A Kyiv apartment building’s power outages captures toll of Ukraine war

Even on a morning when the lights are on, 3-year-old twins Illia and Kyrylo Kosiachenko still reach for their flashlights before heading off to school.

“Are we going to have to take the stairs?” they ask their mom, Inna, before dutifully shuffling out the door.

The toddlers are used to the unexpected, but climbing the 17 floors to their home never gets any easier.

After more than three months of outages, the Kosiachenkos have tried to adapt to life without power. They keep the tablets charged for the kids and use characters from Slavic folk tales to explain the war to them.

Volodymyr is all too aware that things could be worse for him and his family. His childhood friend, Kyrylo’s godfather, is stationed on the front line in Severodonetsk. Social media groups from his hometown in Chernihiv region show funerals almost every day.

As a father of three children, Volodymyr is legally exempt from fighting, but he feels conflicted.

“I really have a wish to join my friends,” he says. “But [my wife] thinks I’m needed here at home with my family at the moment.”

The first thing you hear after ringing the Sokolenkos’ doorbell is the incessant barking. It’s their chihuahua, Brad Pitt, or Pitt for short. They picked the name, they say, because of the resemblance.

To strangers, Pitt’s a quivering ball of curmudgeonly scorn, but to his owners, he’s been a source of solace and humor throughout the war. He refuses to adapt to the new reality, still insisting on his customary dinner of chicken cutlets or steak. When his family tried to feed him dog food, he turned up his nose.

Living through the blackouts, the Sokolenkos have developed an unexpected gratitude for each other and the mundane tasks that make up their days.

The war changed them.

Tetyana, who grew up speaking Russian, tries to speak only Ukrainian now. The family celebrated Orthodox Christmas this year for the last time, she says, because of its roots in the Russian church.

Even with the war and outages, Tetyana, who runs a dental business consultancy, still has to find a way to work. But she struggles to do her job when the internet cuts out.

In the darkness, life goes on. Tetyana and her husband, Igor, prepare a simple dinner of cold cuts and pickled vegetables; Eva practices gymnastics and shows her mom a wiggly tooth; Pitt demands a treat.

But the war is always near. Two days earlier, Russia launched a massive missile attack on the country. Some infrastructure sites were targeted, and one missile rammed into a Dnipro high rise not unlike the one the Sokolenkos live in. Forty-six people were killed.

“Obviously you imagine this could possibly happen to our building,” Tetyana says. “The most frightening part, for me, is being caught in the rubble and not understanding if you’re going to make it.”

Natalia and Gennadii Vasylkivska picked their light-filled apartment on the 20th floor for the view. Gazing northeast out their kitchen window you can see the local reservoir, known as the Kyiv Sea, and the sprawling park just a bike ride away.

But their view has changed since the invasion: What they see now are Russia’s most coveted targets. A power plant emitting steam in the distance. The dam that forms the Kyiv Sea — a direct hit could put all of Obolon underwater.

Ukraine’s government and its Western backers are trying to restore the country’s battered grid, but Russia’s attacks continue, and repairing and upgrading the power system will take years and cost billions.

The family is prepared for any scenario. Gennadii, who works at a pharmaceutical company, carries a 37-pound power bank back from his office each day. They pack bags with blankets, snacks and first-aid supplies in case they have to make a run for the shelter.

“I want to believe that our building, which is made of concrete, is more strong,” Gennadii says. “But nobody knows.”

Sometimes the family shelters in their apartment, cramming themselves into a small hallway closet away from the windows.

The couple tries to find small ways to brighten the darkness.

On New Year’s Eve, Natalia says, they splurged on a bottle of fancy champagne and beautiful flutes to treat themselves after a year of war.

But the night was one of fear rather than celebration. Russian strikes hammered the capital and other parts of Ukraine, destroying buildings and forcing more power cuts. The couple spent the night in the dark garage. In their panic they forgot the champagne flutes.

They drank from the bottle and fell into a fitful sleep in the shelter shortly after midnight.