by Nadezda Sukhorukova
Mariupol’s Hell tells the story of Nadezda Sukhorukova, a resident who entrusted her Facebook page with feelings and reflections on life (and death) in the basement of the besieged city
Mar 18 8:10pm I still can’t understand how people care about anything but life. When we got to the first safe spot and saw a bread stand, we bought all the bread that was available. My friend’s mother demanded that I buy as many white and rye breads as possible. He said, “What if we go further and there is no more bread? We’re sitting in the cellar without bread again.’
I still can’t understand how people can worry about nonsense like a phone that is too old or a salary that is too low. I couldn’t use a single hryvnia in our basement. And my phone went dead the day after the power outage. My grandchildren slept fully clothed. And not only because it was cold as hell, but also because if a bomb fell and we were still alive, it was better to get out from under the rubble with shoes and jackets.
You know, after ten days of nonstop bombing, I began to anticipate their beginnings. My chest felt disgustingly empty and I couldn’t breathe. I was lying on two chairs in a part of the basement with gray icy walls. There were pipes above and below me. Next to me sat my family with their whitehaired grandchildren on boards and mattresses. There was my friend’s family and Engie, the dog, who we had to drag in and out of the basement by force. There was no way she wanted to go into the courtyard full of ash and glass, not even for a minute.
Walking the dog was hell. Because the bombing didn’t stop. I opened the front door and pushed the dog out and watched sadly as he ran down the steps, ears flattened trying to find a place among the splinters on the burnt floor, but then he heard a nasty squeak. A nearby mine exploded and the dog ran backwards. We had to wait a minute and start over. I stood in the door and cried. I was very shocked. Engie was very frightened too, but she didn’t cry, she looked at me with suffering eyes. He couldn’t understand what was happening.
Our basement consisted of many sections. In many of them were people. In one section were very small children. Next to us was a family: a grown son and his elderly mother. They were very quiet and reserved, offering sweets and biscuits to our children and giving us butter and lard when they wanted to leave. Our children were so scared that they hardly ate anything. But they gobbled up the candy and cookies right away. It was a real treasure and a little joy in the dark basement rumbled with explosions. The cookies made our kids a little bit more smiley.
Sevenyearold Varya asked me to tell about Peppa Pig for the first time since the beginning of the war, and even believed me when I promised to buy her a doll as soon as we left the basement. The little girl also wanted to make it clear: «The shops have all been robbed. How can you buy me a doll?’ I replied that no toy stores had been touched and that all the dolls were safe.
I looked at her round face, her tousled hair, her small nose, her neck wrapped in a shawl and I thought, “What if I lie to her?” I kissed her cheeks and her dirty hands and my heart ached. I wasn’t sure if we would survive this night. Varya asked: “Will you buy me this doll?” For real? When?”
His brother Kirill hardly ever spoke to us. He got very scared when we were in another basement of a private house and the roof was hit directly. The roof caught fire and we all had to leave. We ran into the garage under a terrible fire. All around it howled and exploded, and Kirill yelled over the hum of the mines, “Mom, please, Mom!” I want to live! I do not wanna die!”.
Please, everyone who can, tell the world about Mariupol. The people of Mariupol are being killed. There were hundreds of children with my grandchildren in the basements. Many are still there. you want to live You are very afraid.
March 19, 6:57 am On Noah’s Ark
The main thing is not to go crazy
, because the unknown is scarier than bombs. Her name is Lyosha and she is still around. He could have gone, but he flatly refused. Because his children stayed in this city. The day before we left, he came to our basement and brought something to eat because we didn’t go to the surface anymore.
In those days, the staple food was buckwheat soaked in water. We waited for the grain to swell and then swallowed barely two tablespoons. The children had to be forced to eat. There was no salt or flavor in this porridge. Lyosha brought us this porridge, but with canned stew bits. He and his sister’s family lived in his parents’ house.
So I promised him: “If I survive, I will definitely write about you.” He said, “What are you saying? You will surely survive.”
For a few days we struggled with the shock and gave up. We took him on a leash and walked with Engie to our friends beautiful two storey house. First we let the dog, then we came.
We have lived in this house for over a week. Until a direct hit hit the roof and the twostory mansion burned down. I named this house Noah’s Ark. The owners, Maxim and Natasha, welcomed everyone, fed and warmed them. They divided the food equally even though people kept coming.
There were 28 people on the ground floor, in the corridor, under the stairs. We also had a Madonna and Child in the basement. She was a friend of mine’s daughter with a baby born on March 1st.
We almost never went to the first floor. It was dangerous. Only in the morning, after scary nights full of mines and shells, did we run to look out the window at the flag on the building in the center of town. It was important for us to know that the blue and yellow flag is still flying over Mariupol.
We were able to charge our phones in the ark. First from the generator, then from the cars. When the coverage of the Kyivstar network on the steps of the house No. 105, people were happy.
Amid the howling and thundering of the shells, those who still had a charge in their phones called their relatives and friends in other cities. It was impossible to reach any number in Mariupol.
For the first time in a week I was able to call my son who was hundreds of miles from this hell. He started screaming, “Mom, are you alive? Are they all alive?” I didn’t know exactly what people in other cities knew about what was happening in Mariupol, and I started telling them that they were bombing us, firing rockets and killing us.
Then several men came up to me and asked how things were going in the other cities. People had no information. He lived in absolute emptiness.
March 19, 2:47 p.m
If we hadn’t left this morning we’d be dead already. I’m sure I am anyway. There were fewer and fewer people in our basement. As soon as someone found gas or friends with a car, they left. Our neighbors were also preparing to leave. They were stopped by bombing raids. Planes flew every half hour. Now the earth trembled four and sometimes six times every five minutes. They bombed us as hard as they could, as if they wanted to bury every house, every tree, put every soul in a huge crater. We haven’t slept for several days. Or rather, our state could be described as half asleep. I was afraid to move. There was no bathroom in the basement. Everyone went to their own apartment. I had to go to the 5th floor. I could not move.
March 9 at 9:54 p.m
I am sure that I will die soon
. It’s only a matter of days. Everyone in this town is always waiting to die. I just wish my death wasn’t so scary. I know they won’t bury me. That’s what the police officers told us when we asked them what to do with a friend’s dead grandmother. They advised us to put it on the balcony. I wonder how many balconies have dead bodies on them?
During the day I’m outside in a courtyard and there’s graveyard silence around me. There are no cars, no voices, no children, no grandmothers on the benches. The wind is dead too.
The whole life of my town is burning in the basements. It’s like a candle. Turning it off is very easy. Any vibration or breeze and darkness comes. I try to cry but I can’t. I feel sorry for myself, my family, my husband, my neighbors, my friends. I go back to the basement and hear the horrible scraping of iron. It’s been two weeks and I don’t think there’s ever been another life.
March 20, 2:35 p.m
When we arrived in Mangush a very kind man took us, 16 adults and children, a dog and cats, into his beautiful home. We slept in warm beds, washed and ate in different dishes. I asked, “How much does all this cost?” He replied, “Who did you take me for?” While his fellow villager sold cheese and ricotta for five hundred grivnas to hungry people who arrived in broken cars.
(Edited by Alessandra Muglia, translated by Maria Sometti)
March 22, 2022 (Modification March 22, 2022 | 09:08)
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