Dispatches from Ukraine - an air raid siren and not sleeping
The first night here was peaceful, the second night the sirens sounded - with tragedy in Lviv
Day 4, Ukraine
My colleague had a premonition that there would be an air raid siren on Wednesday night. Following the training I had before this trip, I made sure my grab bag was packed with painkillers, trauma injury kit, laptop, documents, chargers, painkillers… and that my boots were in the same place with socks inside, alongside my PJs and a sweater. It meant when the siren sounded at 1.30am, I was ready to go.
‘Air raid warning. Your confidence is your weakness. ‘
There’s a first time for everything but my reaction to the air raid warning did not surprise me. I was scared. My heart started racing as I pulled on my PJs, sweater and boots, looked around the room to take my phone and water, and door key.
My plan was to knock on my colleague’s door, we had agreed I could do this if I was scared, and then we could decide whether to go to the shelter or not.
But almost as soon as I was ready to move, the siren stopped. In my naïveté, I thought this meant the warning was over – a false alarm. So I undressed, went back to bed, and waited for my heart rate to return to normal.
The hotel room was almost unbearably hot – the temperatures have been topping 30 degrees here – and the air-con is off to save electricity. My heart rate was not going down anytime soon, as sweat pooled on my chest. I tried lying on my side, then lying on my bag doing yogic breathing. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was having my first night terror for more than two years.
The terror revolved around the belief I was awake, and that there were men’s and children’s voices in the corridor and explosions outside, and I was getting dressed and banging on my colleague’s door. Then I woke up - but only in the dream-state. In reality I was still asleep, frozen to the bed as someone sat in the hotel room flicking through a magazine. I could hear the crackle of the glossy paper. Then I woke up for real, my heart racing and my brain confused. The air raid warning app was talking to me again, to tell me the warning had ended, and ‘may the force be with you’.
It turns out the sirens do not go the whole period of the raid. Lesson learned.
In the morning of Day 3 I go on Twitter to see what the news was about the night’s warning. The warning applied to where I am, and also to Lviv, where shockingly six people were killed after a Russian strike hit an apartment building.
The reality of war and Russian aggression made me feel silly about my nightmares, even though I also acknowledge that I can’t control my nightmares. Every day in this war people are dying and suffering, they are losing their homes, children are becoming orphans, parents are losing their children, friends are seeing their friends killed. Homes, hope, lives – taken out by imperialistic violence.
Every person I have spoken to so far on this trip is in mourning. My fixer tells me that every week on Facebook, there is another post in memory of someone who has been killed. One interviewee tells me she has lost 30 colleagues, another references how 60 journalists have been killed. Understandably, the name of Victoria Amelina recurs in conversations. They talk about interviewees who have died, as well as loved ones.
Then there are the other losses – the places no longer visited, the occupied territories which have had their hearts ripped out, the pets and wildlife.
Yet beside it all, life is continuing. We go to a restaurant in the evening and families are enjoying a meal; people are drinking coffee and having beers, walking their dogs in the park. There is a buzz and vibrancy in the city that the war has failed to kill.
Last night (Thursday) there was a spectacular thunder and lightening storm, the rain running down my back in the restaurant, where I was wearing my green slip dress. In the night, I am woken up by the storm. I roll over to check my phone to see there is no air raid alarm. It really is just thunder, I realise, and go back to sleep.
What I’m reading
Brutes by Dizz Tate
What I’m loving
As someone who loves tennis and who is in Ukraine, I thought this look at Russia, tennis and Ukraine during Wimbledon, by Daria Mescheriakova was good.
Thank you for so generously sharing your thoughts and experiences Sian. I’m thinking of you often and it’s so fascinating/heartbreaking to read about the worlds you’re opening up. Take care of yourself and hope you’re having a productive visit. Hilary xx