War in Ukraine | Back to school under the bombs

(Kharkiv, Ukraine) In the middle of summer, Ukraine’s second city is preparing to reopen its schools to children who have not yet gone into exile. But Russia continuing to pound the region daily, the start of the school year promises to be particularly dangerous.

Her face marked by fatigue, Olga Chpakovska, a literature teacher, inspects the library of her school located in the suburbs of Kharkiv. A gigantic shell hole scars the ceiling.

“The damage is too deep, we will not have the means to repair before the start of the school year on 1^er September”, she laments before heading towards a wing of the building spared by the blast of Russian bombs.

There, a handful of volunteer teachers are trying to restore the few classrooms that are still intact. “We are preparing to welcome the students at the start of the school year, in case the military authorities give us permission,” explains Olga Chpakovska.

A few minutes later, an anti-aircraft alert rips the summer sky. Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second city, is only 40 km from the Russian border and continues to be shelled by the enemy army. The teachers run down the floors and rush towards the cellar. On a damp dirt floor, dimly lit by a few makeshift lamps, dozens of small desks are lined up.

In the heart of July, thousands of teachers in Kharkiv prepare for the start of the school year under the bombs. According to Ukrainian government guidelines, only schools with anti-aircraft bunkers will be able to reopen in September. Ironically, the safety standards of the time of the USSR already required public buildings to fit out such shelters, and half of the primary schools had them, even before the start of this war.

“My school will never reopen”

A few streets further, school 47 is no longer concerned by the urgent need for repairs. Known in the region for its excellence, the establishment suffered the wrath of the Russian artillery. “A first rocket fell in early March. Then, in June, it was downright a ballistic missile that reduced the main building to dust, explains Nina Klimenko, director. Engineers who came to inspect the damage concluded that the structure was damaged beyond repair. My school will never reopen. »

According to the Kharkiv authorities, 32 other schools would have been destroyed by the Russian bombardments.

Despite significant damage, the schools that remained standing should nevertheless be able to accommodate all the students who will return to school: Kharkiv, deserted by its inhabitants, remains a ghost town.

According to the mayor of the city, two thirds of the population are still in exile and 90% of businesses remain closed. “There were 126,000 students before the war. There is only a quarter left,” explains Olga Evhenïevna.

The remaining teachers will thus have to juggle between their students returning to class and those still in exile. For Lioudmila Polichchouk, a computer science teacher, the prospect of having to juggle between anti-aircraft alerts, distance courses and lessons on the blackboard is also worrying. “I fear that the children will lose the number of hours of teaching there”, explains the young woman who spent the spring giving online lessons, glued to the window of the school bunker to capture the internet..

” I miss my friends “

Lacking in anti-missile systems, Ukraine remains at the mercy of multiple rocket launchers, long-range cannons and other ballistic warheads, as demonstrated by the recent attacks on Kremenchuk and Vinnytsia, two cities pounded by several Russian cruise missiles.

“As long as the bombardments do not stop completely, it is unimaginable to send the children back to school,” testifies Tatiana Tchernichenko, a mother living in downtown Kharkiv. Three days earlier, the building next to his was hit by a Russian shell. “We still hope for the reopening of schools, in particular because online education is not satisfactory. It is very difficult to keep the children focused all day,” says her husband Igor, who has been unemployed by the war and deprived of the means to send his family into exile.

The youngest of their four children, Maksim, sees another reason to go back to school: “I miss my friends,” he says in a small voice.

In the Saltivka district, Sacha and Jana, two cousins ​​aged 14 and 19, make their way through the weeds of their now deserted dormitory. A cigarette in hand and tap dancing on their feet, the two teenagers dodge the shell holes dotting the surroundings. Two days earlier, a salvo of Russian rockets mowed down three residents in the park below their homes. “It was six Grad-type rockets,” Sacha explains fatalistically. Despite the danger, I would like to go back to school. I want to become a nurse, like Jana, and I don’t want the war to call my dreams into question. »