Today, Kyiv once again fell victim to shelling, adding to the long list of Ukrainian cities enduring relentless Russian air raids, including Mykolaiv, Kharkiv, and the Lviv region. The air defence system successfully intercepted some twenty missiles over the capital. With my wife, now in her ninth month of pregnancy, we sought refuge in the basement of our building around six o’clock in the morning. Fortunately, our basement is well-equipped with multiple sofas, chairs, and mattresses lining the walls, providing ample seating options in case more people arrive and need to sit on the floor. Typically, there aren’t too many people present, just enough to occupy the available seating. Occasionally, someone may have to stand when the shelling persists, as was the case on December 29, 2023. Families, often accompanied by pets, seek shelter here. And then there’s us—my pregnant wife and me.
So, this time, we went down to the basement around six o’clock. We sat there for about an hour. We heard the sounds of the first explosions. Like everyone else, we hastily scanned through numerous telegram channels, hoping to read what we wanted, and finally, there it was: it was reported that there were no more Russian rockets in the Ukrainian airspace, except for the one heading towards the Polish border. So, we made our way back home. Just as we reached our sixteenth floor and started to change to get some rest, a new alert came through—there was another new group of Russian missiles heading in our direction.
Thus, we decided to go down again. As we were getting ready, we heard several loud bangs that prompted us to hurry up. Upon reaching the shelter, we encountered the same familiar faces we’d seen before. Following yet another explosion, the saleswoman, a chubby blonde from the shop on the first floor, rushed inside the shelter. She grumbled about some guy who looked like he indulged in alcohol last night a bit too hard, popping into her shop and asking for a free gin and tonic. Of course, she turned him down.
Around then, images of blazing high-rise apartments in our neighbourhood popped up on a few Telegram channels. After about thirty minutes of calm, we figured it was safe to head back home again—no more rockets streaking across the sky, and our stomachs were grumbling for breakfast. Stepping out onto the balcony of our 16th-floor flat, I spotted a thick cloud of black smoke a few kilometres away. The building was ablaze—later, we learned at least four innocent souls perished there, and another 40 were injured and the count rising. We whipped up some cheese sandwiches, sizzled a batch of eggs with sausages, and sat down for breakfast.
On December 29th, we made our first trip to the shelter nestled in the basement of our building—a day marked by the interception of 88 Russian cruise missiles across Ukraine. In Kyiv, our capital, 33 lives were lost in the onslaught, marking it as one of the most intense barrages we’ve experienced so far. Prior to this, our usual refuge from Russian attacks was within our apartment, strictly following the now too-familiar “two-wall rule” in the corridor. For instance, on November 25, 2023, explosions echoed throughout the night as 70 Shahed kamikaze drones headed towards Kyiv. Before that, on May 29, 2023, the drone debris struck a nearby high-rise block, taking the life of a woman on the upper floor. At that time, we were renting another apartment in the same area.
On November 25, we spent the entire night in the corridor, anxiously awaiting the end of the Russian bombardment. We had a long-anticipated appointment at the marriage registration office scheduled for 9:30 am. By around 8:30 am, we were already dressed and eagerly waiting, but there was still no official announcement of the air raid’s end. Finally, around 8:50, the all-clear signal came. We grabbed a bottle of champagne, hopped into the car, and drove off. After the appointment, we treated ourselves to some çibereks at a Crimean Tatar restaurant…
