area.
On the door of the entrance to my staircase are stickers advertising minibus services to Moscow, from a time that now seems long ago. The same door is also a kind of public pillory: a list of which apartments have not yet paid their waste levy, with the amount added. Quite a list, because most of the residents are waiting elsewhere to see what will happen with this war.
Natalia from the gas company believes that Ukraine – though now close to Bakhmut – will prevail in the end. “I already have a bottle of champagne ready for that. If that happens, you have to come and celebrate with me,” she says beaming.
But for now it still looks bleak for Bakhmut: the Russians are making progress. Even if it’s very little. And in order not to turn Kostiantynivka into the next Bakhmut, the front line has to go the other way.
‘Before the war’ seems like an eternity ago
On the last evening I look again at the dark hole directly in front of me and the few windows next to it that are lit. The Lada Niva is also parked below again, without war damage. Whether the apartments are inhabited or uninhabited: all residents live in a new reality. ‘Before the war’ seems like an eternity ago.
I turn off my light and fall asleep again with the same thought that other people in this neighborhood cling to: the chance that exactly you will be hit by that one missile remains small. Although my neighbors across the street undoubtedly think otherwise.
