It was a Thursday.

At five o'clock in the morning on February 24, 2022, Vladimir Putin announced the start of the operation to protect Russian speakers in Ukraine and to "denazify" and "demilitarize" the former Soviet republic.

The first bombardments begin as Russian tanks cross the Belarusian border and rush towards kyiv.

"It was my father who first called me from the United States," recalls Rachel McVey, 30, from Pennsylvania.

"He said to me, 'Rachel, missiles are falling, the war has begun'. I told him no, it's fake news, an exaggeration."

But from her bed, the young woman quickly realizes that the largest military operation in Europe since the end of the Second World War has actually begun.

"Everything was unreal. In kyiv, helicopters were landing with Russian paratroopers. Everything seemed possible at that time."

For Issa Diallo, president of the Council of Africans in Ukraine, the amazement is just as strong.

"I couldn't believe this war was going to happen. Until I heard the first cannon shots rattling the windows. For me, Russians and Ukrainians are brothers. I understand that they want to show their muscles and heckling each other. But from there to shooting and killing… I couldn't believe it."

Gérard de La Salle remembers the sirens that woke him up at 7 a.m.

"I saw people loading their cars through the window, traffic jams forming, but I decided to go for a walk in town to see what was going on", says the French entrepreneur, established in Ukraine since 2007. "I returned to my apartment in the afternoon. I was still in the elevator when I heard two huge explosions. There was smoke, two missiles had exploded 300 meters away from my home. At that time, I said to myself that it was out of the question to stay in Kyiv."

Go or stay?

During these days at the end of February 2022, millions of Ukrainians leave in disaster towards the west of the country but also towards neighboring countries, in Poland or Moldova, to flee the Russian advance.

Rachel was already in Lviv, the big Ukrainian city located a few dozen kilometers from the Polish border.

She had settled there a fortnight before the offensive, yielding to the requests of her parents worried about the situation, thinking of returning very quickly to kyiv where she has lived since 2016. 

But the young woman does not cross the border, waiting for her Ukrainian companion to manage to leave the capital.

Two days later, he joins her and they both begin a strange new life "in transition".

"We took over the apartment from expats who had left and we took care of their cats. We lived there with friends, friends of friends, colleagues, strangers."

For Gérard, 45, whose agricultural equipment import and distribution company has premises in Vinnytsia, 280 km south-west of kyiv, the decision is quickly made.

"I loaded up my car like everyone else and drove over there with some friends."

For him, Vinnytsia, 110 km from the Moldovan border, is a safe place.

"I think I would have had time to see the Russians arrive if they had invaded the whole country. For me, I was safe there and I never said to myself that I had to leave the country. After the first day, it took me a little while to get my mind together because you don't understand what's going on. You hear the missiles, you see them and you don't know how it's going. turn."

Issa, Gérard and Rachel, three foreigners who have been living in Ukraine for several years, chose not to leave the country after the Russian invasion of February 24, 2022. © David Gormezano, France 24

During these days, as the shock wave of the invasion progresses, Issa Diallo decides to hide on the 7th floor of the tower where he lives with his Ukrainian wife and two daughters.

Put tape on the windows, mattresses in the corridors, to sleep far from the windows in the event of an explosion, organize with the neighbors to arrange the basements of the building in the event of an air alert.

But like Rachel and Gérard, he makes the decision to stay in Ukraine.

"Friends suggested we go to western Ukraine, and even to Switzerland. But my wife and my daughters didn't want to leave. My children told me: 'We were born here, we can't run away because of this war, you have to stay here.' My mother-in-law, who is very old, didn't want to leave either.

At 59, after more than thirty years in Ukraine, Issa does not have Ukrainian nationality, having dual nationality is not legal in Ukraine.

In addition to the reluctance of his family, he did not wish to rub shoulders with the hostility and administrative hassle of the countries of the European Union against nationals of African countries.

"Honestly, if I had really wanted to leave here, it would have been to return to Guinea. I spent enough time here to have papers in normal conditions and to be able to live in peace. I don't want to take it up again elsewhere . When we have a piece of bread, we share it. It helps to bear the difficulties, and I don't regret it."

Resistance, solidarity: a plunge into war

When asked about those terrible days in February and the decisions they made then, Rachel, Issa and Gérard all three have their voices charged with emotion.

After the amazement and vertigo felt, they describe the intense weeks that followed February 24, 2022 as a timeless moment, marked by the incredible surge of solidarity and fraternity that took hold of the country to resist the Russian invasion.

Drawn into a conflict that goes beyond them, necessity making law, they have become actors in History on the move. 

"In moments of calm, I would sneak out to help people," recalls Issa Diallo.

"A lot of people were calling me, I couldn't sit idle. I would go out with my car to pick them up and bring them to the station. It was often fellow Africans, but also Ukrainian families. At the station , there were huge scrambles, we had to help those who were in difficulty, with all their bags. It was not easy but I was happy not to stay at home.

Issa Diallo in the parking lot of his residence in kyiv, during a power outage, February 9, 2023. © David Gormezano, France 24

In Lviv, Rachel's companion took the decision on April 16 to enlist in the Ukrainian army and went to the front.

"At the end of August, he was sent to Bakhmout (the town in Donbass that Russian forces have been shelling for months) for two months. I was very worried. Thank God he was assigned to another area. I'm counting the days and I hope for his return."

To support this expectation, Rachel decides to return to Kiev - "where I feel at home" -, resigns from the advertising agency where she works, owner of a Russian, and begins to collaborate with the United media platform 24 [an initiative of the Ukrainian government to raise funds, Editor's note].

“I wanted to contribute to the war effort. A lot of my friends turned to social media, war reporting. I worked on a campaign about Azovstal [the Mariupol metallurgical plant where the Azov battalion resisted the Russian troops for many weeks, Editor's note]. I feel good doing this because I am helping the country."

As for Gérard, the French business manager, he undertook during the first weeks of the war, "raids" towards kyiv in order to repatriate equipment, vehicles and collaborators to Vinnytsia.

"At that time, I thought I had lost my business. I maintained the link with the employees. It was clear, they had to get their families to safety. Some started making hedgehog picks for stop the Russians. I paid all the salaries, I didn't fire anyone."

At the beginning of April, after the Russian withdrawal from the surroundings of kyiv, he is back in the capital.

Gérard de La Salle, near his office in kyiv, February 6, 2023. © David Gormezano, France 24

Back to a false normal

After the battle of Kiev, won in April, the Ukrainian forces recorded several military victories in the following months: they regained ground in the east, in the oblast of Kharkiv, and reconquered the city of Kherson, in the south.

In the capital, despite the curfew, life seems to have resumed its rights.

Until Moscow decided to bomb the country's energy infrastructure, starting in October.

Since then, the inhabitants of the capital, like all Ukrainians, have lived to the rhythm of power cuts and generators.

On this sunny afternoon in February 2023, strolling in the peaceful alleys of the Zhytniy market, in Podil, the trendy district of kyiv, Rachel is doing some shopping.

The sporadic bombardments on the capital sometimes forced him to take refuge in the metro.

Paying attention to alerts and all noises has become routine.

"Putin is increasing the pressure but people are adapting. Apart from the old and the sick who really need electricity, we ordinary people have gotten used to living [with little electricity, editor's note]. It makes us stronger, more confident. A year ago, we were so scared, it was total panic. Now we know what to do. So good luck Putin!"

Rachel McVey © David Gormezano, France 24

Issa Diallo has resumed his commercial activities little by little, in a completely new context.

Before the war, the Guinean chartered containers filled with sunflower oil and mayonnaise to African ports.

From now on, the maritime blockade imposed by the Russians complicates these operations.

"The situation is not as normal as I would like. We must continue to fight to live," he comments.

"Before, we sent through the port of Odessa. Now, it's impractical. You have to ship the goods by train or by truck to the port of Constanta, in Romania, or to that of Gdansk, in Poland. But the price to transport them there represents the price that we paid before the war to transport them to Africa.The prices have doubled, that's how it is.

Issa Diallo in her apartment in kyiv, February 7, 2023. © David Gormezano, France 24

Gérard's "business", strongly linked to maritime trade, has also resumed.

In August, with the implementation of the agreement on the export of Ukrainian cereals to the Black Sea signed between Russians and Ukrainians under the aegis of the UN and Turkey, the Ukrainian agricultural sector started up again.

“At that time, farmers who had huge stocks from the previous year were able to start selling and business started up again. I have just closed the 2022 accounts and I am in positive despite a 25% decrease in the turnover. And 2023 is off to a good start", he explains.

Manage the distance with the country of origin

This new normal that is taking hold does not prevent each other's families from worrying.

The daily news of the evolution of the conflict, echoed by the media around the world, is hardly reassuring.

Little by little, a gap seems to be forming between the perception of the realities of the war seen from elsewhere and what we feel in Ukraine.

"My mother was very scared, but she's used to it" continues Gérard.

"I have a brother who was in the French special forces and a twin sister who joined the Iraqi army for the battle of Mosul. They reassured her. Statistically, there is still little chance falling under a missile. This is not at all the case in areas where there is artillery bombardment. In Kiev, there are air alerts every day but we don't really pay attention to them anymore."

A point of view that seems obvious in Ukraine, but which is difficult to understand for relatives who live much further from the conflict.

"For parents, who have never experienced war in their country, it is difficult to imagine their daughter in this situation and to live with this anguish. But it brings us closer, we make more effort to understand each other “, explains Rachel, adding that with “my friends and my family in the United States, who are very supportive [of the fight led by the Ukrainians, editor’s note], an experience gap has been created”.

After more than 35 years in Ukraine, Issa Diallo has not cut ties with his native Guinea, where he owns a house.

But for those close to him, the din of war remains distant.

"I know Ukraine better than Guinea now. When I go back to Guinea, they say 'the Ukrainian is back!'

Before the war, we used to say 'the boy from Moscow is back!'

Before, we didn't make the difference" he says smiling, continuing to denounce the absurdity of this fratricidal war.

"I see the destruction. It's aberrant, it's inhuman, it's insane."

After the war…

For him, as for all Ukrainians, the outcome of the war is uncertain and distant.

However, his ties with Russia seem to be definitely broken: his Ukrainian wife is of Russian origin, "his brothers live in Russia, in the Tula region [200 km south of Moscow, editor's note], where they manufacture tanks and Kalashnikovs. Now they don't talk to each other."

With this family break, a linguistic break also takes shape.

Arrived in the USSR in 1986, as part of a university exchange, Issa Diallo learned Russian, which he practiced for decades in independent Ukraine.

From now on, learning Ukrainian is the order of the day.

Gérard himself identifies unreservedly with Ukraine's fight against Russia and constantly thinks of "Victory Day".

"I often talk about our army," he notes.

"It's my second country. Even though I'm a Frenchman with a long heritage, I love France but my life is in Ukraine. People said to me: 'leave, you don't need to be there '. And I said to them: 'yes, I need to be there'. You don't need to be at the front to be active in the war against Russia".

For him, Ukraine must return to the borders of February 23, 2022, forget Crimea and the part of Donbass annexed by Russia.

"It's become a desert populated by old people and alcoholics. Let's leave this area to Russia and get the rest. In the south,

in the oblasts of Kherson and Zaporijjia, people speak Russian but they are pro-Ukrainian.

They live under occupation, like France in 1943."

For her part, Rachel does not express such a strong opinion on how war and post-war should be managed by the Ukrainian government.

The outcome of the conflict has become an intimate matter for her.

"I got married with my partner in the fall and we want to start a family. Russia is committing a genocide, a cultural war. I want to be able to raise our children in Ukrainian and teach them the history of Ukraine. "

For Rachel, Issa and Gérard, the war seems to deepen even more the bond they have woven with their adopted homeland.

"I distanced myself from American culture and the war reinforced that," the American told us.

"I now feel totally connected to the Ukrainians," she adds with determination.

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