"Drones Are Just Chasing People"

Nikopol is a city in Dnipropetrovsk Oblast, Ukraine, located on the banks of the former Kakhovka Reservoir, directly opposite the Russian-occupied Enerhodar. After the Russians blew up the Kakhovka Dam in June 2023, the reservoir dried up, and with it, the drinking water in the homes of Nikopol residents disappeared.

Due to its relative proximity to the contact line, the Russians are constantly shelling Nikopol with artillery, mortars, and FPV drones. The first thing the locals warn us about when we enter the city is not to go near the coast, because that's where the Russians most often attack with drones. They say it makes no difference to them whether you're a soldier or a civilian.

 

 

"Sometimes they just chase people. They're practicing or they just want to hit something so they don't fly back," says Serhiy, our driver.

Serhiy is a native of Nikopol. He did not leave the city either when heavy shelling began, or when the city ran out of water due to the explosion of the Kakhovka hydroelectric power station dam.

Until June 6, 2023, city residents had access to drinking water. It came from the Kakhovka reservoir directly to the apartments. A few days after the tragedy, there was no water supply at all. Since this happened in the summer, there was a huge risk that the lack of water would lead to an outbreak of intestinal infections. Then, the state and charitable foundations actively joined in saving the city. Water was brought to the city by the ton.

"The Water Runs Out Very Quickly"

“They used to bring five cubic meters of water, but now they bring two and a half. I used to come here at eight in the morning, and there was always enough water. Now I come at six, but the line may not reach me anyway,” a man tells us near one of the water distribution points. This time, he was lucky—he was able to collect water for himself and his elderly neighbors, who cannot come to get water themselves. There is a long line behind him—people are waiting for their turn to fill their bottles. Most of them are elderly.

Although the water supply to the apartments has already been restored, the water in the taps is now technical. You can't cook in it, and locals strongly advise against washing yourself with it. Drinking water is now being delivered to stores where it can be purchased, but many people can't afford it.

We get closer. A piece of paper is taped to the glass, which says, “We are sorry. The water is finished.” Fortunately, there’s still water today. We hear a quarrel near one of the large water bottles. People couldn’t immediately figure out who was behind whom in the queue. Serhiy, our driver, used to work as a truck driver delivering water to the distribution points. He says that this happens often: someone thinks that others are taking too much water, someone got ahead of the queue. People are discussing among themselves that it’s worth setting limits on how much water can be taken.

“I collect more water. I collect not only for my family, but also for my mother-in-law, mother, and sometimes for neighbors who cannot collect water themselves. This can cause dissatisfaction among people. This did not happen before, when there was more water. It could be collected throughout the day. Someone came in the morning before work, and someone came in the evening after work. Now the water runs out very quickly,” says Serhiy.

At another water point, where we arrived at 10:40, the water had already run out, and we saw people returning home with empty bottles.

“I’ll come tomorrow,” says a man who didn't receive water today.

"We Are Crossing Ourselves and Going to Work"

We are leaving the city. Before the full-scale Russian invasion, the Nikopol district had high yields of wheat, corn, sunflowers, vegetables, and fruits.

Now, due to problems with the water supply and constant shelling, work has become more difficult and the harvest is smaller.

In Chervonohryhorivka, we meet with local farmer Vadym.

“The scariest thing is the first explosions, the first hits. Just we hear the first hit, we all immediately go to the basements, we all hide, because we know that if they shoot once, they will shoot five or even ten more times,” Vadym says as we drive up to his farm, “and we always look at the sky, because drones are the scariest thing right now.”

Farming is a family affair for Vadym. He, his brother, and his father are involved in it. They have been growing sunflowers, grains, and rapeseed for years.

We get out of the car in the middle of a field of rapeseed. From where we are standing, we can see the Russian-occupied Zaporizhia Nuclear Power Plant (ZNPP) in full view. We arrive just before the end of the workday, and Vadym agrees to show and tell us everything he can.

A few meters away, we see a large crater, and nearby are the chopped branches of trees. These are the consequences of the Russian shelling. Since the field is located relatively close to the coast and in an open area, Russian drones fly here frequently.

“We are crossing ourselves and going to throw out fertilizer, to spray it—all in plain sight. Drones are flying, but so far, thanks God, we’re lucky. The field was shelled twice, and this particular area was shelled. There were five holes in the field this year alone. That year, there were even more. They [Russians] mostly shelled by "Hrads" that year," Vadym recalls.

His parents' house and a neighbors' house were damaged by artillery fire: "My parents have already covered the roof twice. Something in our area, yes... Nearby, 30 meters from us, there was an uninhabited house—it was hit directly, the roof was completely blown away."

In addition to the field, Vadym also has pigs. To feed them, he is forced to go to neighbors and other farmers for water. The water from the water supply is too salty for the animals, they can't drink it. Many locals have dug wells after the Kakhovka reservoir became empty. Now they collect water in their yards.

"We collect water from people's wells, bring a barrel, and give it to the pigs, because another one is salty. The people, the ones who do this, dug the wells, and we come to them for water. They give us a five-cubic-meter barrel. We pay a thousand hryvnias for three barrels. We collected three barrels, and at least the people benefit, and it's good for us, because we don't have any other water yet," says Vadym.

"They Start Shooting—We Hide, They Finish—We Return"

We go to visit another farmer who has his own well. Serhiy grows tomatoes. He has several greenhouses that need to be watered constantly.

“Water still has salts, but if you have a well, at least it’s free,” says Serhiy. Using a special device, he measures the level of salts in the water with us. In bottled water, this indicator is 0.05, and in water from a well is 6.1.

We go to the greenhouse, the roof of which is riddled with shrapnel from shelling. Serhiy has repaired some of the damage here and there, but he doesn't touch the smaller holes, because, he says, there's no point. The shelling will happen again. The man shows us a tomato in which a small piece of shrapnel had gotten stuck two days before our visit. The farmer says this about his work schedule:

"We are going out and working, they started shooting - we are hiding, they finished - we are returning. Look, look, two days ago, a shrapnel broke the film and cut the wires. There, everything is in holes, you see? They still beat us in the morning, when I have not come yet. If I were here, a bang on the head, and that's all, the tomato growing is over."

About a month before we met, Serhiy's house was hit by a Russian "Hrads". His fence and house were damaged, power lines were knocked down, and pumping systems and boilers burned out. During this time, he restored everything and continued working.

While we were working outside the city, a Russian drone flew into a car in Nikopol. The man who was nearby managed to hide around the corner of the nearest house when he heard the buzzing. But the car in which the volunteer organization was delivering humanitarian aid to the locals was destroyed.

If it weren't for the Russian shelling, life would be bustling in Nikopol without queues for water, without huge craters in farmers' fields, without burnt cars and destroyed houses. Now, instead of enjoying warm summer evenings, city residents are hiding from explosions, each time hoping that they will pass them by.