Donetsk Region, Ukraine, Sep 10 (AP) – As Russian forces push deeper into the Donetsk region, the atmosphere in Ukraine's last bastions is filled with fear. The future for the remaining civilians becomes increasingly uncertain.
Kostiantynivka, once bustling with 67,000 inhabitants, now has an irregular supply of power, water, and gas. Continuous shelling and the omnipresence of drones make the city intolerable, leading more civilians to flee.
In contrast, life lingers in Kramatorsk. Sitting just 25 kilometers (15 miles) north, its prewar population of 147,000 has dwindled, yet restaurants and cafes stay open.
Though struck multiple times and now under military control, daily activities continue unlike in nearby towns. Once Ukraine's industrial powerhouse, Donetsk is gradually being reduced to ruins.
Many residents worry that these cities may never be rebuilt and fear that if the conflict endures, Russia will eventually claim whatever remains.
“The Donetsk region has been devastated, ripped apart, reduced to dust,” said Natalia Ivanova, a septuagenarian who escaped Kostiantynivka in early September after a missile landed near her home.
“Putin will pursue this to the end... I have no doubt more cities will face destruction.
Kostiantynivka now lies on a diminishing piece of Ukrainian-held land, nearly surrounded by Russian forces, west of occupied Bakhmut.
“They were always firing,” Ivanova recounted.
“You'd just stand there, hearing the whistles of shells. She had two apartments: one destroyed, the other damaged.
For months, she witnessed buildings vanish in moments, while swarms of drones, like persistent beetles, crowded the sky. “Leaving was never in my thoughts,” she confessed.
“I saw myself as a steadfast soldier, clutching onto my home and comfort zone.” For years, Ivanova observed the gradual fall of regional cities: Bakhmut, then Avdiivka, and others.
Yet, even at her doorstep, the war felt distant.
“I empathized with those affected, but that sentiment wasn't enough to make me leave."
A strike near her building finally compelled her to go.
The blast distorted her windows so much she couldn't close them before fleeing.
Her apartment remained wide open, her life in Kostiantynivka—her birthplace—left behind.
“Please, end this madness,” she appealed to world leaders, as she sat at an evacuation hub shortly after escape.
“The poorest suffer the most. This conflict is senseless and tragic.
We're perishing needlessly.”
Olena Voronkova chose to leave Kostiantynivka in May when her business ventures, a beauty salon and a cafe, could no longer operate. She relocated with her family to nearby Kramatorsk, a place so near yet so far due to her inability to return home.
It was another loss she endured since the war's onset. In 2023, a rocket severely damaged their home.
The move to Kramatorsk wasn't a choice, but a necessity driven by conditions.
First, there were mandatory evacuation notices, followed by a stringent curfew restricting movement to four hours a day.
Then came the influx of remote-controlled drones.
“We've grown accustomed to life in Donetsk. We find comfort here.
Kramatorsk is familiar, and many from my city have settled here, even city workers,” Voronkova stated.
Soon after settling, she opened a cafe similar to the one she left, adorned with white walls and ornate mirrors rescued from her salon now in the war zone.
The cafe has become a haven for others from Kostiantynivka. “Initially, there was hope for some homes to remain.
Now, we realize return is improbable as Kostiantynivka transforms into another Bakhmut or Avdiivka.
Destruction is rampant.”
The mood is heavy, as optimism wanes. Shared experiences of loss and support create a bond among the displaced.
"There's an overarching sense of hopelessness.
Everyone witnesses Russia’s persistence.
Lack of direction breeds uncertainty."
War gradually saps Kramatorsk’s vitality, hinting at its potential fate. Daria Horlova recalls the vibrant city life at 9 p.m.
Today, the square remains empty, and curfew strikes at 9 p.m.
The city is frequently bombed, given its proximity to the frontline, about 21 kilometers (13 miles) east. “It's terrifying—overhead threats and strikes are constant,” said the 18-year-old.
“Emotions are exhausted, and tears have dried. There's neither strength nor emotions left.
Horlova studies remotely after her university moved to another region while working as a nail artist.
Dreaming of owning a salon someday, she and her boyfriend face an uncertain future.
“It's alarming that most of Donetsk is occupied, especially as Russia instigated the attack,” she noted.
“The volatile situation threatens to change any moment.
Kostiantynivka's abrupt change from normalcy to chaos is evidence.”
Focusing on momentary joy alleviates her anxiety and postpones the challenging decision to leave again after a prior evacuation from Kramatorsk.
Abandoning worries about what may come, Horlova decided on a long-desired tattoo of a goat skull on her leg, done by her tattoo artist boyfriend.
“Seize opportunities as they arise,” she declared.
“This tattoo will forever be a memory of Kramatorsk, if I must leave.”
(AP)
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