When I received the news that I would be travelling to Ukraine for a week in March, my immediate reaction was excitement.
I guess only journalists look forward to visiting active conflict zones.
I would be lying if I said the questions from family and friends did not cultivate a slight concern in the back of my mind.
“Are you nervous?” “Is it safe?” “What about your wife and kids?”
But the whole reason for the visit was to dispel the misinformation being spread about the conflict and what the beleaguered East European country really looks like.
I was part of a delegation hosted by the Centre for Information Resilience (CIR) whose sole aim is to allow visitors to engage with people on the ground to form their own views rather than rely on some biased media reports.
Obviously, the country is still at war with Russia.
The eastern regions are still very much a no-go zone for non-military personnel and drone strikes on major cities in central Ukraine are frequent.
Every major hotel has converted its basement into a makeshift bomb shelter and most buildings have an underground section where you can take cover in case of an emergency — and I saw plenty of these hideouts in the six days I spent there.
Upon arrival you are told to download Air Alert — an app that sounds a heart-stopping siren whenever there is any kind of airborne military activity in your vicinity.
This could be a drone, a fighter jet or a ballistic missile, and each has its own inherent threat level that determines how urgently you need to get to a shelter.
While the app has surely saved countless lives, it has become a form of psychological warfare.
In six nights, I only had one full night’s sleep. The other five, somewhere between midnight and 2am, I would be woken up by Air Alert to make my way to a basement and spend a few sleepless hours waiting for an attack that would luckily never come.
Despite the ever-present threat of air strikes, and the knowledge that the borders of their country are still at war, the streets of Odesa and Kyiv showed no signs of fear.
Outside the midnight to 5am curfew, the city centre of the capital was a hive of activity.
A constant stream of traffic filled the cobbled streets, mothers strolled along the pavements with prams and toddlers, and there was even the odd social media influencer taking pictures outside one of the many street cafes.
One underground tunnel, which allows pedestrians to get to the other side of the road safely, turned out to be an expansive subterranean shopping mall, while another tunnel further up the road served as a breathtaking and colourful flower market.
The city has a strong coffee culture.
When I say strong, I mean every street corner has a little coffee window with a unique blend and talented barista.
But I also mean the coffee could keep a buffalo awake for two days straight — which helped keep me going through the Air Alert-induced exhaustion.
In Odesa, seeing women walking their dogs alone in the pitch-dark streets at 10pm is a common sight — a stark reminder that despite the ongoing conflict, crime levels have not reached SA’s standards.
But while the bustling city centres created the illusion of normal life, you did not have to look far for a reminder of the devastation the full-scale Russian invasion has caused since it started in February 2022 and reached the threshold of the Ukrainian capital.
Halfway between the Kyiv city hall and the presidential palace, a solemn atmosphere clings to the iconic Independence Square where a sea of tiny blue and yellow Ukrainian flags have been planted to signify the lives lost over the last three years.
Walking among the flags there are hundreds of framed pictures with the smiling faces of soldiers, volunteers and civilians who have died.
Flags from dozens of other countries, and makeshift shrines to their fallen troops, are a testament to the support the rest of the world has shown Ukraine.
The devastation is further tangible in the apathy shown by residents when the Air Alert goes off.
“If we keep running to the shelters, we’ll get no work done,” one cafe patron said as she put her phone on silent and took a sip of coffee, unbothered.
Apparently, three years down the line, one drone is no longer cause for alarm.
On the outskirts of the city, the devastation is more tangible as the villages of Irpin, Bucha and Moschun are still dotted with the remains of bombed buildings or entire streets left in ruin, and where people told of needless bloodshed and violence that had wiped out entire families.
On the other hand, this was also where I met some of the most incredible people with stories of resilience and national pride, while others played a pivotal role in the survival of the Kyiv and the Ukrainian resistance.
Bottom line, Ukraine is a beautiful country with a rich heritage and vibrant culture that has overcome immeasurable hardship, and the only thing that rivals the strength of the people who live there is the amazing coffee they brew.
The visit to Ukraine was facilitated by Panterra, a global research and advisory company that provides world governments, large corporations and individuals with strategic assistance.
The Herald
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