From our special correspondent in Ukraine,
“Before, we sometimes went out until nine in the morning. We drank beers by the water until dawn…” In Kiev, the nights that used to be punctuated by screaming loudspeakers and pints shared between friends now vibrate to the sound of sirens. Cut short by the curfew imposed by martial law. In the Ukrainian capital, the bars are almost deserted on Thursday evening. Inside the Boho, Intense and Hidden bars, the consumers who calmly sip a drink can be counted on the fingers of one hand. In front of the Pianavychnia (“The stuffed cherry”), Natasha admits that she has not been out for “a very long time”. The 27-year-old puts down her glass of cherry liqueur, the bar’s specialty, to explain: “Between work and the curfew, we don’t have time to go to bars. »
In the kyiv region, it is forbidden to drive on the street after 11 p.m. From 10 p.m., the sale of alcohol is prohibited. As for the metro, it closes at 9:30 p.m. Natasha’s friend Katerina is already looking at her phone in hopes of getting a cab. It’s not even 10 p.m. but the prices have already exploded. “It’s difficult, the prices are exorbitant. Normally it costs 120 hryvnias [3 euros] to get back home. But in the evening, between 9 and 11 a.m., it can go up to 700 hryvnias [plus de 17 euros] “, explains the thirty-something. A staggering expense in a country where the average salary is just over 365 euros.
“They fight for us to live normally”
In times of war as in times of pandemic, the moments of conviviality of young people find themselves amputated. If the lack of parentheses of carelessness, where we dance until dawn, may seem anecdotal, for Natasha, it is essential. “When you talk to someone at work, it’s different. We need to support each other morally among friends because we know that we can die at any moment, ”says the florist. “We are not even safe at home”, abounds Katerina, when a Russian bombardment hit a building 300 meters from her home a few months ago. “I don’t want the war to erase my whole life. I want to continue living. »
To continue to celebrate when some are under bombs, in the trenches or holed up in basements without water or electricity. Radion sweeps away any feeling of guilt. The 24-year-old works as a waiter in the restaurant attached to the Pianavychnia and shares a beer with his colleagues. “I buried my brother, who died in the war. We all have relatives who fight there. And they fight for us to live normally. We have to do it, ”he insists. The bartender of the “Cerise bourrée” slips outside and lights a cigarette. “Going out helps us to disconnect a little from the war even if in the end we talk about it a lot. Our evenings always have a bitter aftertaste,” notes Andriy who left Kharkiv because of the Russian invasion.
“Take off to avoid sinking into madness”
This bitterness Nastya constantly feels. “I’ve never felt so bad,” blows the 31-year-old. “Because of the war, I am in depression, like many people around me,” she confides, on the terrace of Kossatka, which is already refusing new customers at 9 p.m. To make it “easier to get out”, Nastya chooses events from which part of the profits goes to the Ukrainian army. When she attends a concert, the young woman manages to “let herself go a little”. “You have to pick up to avoid sinking into madness. If I don’t go out, all this pain and suffering caused by the war will end up consuming me”, considers Natasha who also lost her brother on the front.
This Sunday, the curfew will be pushed back to midnight. “A law will have to pass to authorize us to sell alcohol between 10 p.m. and 11 p.m. so that we push back the closing time” of the “Cerise bourrée”, tempers Andriy. The party and the evenings, “I miss them”, he sighs. “I am young, I would like to be able to have fun”. “Before, we sometimes went out until nine in the morning. We are impatiently awaiting the postponement of the curfew, ”adds Radion. In the hope of having, one more hour, the taste of this life “before”. When the sky was peaceful, the evenings eternal and the funerals much rarer. In the meantime, it’s ten o’clock. The police walk slowly past the bars to check that they are closed. The small groups separate and leave the plot in turn. It’s time to go home.