‘It’s not just about surviving’: the Ukrainian frontline city where life goes on under cover | Ukraine

Crisis psychologist Galyna Lutsenko moves busily among a small group of children sitting around a table in a basement in Kherson. This city is unique in that it is Ukraine’s only leading city on an almost direct front line with Russian forces, and is a city where people live with the daily threat of attack.

She dangles a plasticine butterfly on a string above a playhouse on the table. He says his own house in the city was hit by Russian bombardment in 2024, and he was injured in his leg and abdomen.

This basement is a safe space in a dangerous city. Used as a shelter by locals, other rooms in the complex host yoga, dance rehearsals and craft sessions for a group of elderly women who screen print T-shirts bearing the city’s name.

The streets above ground explain this underground activity. In this city on the right bank of the Dnipro River, supermarket and store windows were blocked by shrapnel, while other buildings showed damage caused by artillery and glide bombs.

Long sections of the city’s streets are covered with anti-drone netting; the main approach from the coast (20 minutes by car) and is now a network tunnel on three sides.

While there are Russian forces just across the river, the daily lives of the remaining 60,000 residents (5,000 of whom are children) out of the original 300,000 live under cover.

“Children are always under pressure,” says Lutsenko. “They are always under stress because some of the children are afraid to go out after the shelling.”

He gives a plasticine turtle to one of the children and asks if he wants to put it in the house. “It’s important to give them options that make them feel like it’s not just about survival,” he says. “But they experience and feel everything around them.”

And Kherson is a difficult place to live. Overrun by Russian forces at the start of the war in 2022, the city was Ukraine’s only occupied regional capital. Nine months later, the region was liberated as Russian forces retreated through Dnipro following a Ukrainian blitzkrieg.

But if the people in the city thought the nightmare was over, they were wrong. Having settled on the far bank of the river, Russia launched an increasing number of attacks.

The infamous Russian “drone safari”, which began in May 2024 and followed and killed Kherson citizens, took place on the streets; This explains the 62-mile (100 km) anti-drone networks set up by authorities.

While this is effective against small exploding drones and drone bombers, the Russians drop mines from drones or disperse them with rockets. The sounds of artillery and drones are a daily occurrence. “red zoneThe 1 km deep strip along the Dnipro coast overlooking Russian positions is the most dangerous area of ​​the city.

Authorities moved important sites underground not only in the city but in the wider region. Although it is very dangerous for children to come to school regularly in the city, schools were moved underground outside the residential area.

The city’s main perinatal clinic is located just inside the red zone, housed in a former Soviet-era bomb shelter with explosive doors and an entrance surrounded by a drone network. Khrystyna Furman, 23, who was hospitalized for fear she might give birth prematurely, is one of about 1,000 women who use the clinic every month.

“Life goes on,” he says. “We live in the outskirts. This is one of the most dangerous areas of the city. But everything is fine. I’m from here, my whole family is from here. This is my home.”

He says many people will avoid using shelters unless warned of the risk of a glide bomb, but nets are a different problem. “It’s had a real impact on morale. When you walk under the nets you suddenly feel good, protected. But the truth is the nets aren’t everywhere.”

Others prefer to limit their risk exposure as much as possible. Volodymyr Gorbachevsky, the director of the perinatal clinic, lives even deeper in the red zone than his clinic and explains that only three families now live in a block of flats that was once home to 15 families.

“I don’t go to cafes or restaurants. We stay at home, use the internet, watch TV. I only leave the house when necessary,” he says. He uses the shelter at work because the closest one to his building is two blocks away.

In his underground office, Oleksandr Prokudin, the military governor of Kherson, says that many people, like Gorbachevsky, are wary of the risks of being out in the open.

“Most people try not to go out unless necessary. I had to go to a few events this morning. We had to hide inside a church twice and go shopping because drones were detected,” he says.

“I just heard that a child was injured in the city. Five people have been injured by drones and artillery so far this morning.”

He says that there is no other large city in Ukraine like Kherson. “It is 1 km away from the front line and the enemy. If it were not for the anti-drone protection we have, we would definitely be in the ‘grey zone’ right now.” [under the control of neither side]. Instead the gray area is just river islands.

“But while we’re trying to evacuate those in the red zone, most people don’t want to leave the area.”

The answer, he says, is to provide greater protection against attacks. “We are trying to put networks wherever people move and walk. We currently have more than 100 kilometers of networks. We want 200 kilometers in the next two months, and our plan is to reach 300 kilometers by the end of this year.”

Additionally, Prokudin plans to expand its network of underground facilities throughout the region, including clinics and schools. “It is very dangerous to take children to underground schools in Kherson,” he says.

“Online education is just about survival, so we are building underground schools 30 km away from the front line. We are also focusing on medical issues, with 12 underground medical facilities equipped in the area.”

In Myroliubivka, a 15-minute drive from the city, village school principal Larysa Rybachuk walks through empty classrooms above ground and down the stairs to the basement. In one room, a group of older children are listening to a biology lesson. In another, there are toys spread out on the floor in the kindergarten classroom.

He says only 50 of 300 children remained during the Russian occupation. Currently the school educates 120 students, many of whose families are returning due to the wave of optimism that accompanied the liberation of Kherson.

“The first challenge we faced when we started teaching underground was the lack of space,” says Rybachuk. “Most of the children living under Russian occupation had never gone further than their courtyards. There were difficulties in resocializing them.”

Expansion of the basement provided more space for teaching. “We have an alarm five times a day here. You can’t hear a thing, and it makes it easier for the kids. They don’t have to leave class to go to the shelter.

“The parents decided that they should stay. I also live in the village,” Rybachuk adds. “When we don’t see the drones, life feels normal.”