«We're playing ‘russian roulette' against our will»: A Kramatorsk resident on the role of business in the city, the paralysis during airstrikes, and the hope that keeps her going amid the shelling

On that day, six people were killed, and another 13 were injured or seriously wounded in the attack on the city center. The fear caused by what we witnessed only subsided in early July, just a few days ago. Since then, the shelling has not slowed down: every day, the occupiers attack the city center and its outskirts, killing or maiming residents in their own homes almost daily. The front line is less than 13 kilometers away.

However, it’s highly likely that «Garage» was the only place in Kramatorsk where visitors were greeted in skirts every day leading up to that tragic date. Even in winter, when temperatures dropped to -20°, Olga Malva came to work wearing nylon tights and dresses. She jokes that it’s her calling—to be beautiful and feminine, especially when there’s war and airstrikes all around. However, after what she went through in May, she had no «resource» left to be feminine. Olga was exhausted, upset, cried often, and was afraid of the place where she used to sit with her friends. Now, the Kramatorsk native is returning to her former wardrobe.

«Sometimes you think: ‘What if I die, and I fall, and my skirt rides up or something shows? I’m supposed to look pretty, not scruffy. ' That’s why everything has to be comfortable… Comfortable enough to die in. But yeah, I joke that I’m a Woman with a capital W. Pants aren’t my thing; I don’t like them. I only wear them when I have to, like today—when I oversleep. I can barely make it through the day in them. I’m more comfortable in dresses and skirts,» — says Malva.

While Olga fills out paperwork and cleans the coffee machine, explosions ring out on the street: three strikes not far from the city center. She barely pays any attention to them. Although, after what she saw and heard on May 5, she no longer takes the shelling so lightly.

«When it flies by, I freeze for a few seconds. But that fear of death is long gone—at least for me. You think of only one thing: if it’s coming, let it be quick (ed.— to kill you). But my instincts still kick in: something’s flying somewhere, it’s coming—and everything inside me tightens up. For over a month, I couldn’t go outside or sit at a table. I just wanted to get inside as quickly as possible; here I feel safe… The only thing that could happen here is if it hits us directly,» — the woman says.

«I always known that someday we will be»

Olya Malva now views the summer terraces with caution: she fears that the occupiers will deliberately target crowded cities in order to «drive people out» of the city—or simply kill them.

«I always knew that sooner or later something would fly at us. But before, ‘Garage' was in a different building, with floor-to-ceiling windows, where there was absolutely nowhere to hide. I imagined how they’d shatter and that glass would turn us into mincemeat. But when you choose to stay in a city near the front lines, consider that chosing your fate. It could happen on a bus, in a car, while going to the store—you have to eat, after all. It could happen at any time. «They forced us to play this ‘russian roulette' on purpose, and here we are in Kramatorsk, standing at this table, with the barrel pointed at us… And we’re playing,» — the woman says.

Olga isn’t thinking about leaving. She’s convinced that someone has to stay in Kramatorsk to keep the city going: to bake bread, treat the sick, and hug the grief-stricken customers who come in for coffee. The city has emptied out over the past six months, but thousands of elderly residents and defenders still remain here.

«I'm surprised when I see a child being pushed in a stroller. It’s painful to watch, because parents are responsible for their children. And you have no right to put a child at risk. People like that should leave. But these are isolated cases; there are fewer and fewer families with small children now, because the airstrikes are getting closer, and they’ve become even more horrific,» — says Malva.

To cheer herself and her friends up a little, Malva writes fairy tales and poems for adults. She hasn’t yet decided to publish a collection, even though she already has enough material (fairy tales in the style of the Brothers Grimm, with adult themes and «juicy» quotes).

«At first, I was a child of Kramatorsk; now it is my child, one that needs to be cared for.»

Olga Malva has lived in Kramatorsk since childhood. She was born in russia, in the city of Arsenyev in the Far East. Her father was in the military, so the family had to move around a lot. Before that, she had imagined Ukraine to be a paradise, since she had lived in a place with constant snow and freezing temperatures.

«Our grandmother from Kramatorsk used to send us packages in wooden boxes. You’d open them, and they’d be filled with sunflower seeds to keep everything from getting crushed. You’d reach inside and pull out a red apple this big. And I’d ask, ‘Mom, is it true that apples like that grow in Ukraine?'» And she’d reply, ‘And there are strawberries, raspberries, apricots, pears, sweet cherries, sour cherries, and gooseberries, too.' And I imagined that Ukraine was paradise. When I came here with my parents, I saw that it really was," — the woman says with a smile.

After Olga finished school in Kramatorsk, she moved to Kyiv. Kramatorsk felt too small for her, she recalls. It wasn’t until 2014 that she realized just how much she loved her city.

«When the occupiers were walking the streets in 2014 and beating on windows with the butts of their assault rifles, I realized: I am a child of Kramatorsk. But when full-scale war broke out, I actually thought that I was no longer a child of Kramatorsk. Now Kramatorsk has become the child, and I—like a mother—must protect my child. And that’s how I’ve lived throughout the war: whatever I can do to contribute to victory as a simple, ordinary woman—I do it all,» — says Malva.

When Olga talks about the sacrifices made for the Donetsk region, she modestly recalls one of the donation campaigns. At that time, she ate nothing but pasta for three months and used the money she had «saved» to buy a drone for the 109th Brigade of the Territorial Defense Forces.

«That drone burned down a ‘loaf' that had five pig-faces inside. And I lost weight—nothing but positives. And once, a woman came up to me and gave me 5,000 hryvnias ‘from Israel.' I added my own money, and we bought an antenna for the guys,» — Malva recalls.

In addition to donation campaigns, Olga donates blood every two months. She complains that her hemoglobin levels often drop, so she can’t donate more often.

«I go to the blood donation center, and I’m the only one there. It’s very rare for anyone else to be there. Even military personnel show up sometimes, but civilians don’t. So I go, and go, and go again. Every time I think: ‘I guess that’s it, enough.' Some time passes—and I go anyway. As long as the war continues, I’ll keep doing this,» - says the woman from Kramatorsk.

Olga Malva is convinced that the final straw—the point at which she’ll have to leave Kramatorsk—will be the loss of her passion: her job. Although there’s a vegetable garden on the property and a «gang» of cats and dogs she cares for nearby, she says she won’t be left with nothing to do. But she says she still believes in a miracle—that the occupiers won’t destroy or capture her city.

«Back in 2014, we could have shared Donetsk’s fate. But a miracle happened—we won’t go into specifics because we don’t know all the details—but a miracle did happen. The russians withdrew, and we remained Ukraine. Since 2014, we’ve surged forward and continued to develop. We’ve built better lives for ourselves here, even though the war is nearby. Maybe we’ll be able to pull it off again now?»  — the woman hopes.