Life between sirens

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NICK EICHER, HOST: Today is Friday, November 7th. Good morning! This is The World and Everything in It from listener-supported WORLD Radio. I’m Nick Eicher.

MARY REICHARD, HOST: And I’m Mary Reichard. Finally today, the sound of life in a war zone. WORLD’s Caleb Welde brings us the sounds and silences of a country learning to live with war.

SOUND: [SIRENS BEGIN]

CALEB WELDE: I’m in southwest Ukraine. Three hundred and fifty miles from the closest frontlines. The people waiting at the crosswalks don’t react to the sirens. A woman pushing a stroller appears unfazed. One woman does pick up the pace but it looks like she’s just waving down a taxi.

SOUND: [SIRENS WINDING DOWN]

In what world do air raid sirens mix with elegant, pastel cities? Chernivtsi’s downtown reminds me of Austria. For good reason. This city was once part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

WELDE: The 6:40PM test?

I ask the people next to me if this is a test. I don’t understand why no one reacts.

SOUND: [SIRENS]

Maybe it’s because this has been their world for almost four years now. Nowadays, if people are really concerned they can check certain Telegram channels to see specifically what’s headed for them. Drones, missiles, or jets. I’m told jets are the least worrying. Sirens go off this night in every region of Ukraine. All twenty-four of them. In some places, in the early evening, like here in other places multiple times in the middle of the night.

SOUNDS: [STREET ACTIVITY]

The next morning, I’m again in Chernivtsi’s central square. It’s a few minutes before nine. People are gathering outside the shops and lining the edges of the square. Every city in Ukraine observes a 9AM moment of silence every day.

Police officers stand in the road blocking every lane of traffic. Heads bowed, hats in hand. Many of the drivers behind them are also out of their cars standing and bowing.

AUDIO: [MAN SPEAKING UKRAINIAN OVER LOUDSPEAKER]

Seven officers stand shoulder-to-shoulder below a towering mural of a Ukrainian flag. To the right of the officers are pictures of more than a hundred local soldiers killed.

SOUND: [BELLS TOLLING]

A dog walks through the main intersection. He’s the only thing moving.

SOUND: [PRAYER SONG]

I’m standing with Sergey Rakuba—head of the Christian non-profit Mission Eurasia.

RAKHUBA: This is their anthem, but this is an anthem in the form of prayer. Faithful God, protect, defend, take care of our country.

It’s not the national anthem but it’s been a favorite here since 1885.

The song continues: “Bless us with freedom, bless us with wisdom. Guide us … into a kind world.”

After Chernivtsi, I meet a pastor in Lviv–another Austrian-looking city five-hundred miles from the front lines. Twelve people were killed a hundred and fifty yards from the pastor’s apartment here. Walking together downtown, we pass a statue encased in steel to protect it from shelling. A sign on it says, “We’ll see the original after the victory.”

It’s symbolic of so many things here. Pastor Pavel says the sign reminds him of a passage in the Bible. In his words, “the one about how we might not see clearly now but one day we will.” In the meantime, the people of Ukraine continue on. Longing to see the original revealed. The kind world, as it was made to be.

For WORLD, I’m Caleb Welde.

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