The way of life in Ukraine

At 8:30 a.m. on Nov. 3, exactly eight hours and 40 minutes after walking into our apartment in Kyiv, Ukraine, my wife sat comfortably in the dentist’s chair. Why did I know to the minute how much time had passed? Because we got home 10 minutes before the nightly curfew began at midnight. During the war with Russia, only police and military personnel are allowed to be on the streets between midnight and 5 a.m. After a 20-hour bus ride from Warsaw, the driver made an impromptu stop, a 30-minute walk from our apartment. We might have taken a taxi, but a $10 fare becomes five times that during the minutes before the beginning of the curfew.

After the dental appointment (we continue to visit our dentist in Ukraine because she combines expertise with modern equipment at less than half the cost of dentists in Des Moines), we were surprised to see a large group of high schoolers walking toward us, filling the sidewalk. Ten o’clock on Monday morning is prime time for classes; why weren’t these kids filling their heads with vital information? Or at least sitting quietly like zombies staring at their telephones?

“Oh, right, the air raid,” I thought. The students were walking toward their underground bunker where their teachers would try to conduct some sort of makeshift lesson while a missile or drone might possibly be coming toward the city. Even though we’d been in town for less than a day, the warning in the morning was already the second and my subconscious was back to ignoring the sirens just as I’d become accustomed to doing a year ago.

The sirens prompt little reaction in a city of three million, because the likelihood that a missile will strike your apartment is slim. That said, however, as the war progresses, more buildings are damaged. Last spring a missile hit the building housing the nearest supermarket, and in July 2024, the bar where I hosted storytelling nights was damaged. Most likely, these places were struck by falling debris from a rocket or drone that was intercepted by Ukrainian air defense.

This is Kyiv nearly four years after the full-scale Russian invasion. Right now, the most striking difference between here and the rest of the world is the frequent blackouts, and with most everything in modern society, “There’s an app for that.” Enter an address into Kyiv Digital and the scheduled blackouts for the day will appear.

This week, the number of hours with no electricity ranged from eight hours on Wednesday to 17 hours on Friday. The rolling power outages distribute the hardship while maintaining normality as much as possible. All businesses have fuel-operated generators whose throbbing lets people know when the power is out even without the telephone app.

When I cannot plan my online English lessons around the blackouts, I walk to McDonald’s. The restaurant’s generator automatically starts when the power is cut, and customers experience only momentary interruption. McDonald’s staff don’t hassle me, even if I spend four hours in the same spot writing, planning lessons and teaching.

A look at Ukraine will show that people can get used to anything. To celebrate my birthday, we invited the neighbors from the floor below us and their granddaughter, my strongest student. We had purchased food for the party in grocery stores filled to abundance with several kinds of baked fish, delicious salads and mouth-watering pork, beef, chicken, duck or turkey.

In the middle of the party, the lights went out. Since we are all used to the comings and goings of electricity, we barely noticed. Max and Polina jumped up to grab candles and flashlights that spread a pleasing glow throughout the room.

I TRY NOT to have any gaps or downtime during my lessons. Once, while I navigated to the next exercise, I asked an adult student, Denis, “What is your dream?”

He chuckled and said, “Oh, I dream the same. I dream for this war to be over” — his dream since 2022. He works in a government ministry. He tried to open a business  in the Kyiv region. Unfortunately, too few customers visited their shop, so they had to close. Denis says young men who don’t want to be taken off the streets and forced into uniform stay in their houses.

I asked Denis how his life would change if the war ended. “We will be able to travel. Right now, we are in a cage.” On Feb. 24, 2022, the Kyiv airport abruptly closed halting all air travel. He describes life in the Ukrainian military as bleak and unpopular. There are 1.5 million people who do not leave their homes. He quoted a figure of 500,000 soldiers who have deserted their positions.

Another Ukrainian friend, Victor, 36, confirmed that men aged 25-60 are in perpetual danger of being forcibly conscripted to serve. On the outskirts of town are permanent roadblocks that have the right to investigate who is coming and going. Therefore, he has not left the center of Kyiv since the beginning of the war. During the day, he never leaves his apartment because military officials set up ad hoc checkpoints downtown. He says he is lucky that he has his own car and can avoid public transportation, which is an excellent place to be accosted by officials looking for new soldiers. At night, he avoids areas of town where such checkpoints are known to be prevalent.

“Temporary checkpoints around town are illegal. They are supposed to get approval from authorities or the citizens.” He advises his friends to carry pepper spray and be prepared to flee when stopped by the military “recruiters.” These men, trying to fill enlistment quotas, are already flouting the law with their checkpoints, so nothing will keep them from using improper measures to send people to the front lines. Young men can avoid service by paying a company to “employ” them and because of this employment, stay out of the army.

WHY ARE THE men in Ukraine so opposed to fighting for their country? Victor argues that men like him are not interested in fighting for a government that is corrupt. They don’t want to die for the sake of dishonest politicians. He tells stories of battalions being unprepared for battle, and soldiers needing to buy their own helmets and other uniform pieces.

In addition, Ukraine is known as one of the most corrupt countries in the world. Two anti-corruption agencies that are supposed to be independent of the government operate in Ukraine. Recently, NABU, the National Anti-Corruption Bureau of Ukraine, publicized on its YouTube channel that equipment needed to protect nuclear power plants was not purchased because plant officials simply chose to ignore the problem. If the equipment had been purchased, Russian attacks may have caused less damage, and widespread blackouts may not be necessary.

Men in Ukraine may be sick of seeing tax dollars spent to line someone else’s pockets. After four years, the idea of defending their country from invasion by a hated enemy has become diluted by government officials who are living only for themselves.

Hoping Zelensky would bring changes for the better, Victor voted for him in 2019. Many Ukrainians thought that since he was not a politician, he would govern the country more equitably and bring needed economic and judicial changes. “Everyone liked him and he promised to make government transparent. He promised to fire the judges who sell their decisions. His reputation was untainted,” said Victor.

Denis told me that 73% of Ukrainians voted for Zelensky when he was first elected. Enthusiasm for the former comedian, however, has waned.

This summer, when the Ukrainian parliament passed measures that would bring the anti-corruption department under the president’s direct control, the country erupted in protest in cities like Kyiv, Lviv, Dnipro and Odesa. Demonstrators claimed the law threatened Ukraine’s independence and undermined the country’s credibility.

Victor repeated a joke: “If you can’t fight corruption, you should join it. It appears that Zelensky understands this suggestion quite clearly.” He says corruption under Zelensky’s leadership is out of control and he hopes he goes to trial for this one day.

“I have to protect myself,” concludes Victor. “I value my desires and interests more than those of some shady and dishonest bureaucrat.”

Written on Nov. 14

Last night, I experienced the worst night of bombing I have experienced during the 318 days I have spent in Ukraine since Feb. 24, 2022. At 1:30, I was woken by an explosion. In the haze of sleep, I thought it was thunder like I had loved to hear from time to time during Iowa springtime. A minute later, another explosion brought me up to speed. High-pitched whining of drones got louder until it seemed they were right outside the window, but mercifully then subsided. Several times, over the next hour, I thought we’d heard the last of the attack only to be shocked by another explosion that caused an involuntary spasm as the windows rattled. Once I heard a broom fall to the floor. I opened the curtains and peeked out looking for fires but saw only a smattering of four-way flashers to accompany the wail of car alarms. The windows still have Xs taped on them so they will not shatter if a bomb blast is too close. Max and Polina walked 200 yards to the nearest bomb shelter. 

I WOKE UP at 6 a.m. to sounds not unlike the machine guns mounted in the back of pickups that are used to fight drones. In the morning, the noise was apartment building construction pile drivers and jackhammers. Life moves on as normal.

During the worst part, I was worried that the train tracks would be damaged and we wouldn’t be able to leave the country the next day as scheduled. Then I considered how fortunate we are that we can leave the country that is attacked every day. Unfortunately for Max, Polina, Denis, Victor and all the rest, the bombs have become commonplace.

Denis assured me that while this may have been the worst that I had experienced, cities like Dnipro, Odesa, Kharkiv and Mykolaiv endure much worse damage. As the biggest city and the capital Kyiv is also best defended.

When I told Victor that the night before had been the worst I’d experienced, he was mightily surprised.

“Oh, really? I guess I don’t think last night was too bad. We’ve had much worse, and only five people were killed.”