For the past three years, Kateryna (not her real name) and her family have remained in Melitopol, a city in Ukraine’s Zaporizhzhia region now under Russian occupation. Leaving for Ukrainian-controlled territory was never an option, given their circumstances. So they stay — waiting, hoping, trying not to lose faith that one day their city will return to Ukraine. One thing hasn’t changed: in the rare moments we manage to speak, it’s always in Ukrainian.
Kateryna doesn’t work. Her days are devoted to looking after her son, who lives with diabetes and is officially recognised as disabled. Her biggest worry is insulin — for now, they still manage to get supplies from Ukraine, by whatever means possible.
“The last time we got it through Turkey,” she says. “I don’t trust the free Russian stuff — it causes all sorts of side effects. As long as there’s any way to get Ukrainian insulin, we’ll never switch to what the occupiers are offering. It’s a matter of principle.”
Her husband works as a private transporter, using their own car to deliver building materials and other goods. “My husband flatly refuses to cooperate with the occupiers or their military in any way. He avoids them at all costs. You simply can’t trust them,” Kateryna says, her voice firm.
Their son, who finished school under occupation, is secretly continuing his studies remotely at a Ukrainian institution. They can’t speak about it openly. Officially, the family can’t afford education in Russian or occupation-run schools due to the war and their financial struggles. The cover story is that the boy simply isn’t studying at the moment.
“We’ve got our own circle of pro-Ukrainian people,” Kateryna continues. “We can talk openly among ourselves — share things, discuss things. But around anyone we’re unsure about, it’s better to stay silent.”
People in Melitopol are also concerned that the years spent under occupation aren’t being counted towards their employment records. After three years in a kind of suspended animation, they remain in limbo, refusing to take jobs that would tie them to the occupiers.
“My son enrolled online at a Ukrainian university,” Kateryna says. “Of course, I’d love for him to study in person in a peaceful Ukraine, but leaving with him is incredibly difficult for a number of reasons.” She pauses. “Above all, there’s the risk of losing our family. My husband would have to stay here. And we’ve seen it happen over and over: families we know have fallen apart, couples have separated when the woman left for Ukrainian-controlled territory with the children and the man stayed behind. Here, at least, we still have a home. Starting over from scratch, with nothing, at my age — it’s incredibly hard.”
She sighs, resigned. “So this is how we live. We don’t dare make the move. Work, home, go out, get groceries — then back to hiding…”
From Melitopol — and even more so from the surrounding rural areas — many people leave for Russia, particularly when their children go there to study.
“From here, it feels like everything in Ukraine is moving forward,” says Kateryna. “Beyond the occupation, there’s civilisation, a modern, developed world. But here, we’re stuck in decline and stagnation. Yet despite everything, we remain loyal to Ukraine and everything Ukrainian.”
She tells a story about her mother. “My mum refuses to take a Russian pension because of her pro-Ukrainian stance. She can’t claim to live comfortably — she only gets a small amount of social assistance. Sometimes I tell her, ‘Just apply — let them spend their money on us!’ But she won’t. No way.”
“There are still people in Melitopol waiting for Ukraine,” Kateryna says. “But life under occupation is incredibly hard for them.”
Most of the city’s businesses remain shuttered, though various construction projects are ongoing. The occupiers are putting up residential buildings and social facilities. Who will work there is anyone’s guess — many doctors have left, and none have returned. In the meantime, locals take on construction jobs or scrape by selling fruit and vegetables at the market.
“I was walking past one of our local hospitals — we call it ‘zelenka’ — when a group of nurses came out,” says Kateryna. “They looked like Buryats, perhaps, but the way they spoke, we couldn’t understand a word, and they clearly didn’t understand us either.”
Currently, the Russian occupation administration in Melitopol is targeting the most vulnerable groups in society. They’re handing out social benefits to low-income families and offering free clubs and activities for children — the familiar Soviet-style tactics of winning people over with handouts.
“There are even some who believe that their lives have improved and now praise the occupiers and Russia,” says Kateryna. “Strangely enough, it’s people from the most disadvantaged groups — pensioners, low-income families, people with disabilities, and large families. They’re now receiving fairly decent pensions and social payments, often more than they had in Ukraine, especially when you factor in local prices for utilities, medicine, and food. It’s much harder for younger, working-age people. There’s little work that pays well, and prices are high across the board. But pensioners and older people — yes, they can afford more now.
That said, things are worse in Mariupol than here in Melitopol,” she continues. “They don’t have the same level of pensions or social support. I know one family whose child has autism — they ended up relocating somewhere near Moscow because in Mariupol there were simply no facilities, services, or support for the child.”
Melitopol has seen an influx of newcomers from Russia. “Sometimes it feels like there are more outsiders than locals. Soldiers have brought their families, and there are plenty of workers and construction crews. We try to avoid contact with them as much as we can,” says Kateryna.
“Many people’s hopes for a swift end to the war and a return to Ukrainian control are gradually fading — and international political shifts aren’t helping. But without hope, we wouldn’t survive. So, we continue to wait, clinging to the belief in a better future — and in Victory,” she concludes.
