Olga and Sasha are two Ukrainian sisters. The first is 34 years old and is a wine merchant in Paris, where she has lived for seven years. The second, aged 33, lives in kyiv with her parents and grandmother. Recently, she has been working remotely for a French digital communication agency. The two sisters have agreed, since the beginning of the conflict, to keep their logbook for M Le magazine du Monde. This week, Olga returns from her stay in kyiv and then flies to Iceland for the holidays, while Sasha worries about the approach of Independence Day.
Tuesday August 16
Olga: It’s already Tuesday. I try not to think about the departure or the return trip. Our night was disturbed by the howl of a siren which lasted nearly an hour. And a second sounded eight minutes after the end of the first. It was scary. Our bulldog also got scared. When he heard the alarm, he ran down the hall. I said to myself : “He knows the rules!” » I stayed with him. Sasha was so tired that she did not get up. She just told me that if we heard a shrill whistle, we had about five seconds. At 8 a.m. sharp, my sister opened my door and the dog came to wake me up with her happy little sniffles. He is wonderful !
“I stand in front of the barrel of a tank. I imagine myself in the shoes of people for whom this black hole was the last thing they saw in their lives. » Olga
We’ll have a coffee with my friend O., we’ll discuss our future plans… We hope the war will end soon. Then I’m going to kiss my grandma and my aunt at home before going back to France. Halfway, a siren sounds. I take refuge in the metro and wait on the platform. She stops, I go out. A second, I go back down and, there, I wait an hour. I definitely can’t get used to it. We spend a joyful and nostalgic moment around a lunch. I see that my grandmother is sad. Like me. I will miss them, the women of my family! It’s hard to leave. She takes me to the bus and waves at me. This slender, humble little lady is our mainstay.
I go back by metro on the line we often took with Sasha when we went to school. I see the Dnieper and scroll through my head images that are dear to me. I get off at Teatralna station, in the city center, I walk along Krechtchatyk, the main avenue of Kyiv [Kiev en ukrainien]. There are people in the bars, people take advantage of the coolness of the evening. It’s 8:30 p.m. I arrive at Mykhailivska Square, in front of the cathedral with its golden domes. I sang there with my choir… maybe fifteen or twenty times. The square has turned into a place of mourning. Weapons and Russian military vehicles picked up in Irpine and Boutcha are exhibited there. It smells of burnt and rusty metal. I want to vomit. I stand in front of the gun of a tank. I imagine myself in the shoes of people for whom this black hole was the last thing they saw in their lives. I walk into the rain with dark thoughts. I find Sasha, it makes me happy. We taste the white wine that I sent him by post before arriving. We talk for a very long time.
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