1,703 days of war in Ukraine: drones whirring in the silence of nature

It is about 300 kilometers from Kyiv to Hadjach. At the beginning the bus whizzes over the slippery road, but for the last 30 kilometers it rocks like it's on an air mattress because of the countless potholes. I feel a little seasick when we finally get there.

Hadjach is a small town in the Poltava region with a population of just over 22,000. The family of the well-known Ukrainian writer Lesja Ukrayinka (1871–1913) once lived nearby; the place was once a hetman's residence and today it is a place of pilgrimage for Hasidic Jews from all over the world.

For the people of Ukraine, war has become part of everyday life. Despite the mortal fear of air raids and fighting, life goes on: people go to work, school and university. They love, laugh, get married, have children, go on vacation. They mourn, worry – and hope for peace. ➝ to the column

I was in Hadjach with a group of tourists: kayak trips, excursions and overnight stays in a tent were on the program. I was hoping for beautiful places and historical information. Instead, we encountered local initiatives everywhere. The tour was led by Volodymyr, a local entrepreneur.

At first I thought tourism was just one of his business areas. But the more he talked about these places, the clearer it became that it wasn't primarily about the money for him. Volodymyr had studied at the Kyiv School of Economics to learn how to build a business. He wrote his thesis on a cultural project to develop Hadjatsch.

Ukrainian journalist and producer from the Kherson region. Lives in Kyiv. Master in Cultural Studies. Since 2022, she has been working on a news and analysis project about the lives of people in the south of Ukraine during the war. As a producer, she created the history project “Deokupowana istoriia” (Liberated History) about Russian myths in southern Ukraine.

We took the kayaks along the Psel River. I have been to many places in Ukraine and I did not expect that this river would impress me so much. In the clear water you could see fish and aquatic plants that looked like long hair. The water shimmered golden in the sunshine - a river trip on the Psel is like meditation.

This article was made possible through the financial support of the Forschungsfonds Ausland e. V. You can support the research fund through a donation or membership.

Only now and then the silence was broken by the whirring of drones. We didn't know who started it - locals or the military. The Poltava Oblast is relatively close to the border with Russia. That's why the war is always felt here, in the silence of nature.

Perhaps the war is also forcing Ukrainians to feel more intensely the value of what was previously considered unchangeable. With the knowledge that you can lose everything, the desire to preserve what you have probably grows stronger. In Hajach I met people who didn't wait for someone else to do this for them.

At one stop we were welcomed by locals around a campfire: they had cooked borscht and roasted meat. The 22-year-old primary school teacher Sascha was among the organizers. For me he destroyed the cliché that this was primarily a woman's job.

The local excursion was also led by locals. Iryna only began to study regional history when she was older. Walentyna used to be a hobby beekeeper, but today she gives courses in beekeeping. Volodymyr develops cultural tourism, Sascha teaches children, Iryna gives the place back its past and Walentyna passes on local knowledge. Together they have implemented their love for their home region - not abstractly, but practically.

Small Ukrainian towns often seem inconspicuous until you meet the people who keep them alive. Perhaps Hajach lacks major roads, money or the attention of the rest of the country. And yet here they organize rafting tours, research history and show guests the places that they consider particularly lovely.

I bought a watercolor with a view of Psel at the local museum. This not only reminds me of my journey, but also of the fact that history doesn't just preserve itself. But someone's daily work requires it.