Ukraine’s elderly struggle through Russian airstrikes : NPR

Nelia Stepanivna Thomashevska, an 80-year-old resident of kyiv, Ukraine, waves from her kitchen window.

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kyiv, Ukraine — There is electricity on kyiv’s Left Bank today, so a small elevator transports visitors to Liliya Martynivna Lapina’s apartment on the 10th floor. The 88-year-old spends her days in bed under a pile of blankets by a bright but cold window, trying to stay warm.

She stands up straight and seems to come to life when visitors enter her apartment, bursting into a flood of words and enthusiasm over the package of pasta, sugar, tea and cooking oil that has been delivered to her. Lapina wears several layers of colorful wool sweaters and a scarf.

Liliya Martynivna Lapina, 88, lives on the 10th floor of her building and has to use the stairs when power outages cut off the elevator.

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NPR is with the humanitarian group Starenki, which is providing food and stipends this winter to elderly people, most of them stuck in their apartments, as they try to survive frequent heat and power outages caused by Russia’s assault on Ukraine’s energy infrastructure.

As Russian President Vladimir Putin fails to make significant progress on the battlefield, he is attempting to break the will of the Ukrainian people by plunging them into cold and darkness during one of the coldest winters in years. The capital, Kyiv, was particularly hard hit. Kyiv Mayor Vitali Klitschko urged those who could to leave the city. But many people, especially the elderly, have nowhere to go.

“The left bank of the Dnieper was hit very hard by Russian strikes, leaving most people in the dark for days,” says Alina Diachenko, director of Starenki. “Their homes are without heat and electricity, and the elderly are trying to keep warm by wearing more clothes and turning on the gas in their stoves. They are suffering a lot.”

But this day, Lapina is animated. His cluttered apartment is filled with Eastern Orthodox icons. She says God will punish Russia for what they are doing. And she greatly admires Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky:

“Our president is wonderful,” she said. “I listen to him on the radio. No one else could do what he does. And he’s Jewish. They’re very good people, the Jews. … And God is Jewish.”

Volunteers from the humanitarian group Starenki deliver food and scholarships to mostly elderly people stuck in kyiv’s high-rise buildings.

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Natalia Zaitseva, one of Starenki’s volunteers, has two children, an elderly mother and a job in IT, but she still finds time to help those less fortunate.

“Children and the elderly are my passion,” she says, “especially if I see someone who has no friends or family. It makes my throat tighten and I want to cry.”

Zaitseva calls over the intercom for the group’s next visit: Olga Ivanivna. Our group avoids a flashing, sketchy elevator and decides to climb the nine flights of stairs to their apartment.

Ivanivna, 78, opens the door, also wearing diapers and a woolen hat, although there has been electricity for a few days. “Thank God,” she said. “Otherwise it freezes and there is no water.”

Olga Ivanivna, 78, holds a photo of her son, a doctor, who died five years ago.

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Ivanivna says no one else comes to visit, so she really appreciates the staples and camaraderie that Starenki brings.

She shows us a photo of her son, a doctor, who took care of her before he died five years ago. “My good health went with him,” she said.

But she still keeps her son’s houseplants alive. All kinds of potted and hanging plants fill the front room with its large, bright window.

In the next apartment, our group is greeted by Irma, a fierce and soulful-eyed lapdog. Irma’s mistress, Vira Pavlivna Romanchyk, stands behind her walker. She is almost blind. She says her son is shopping.

“But Irma is my best support,” she says. “She sits with me all day, keeps me company and protects me.”

Nelia Stepanivna Thomashevska, 80 years old, is a widow. Her husband, who was a pilot in the Soviet Air Force, died in a helicopter crash.

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The last visit is that of Nelia Stepanivna Thomashevska, 80 years old, who wants to know what kind of journalists we are before telling us about her life. Thomashevska’s husband was a Soviet military pilot and they lived for a short time in the Russian Far East. But he died in a helicopter accident in 1974. The couple had no children. She says that when she was younger, she was very active in the cooperative in her building.

Thomashevska’s kitchen in her building in Kyiv.

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Standing in her small kitchen with its old appliances and stove, she tells us she fears being without power more than airstrikes. She points to the light in the kitchen. “I’m losing electricity and heat,” she said. But today the kitchen radiator is hot. Thomashevska opens the stained kitchen window to sprinkle some seeds on the windowsill. Soon the pigeons arrive, cooing and flapping their wings.

She also has two cats. She says they help her during nighttime drone and missile attacks. “My cats get under the covers because they know in advance there are going to be explosions,” she says. “It’s instinctive. They jump under the covers and know before I do that there’s going to be an airstrike.”

But none of this seems to have undermined his will.

“We will hold on, we will survive and we will win,” she said.

“Heroiam Slava“, she tells us in Ukrainian in a phrase that means “Glory to the heroes.” While this can be said alone, it is also the second half of a call and response with which Ukrainians begin.”Ukrainian Slava” — Glory to Ukraine.

The pigeons gather on Thomashevska’s windowsill, where she feeds them.

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As we walk away from Thomashevska’s apartment building in the snow, she opens her fourth-floor kitchen window and calls out to us, surrounded by pigeons.

“Garnogo dnya” we call from the street in Ukrainian: Have a good day.

Thomashevska, who takes care of her pigeons, says goodbye to us.

NPR producer Polina Lytvynova contributed to this report from Kyiv, Ukraine.