“My childhood is lost!”: Despite her round teenage face, Anastassia makes a categorical statement about her life, with a maturity rare for the 14-year-old Ukrainian.
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“Covid and the war stole from me a youth that should have been happy,” says the young girl, sweating in an oversized Guns N’Roses T-shirt and slinging a gym bag on her back.
Due to the lack of school, she attends one of the last strength training rooms in Kherson, her only “escape” from the daily Russian bombing raids on this city in southern Ukraine. “It takes my mind off the war,” she explains as she leaves the crime scene with her hair still wet.
The once-vibrant space has seen its audience evolve since the March 2022 invasion of Kherson by Russian forces and its liberation a year ago by the Kiev army.
AFP
Between dumbbells and sweat, the few frail teenagers collide with the muscular and bearded forty-year-olds lifting enormous weights.
“I want to be with people my age, those I meet are two to three times older than me,” laments Anastassia, many of whose friends have left the region.
Outside, the streets are empty and the cafes are mostly frequented by soldiers in combat fatigues.
Marked “for life”.
In one of these bars, Anastassia clutches her cell phone, where she receives her lessons and updates from her loved ones.
She dreams of an offline social life. “I finally want to see people. When I went to Mykolaiv for a day, I was surprised to see “life” in this town 60 km to the northwest, she said.
Despite the ban on gatherings because of the rocket threat, she also tries to escape through theater performances. “We only meet in small groups to rehearse. It’s interesting to feel different emotions and play the role of another person.”
The fear during the occupation, the stress of the bombings, the joy of liberation, “these are unforgettable emotions” for Anastassia that help her find the right tone, but that will shape her “for life.”
“Young people shouldn’t know what it feels like when loved ones die,” she adds bitterly.
Did she grow up too fast? “It’s undeniable,” she says. “I used to think about what outfits I wanted to wear, now I think about what to do under enemy fire. I learned to rethink my life in general.
She hopes for a future without war, for herself and the child she would like to have. “I don’t think the future is better than what I experienced a few years ago,” she concludes.
There are few leisure options for young people in Kherson, bordered by the Dnieper River, which has become the front line. The busiest places are the few cafes on Iliucha Kulyk Street in the center.
Don’t stay locked up
Night falls quickly, the avenue is empty and sad, shrouded in thick fog, lit only by car headlights and the signs of the few shops still open.
However, one bright spot stands out: the terrace of the “Ciao Cacao” cafe, where 18-year-old Dima works when he is not at home and playing the video game Counter Strike.
That evening, the young blonde man is chatting with his group of friends. They take selfies, laugh and talk about their homes, which were destroyed by the strikes.
“We are going out despite the bombs. We don’t want to stay locked up,” explains Dima.
He decided to attend naval school after initially considering leaving the country. “Leaving is ugly. “It’s a betrayal,” he says.
“It is a political war. At some point it will hit me. “I don’t have anything else to do anyway,” he says.
They also feel like they grew up too fast. “Adults say that at 18 you don’t know anything,” the young man exclaims, “but with what’s happening, I think I have enough experience to understand what life means.”
Your vision for the future is pragmatic. When Dima sees himself on the front lines, his 18-year-old friend Anton only dreams of one thing: “I want to work and earn money to rebuild my house.”