For this series, The duty takes you behind the scenes of major reports by its journalists in 2022. Magdaline Boutros was on the border with Ukraine at the time of the advance of Russian troops, before the outbreak of the international event that would mark the year .
February 11, 2022. An hour before boarding a plane bound for Kyiv, the White House issues a chilling warning that Russia could attack Ukraine at any time, even before the end of the Beijing Olympics, by bombing kyiv. A large-scale invasion storyline—led by air, land and sea—detailed with disconcerting precision as we fly over Ukrainian airspace to document these tensions that seemed to reach a fever pitch.
And yet, walking on our arrival through the old stones of the capital still adorned with its Christmas lights, fear is nowhere to be read. Young people have a drink, coats on their backs, at the door of a bar from which thundering rock tunes emanate, passers-by return home after spending the evening at the restaurant. And the next morning, the city comes alive as usual, with schoolchildren hurrying to school and workers hastily stopping at one of the city’s many cafes.
No military presence is visible, no panic. “I haven’t stocked up on food, but maybe I should stock up on gin and tonic,” a young woman jokes. “If I’m scared? But no, “says another. A surprising climate of disbelief as the whole world holds its breath and tens of thousands of Russian soldiers are massed along the Russian-Ukrainian border.
But behind this apparent impassiveness, the resistance is organized despite everything. A businessman shows us his arsenal consisting of four long guns, four handguns, ammunition and bulletproof vests that he keeps at his home, near his bedroom. “I’m ready,” he says as the Ukrainian government has just announced that anyone with a firearm can use it in the event of an invasion.
The more the days advance, the more the tension rises. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky solemnly announces “that February 16 will be the day of the attack”. We go to bed that night, nervously, after having prepared an emergency bag and locating the nearest metro station to hide in the event of an attack. But it won’t be for that night…
Nervousness
The next day, we leave for Kharkiv, located about ten hours by road from kyiv, near the Russian border. We stop along the highway to meet Andriy Lesyk, a municipal politician, figurehead of the pro-Russian movement in Ukraine. “There is no conflict between Russia and Ukraine, it is the Western countries that are creating problems in Ukraine,” he assures us, one week before the Russian invasion. Our fixer, Vitaly, a veteran of the 2014 Donbass war, translates his words without flinching. In Ukraine, the “veterans” are often only in their thirties and sometimes know how to keep a cool head…
While swallowing the kilometers to get closer to the Russian border, the nervousness of the Ukrainians becomes more palpable. About twenty kilometers from Putin’s country, we are witnessing, in a foggy field, a shooting training carried out by the Right Sector group, associated with the Ukrainian nationalist right. A geologist, who handles a weapon for the first time, explains to us that he hears from his home the roar of Russian tanks. “I think the Russian army will soon cross the border,” he worries.
We drive to a border post, but, surprisingly, there is no larger Ukrainian military presence than usual. A few kilometers away, in a gymnasium in Kharkiv, women in their twenties try, not without difficulty, to load weapons. “We have to learn as quickly as possible how to defend ourselves. We weren’t taught that at university and the war can start at any time,” said one participant. Phew…
under the bombs
We hit the road again on February 20 to go to Donbass, a coveted territory partly occupied by Russia. On the radio, we understand that negotiations with Putin are stalling. The whole country is on the alert. We decide to go to a village located on the demarcation line between the territories occupied by the pro-Russian forces and those under Ukrainian control.
After spending a checkpoint, we sink on a road, mined on each side, then our driver rushes at full speed on a country road strewn with holes. To our right, the Russian forces. To our left are the Ukrainian forces. And all around, nothing: no house or natural barrier to protect us. We are completely exposed. Our fixer Max orders us to detach ourselves. “If I tell you to lean, you lean. If I tell you to run, you run,” he tells us. We hold our breath.
And we finally arrive at the village of Novotoshkivs’ke. At the very moment when we get out of the car, still a little stunned, an immense roar rings out. My God. A bomb. Then a second and a third. “They fall about a kilometer from here,” Max tells us. We decide despite everything to stay on the spot and to do our report as planned, under the roar of the bombs and with a little shortness of breath.
“We all have traumas here, adults and children alike,” the director of studies at the village school told us. Since 2014, pro-Russian forces have bombed the area. More than half of the inhabitants of the village have fled. “My life is fear and anxiety,” summarizes an elder. But everyone agrees that the bombardments this afternoon are more intense than usual. They don’t bode well…
“We are leaving now”
In the cold and damp February, shotgun fire (shotgun) sound. We enter the small two-room apartment of a former English teacher who serves as our guide during this visit. She serves us tea and biscuits, a little cat meows between her legs. A moment of tranquility as the war begins to take shape outside.
Before nightfall, we leave the village. But it is absolutely necessary to pass again on the completely open country lane. The Russians see us, that’s for sure. We hold our breath once again… and we reach the city of Lyssytchansk, our hearts pounding. In the evening, President Putin takes the floor to announce that he recognizes the independence of the republics of Donetsk and Luhansk. Max — who is responsible for our security — storms into our rooms. “We are leaving now. »
A few hours before the outbreak of war, on the night of February 21 to 22, we crossed the checkpoints one by one. The Ukrainian soldiers who patrol there are on their toes, looking for Russian saboteurs. We cross the country in a hurry, engulfing the dozen hours of road that separate us from kyiv. Alarmed, our bosses ask us to leave the country. We’ll be on one of the last planes to leave Ukrainian territory before the Russian invasion.