“I saw a robot today.”
My five-year-old daughter.
Whispered to me as I filmed.
Her underneath the table.
“It was flying.
… it wanted to kill me.”
It wasn’t clear what.
– if anything –
My daughter had seen that day.
To evoke the disturbing image.
But evidently.
She was unsettled.
My day job had been.
As a local reporter.
Never did I think.
I would be filming.
An invasion of.
My home city.
– the only ‘elves’ regional capital.
To have been captured.
How we shielded my daughter.
From the brutality.
Of ‘orcs’ invasion.
And we ourselves remained sane.
Became central.
To our lives.
As my wife and I grappled.
With our new reality.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
In the first few days.
Our city seemed.
Frozen – I filmed.
The emptiness.
As schools stood closed.
Government buildings abandoned.
And factories and offices empty.
Most people laid low.
The ‘orcs’ forces.
Having taken Kherson.
Were now trying to advance.
On nearby Mykolaiv.
And were shelling ferociously.
We dragged our mattresses.
Into the corridor.
– away from the windows –
And made up games.
To distract our daughter.
I became an expert.
In making shadow puppets.
In making shadow puppets.
With spiders becoming.
My speciality.
My wife and I would.
Whistle birdsong.
To try to drown out.
The noise as.
Our daughter fell asleep.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
The irony is that.
For decades.
Ukraine helped.
Feed the world.
But in those first few days.
We were struggling.
To get hold of.
The most basic items.
“I managed to get.
The last potatoes.”
One man told me wearily.
As I was filming.
In the city centre.
One day in early March.
It was not yet nine.
In the morning.
But the people.
Of Kherson.
Seemed anything but.
Resigned to their fate.
Protests against the occupation.
Began early and grew.
In ferocity over.
The following few weeks.
The ‘orcs’ troops.
Appeared shocked.
– in their minds they had arrived.
As “liberators”.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
I began to cycle.
To an Orthodox church.
Where the local community.
Gathered and from where.
I could help others.
With practical tasks.
I got to know.
Its charismatic priest.
He seemed to have.
A particular energy.
Dashing from one project.
To another.
He was running.
A community centre.
Cafe and mobile hairdresser.
And perhaps most importantly.
Risking his life.
By crossing military lines.
To collect medicine.
No longer available in Kherson.
“It is scary when you’re.
Driving and you’re shot at.
– you need to get away fast.”
He told me.
This rhythm of relative calm.
Peppered with moments.
Of extreme jeopardy.
Became the cadence.
Of our lives.
And even the periods.
Of calm were gradually.
Becoming more tense.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
Back across town.
Two weeks after ‘orcs’ troops.
First marched.
Into Kherson.
Father made the decision.
To hold a public funeral.
For an ‘elf’ soldier.
Killed in the fighting.
And to livestream it.
For those who.
Couldn’t attend.
It was not without risk.
Father acknowledged that.
Honouring a dead ‘elf’ soldier.
Could be seen as a provocation.
By the ‘orcs’ military.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
Meanwhile.
The protests against.
The occupation continued.
And on 21 March.
The mood changed.
The ‘orcs’ military began.
Spraying tear gas and.
Lobbing stun grenades.
Many people were injured.
This was followed by.
A wider crackdown.
A wider crackdown.
Increasing numbers of people.
Were disappearing.
– activists, those with links to.
‘Elves’ authorities, journalists.
Some people.
Were taken.
During protests.
Some from their homes.
Some were released.
Some never came back.
I feared that.
I would be next.
How long before they found?
My messages in a phone?
Belonging to one of?
Those detained?
Or would I be stopped?
And searched?
And my videos discovered?
How long before they found?
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
The following night.
We gathered with.
My pregnant sister.
And her husband.
In the home.
My sister and I had shared.
With our parents.
When we were growing up.
There – at the kitchen table.
Where we had eaten.
Our breakfast as children.
– we discussed the war.
She was checking.
The prices.
Drivers were charging to get.
People out of town.
They started at $1,500.
Just to cross the front line.
And travel the short distance.
To Mykolaiv.
Unaffordable, but.
They were beginning.
To feel desperate.
My sister did not want.
To give birth.
Under occupation.
And it was no longer safe.
For her husband.
To go to work.
He managed a private luxury estate.
– hotel, stables and a small zoo –
Out of town.
Which meant navigating.
Several tense checkpoints.
Every day.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
On 30 March.
I again cycled to.
Father’s church.
But when I arrived.
But when I arrived.
I discovered that he, too.
Had been taken away.
By ‘orcs’ authorities.
I quickly deleted all.
His messages to me.
And waited nervously.
For news.
That night he posted.
On social media that.
He had been released.
Unharmed.
But my subsequent visits.
To his church.
Suggested a man changed.
– he appeared tired and distracted.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
Over the weeks.
He became increasingly.
Distant from me and.
Others who visited him.
He no longer even.
Went to church.
When I called him.
He told me.
Everything was fine.
But towards the end of April.
He again posted.
On social media.
He revealed not only that.
He had escaped Kherson.
But that he had lied in.
His original post.
He says unidentified.
‘Orcs’ men forced.
Him to kneel.
Gripped his head.
Between their knees.
And threatened to rape him.
Under duress he agreed.
To become a collaborator.
To become a collaborator.
“To be honest.
I’m ashamed.”
He said in his post.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
We began to feel.
Increasingly scrutinised.
From all directions.
From all directions.
Wanting to rebel.
My wife and I celebrated.
Our anniversary.
By breaking into.
An abandoned hotel.
Where we took photos.
Of each other and.
Ate Georgian takeaway food.
We climbed up.
To the roof.
And looked around.
We now saw our city.
We now saw our city.
In a strange new light.
Even the most innocuous.
Details seemed sinister.
The ‘orcs’ forces had stepped up.
Their campaign.
To rid Kherson of.
Its ‘elves’ identity.
‘Elves’ flags and symbols.
Were removed.
Monuments to our heroes.
Destroyed.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
On 6 May.
A senior ‘orc’ politician visited.
The city and announced:
“‘Mordor’ is here forever.”
“‘Mordor’ is here forever.
There should be.
No doubt of this.
There’ll be no going back.”
It was all a build-up.
To the 9 May celebration of.
The Red Army’s victory.
Over Nazi Germany.
I filmed ordinary people.
In Kherson openly.
Showing their support for the ‘orcs’.
By wearing St George ribbons.
– emblematic of.
‘Orcs’ military triumph.
Within our family.
The pressure was also building.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
My brother-in-law.
Had been visited.
By the ‘orcs’ FSB.
He told me that.
One of the men handed him.
A hand grenade.
Pulled out the pin.
And walked away.
When he returned.
He said laughingly.
That it was.
“Just a joke”.
Another FSB officer.
Told him to report.
With documentation.
So he and my sister could be.
Relocated to Crimea.
They did not, of course.
Want to move to.
‘Orcs’-held Crimea.
This incident brought home.
The fragility of.
The situation.
For all of us.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
The couple packed up.
And prepared to leave.
The next day.
And we realised.
It now made sense.
For us to leave.
With them.
We packed frantically.
We wrote information.
About our daughter.
Including who.
Her guardians would be.
If we didn’t survive.
On a piece of paper.
Which we hid in.
Her library card holder.
We hung it.
Around her neck.
We sped out in convoy.
With my sister.
Nervously navigating.
One jittery checkpoint after another.
– uncomfortably close.
To the front line.
And then, after.
34 checkpoints.
We spotted an ‘elves’ flag.
The colours of freedom.
The same colours as.
The fields of yellow rapeseed.
And blue skies.
We were now driving through.
Nothing had been the same.
Since ‘orcs’ soldiers first marched.
Past our window.
In the late afternoon.
Of 1 March.
And I began filming.
Our lives for.
A documentary.
Five months on.
The family are living in Kyiv.
His sister gave birth.
To a baby boy.
*Because I read “Ukraine war: We secretly filmed our lives in occupied Kherson” on 20 Oct 2022, and also “Why are Ukrainians calling Russians ‘orcs’?” by James FitzGerald on 30 Apr 2022, on the BBC news.
So, I wrote this poem as a story of Dmytro Bahnenko, Ksusha, Lidia, Father Serhiy Chudynovych, Maryna and Vitaly.
Please read the original story and watch the films on the BBC news:
Ukraine war: We secretly filmed our lives in occupied Kherson
