The third day on our aid trip to Ukraine, where Tony Elliston and his team crossed the border, was a lesson in technology, control, and fear – the modern instruments of war.
As a smartphone reporter (professionally a ‘multimedia’ reporter) equipped with a battery pack and online file sharing, there has been one app today that has been etched on my mind.
Before I set off to Ukraine I knew about Tony’s ‘air alarm app’ because every time I would meet him, about halfway through our conversation, his phone would blare out like those WW2 sirens I’ve heard in films. The emergency siren notification, can override any phone setting, even in the UK, leading to Tony leaving his phone in the car for the cinema or any important excursion.
When approaching the Polish-Ukrainian border, Tony’s phone started to wail three times in quick succession. Chernihiv, Kyiv and then a ‘good to go’ alarm for Chernihiv. A significant shift for me psychologically from when I’ve heard it in Essex, but still the same events.
This feeling of reality was heightened again when we were 20 minutes into Ukraine, after having spent about four hours in customs. With sunny skies and beautiful forests, at first the worst problem – and clue it was a ‘war zone’ – was the abysmal road around the Zavadow reservoir immediately after the border. Three vans zig-zagging in the hazardous and so eerily slow road. But this phone app notification: a missile and air-shelter warning for Lviv – a major Ukrainian city near Poland which we were then travelling to – did make me pause. I was in a war-zone and our phones constantly tell us so.
One important piece of advice given to all by the government, and ‘AirAlarmUkraine’, is to move away from large windows. This is because if a missile hits a building, or anything within a few blocks, the glass and blast damage would of course be very dangerous. A direct hit is very unlikely, especially for us as we are not going to the front line, but it would be fatal. It is also more common for example for four or five people to sadly die instead of hundreds when there is a fatal attack on a big city such as Lviv.
Tony, chair of Harwich Ukraine support project, said the Russians are trying to terrorise people, and added: “Even if the [missiles] are empty, they are terrorising people by the alarm but you still can’t take the risk”.
“The duds, if you like, are just keeping up the threat level. Women and young children will be the ones running to the shelter as they won’t be taking that risk. In a sense they are terrorising the vulnerable the most, but that’s what terrorists do”.
Aid has been delivered to Lviv in the past, distributed by Rotary International. However today our main reason for staying overnight in Lviv is due to the curfew. The strict curfew – for all civilians – is clearly spelled out on ‘AirAlarmUkraine’ which is enforced region to region across Ukraine. In Lviv, the curfew is in place from midnight to 5am. It’s meant that due to our time spent at the border, driving about 90 minutes to Lviv is our only option.
Booking a last minute and extremely affordable hotel, we arrive ‘to the side’ of Lviv in the outskirts – safety first. We have another 500 miles or – 10 plus hours journey time tomorrow – to get Chernihiv in the far north east of the country, less than 40 miles from the Russian border. It is a testament to how huge Ukraine – the largest country in Europe – is, and how brave the volunteers are.
Tonight is definitely a restful night. I am not the only one feeling tired after being on the road driving from country to country. With the time zone jump, two hours ahead of Britain before BST changes this weekend, the sun has set quickly today. Time for Borscht – very earthy and wholesome Ukrainian soup. Over and out.
