I had long wanted to see more of Ukraine beyond its capital, and an opportunity finally came when we travelled north to Chernihiv, a region close to the Russian border near Kursk. The road out of Kyiv offered a different perspective on the city—its vastness, its layers of history, and the quiet grandeur that seems to unfold with every kilometre. The highways near the Dnipro River cut through breathtaking landscapes, offering glimpses of a city rich in history and architectural elegance. Kyiv isn’t a name that resonates deeply in African conversations, yet its scale and sophistication rival some of the most celebrated capitals in the world.
Kyiv’s origins trace back over a millennium, predating cities like Moscow, Paris, and London. Its buildings tell a story of pride and resilience, with grandeur that reflects a deep cultural and historical self-assurance. Before the war, this was a metropolis of 3 million people. The city stands as a testament to a people who have cherished their identity through centuries of adversity. It struck me how much Ukraine has awakened since the war began, embracing its identity with a newfound outward focus.
Reflecting on the connection between Ukraine and Africa, I couldn’t help but think about the tens of thousands of African students who studied here during the Soviet era—an estimated 40,000, with 16,000 still present when the war broke out. Given this shared history, it is surprising that stronger ties between Kyiv and Africa haven’t been forged. Perhaps the war, in its tragic upheaval, will serve as a catalyst for deeper, more meaningful connections in the future.
It takes more than two hours to drive to Chernihiv. Since I wasn’t sleeping well and I was exhausted, I decided to catch some sleep during the trip. I woke up when we had already arrived. I only learnt how far we had driven on the return trip.
We arrived in Yahidne, a small village about 140 kilometres northeast of Kyiv and 15 kilometres south of Chernihiv. It had endured a brutal 28-day occupation by Russian forces in March 2022. The air was sharp with cold, biting through my layers despite my best efforts to dress for the weather. One of the local officials in our delegation commented that their view is that there’s no bad weather, only bad clothing, but on that day, that felt like an indictment of my resolve.
READ MORE: An African Journey to Ukraine 1
The stories that Yahidne carried were colder still. Ivan, a maintenance manager of a nursery school, narrated how they were herded into the basement—a two-storey brick building at the edge of a forest that Russian officers had commandeered as their headquarters. What had once been a place of learning and laughter was transformed into a dungeon. A total of 368 villagers, men, women, and children, were crammed into the suffocating underground space, left to endure 28 days of darkness, filth, and fear. They were let out once a day for just 20 minutes, long enough to catch a breath of fresh air or endure a soldier’s barked orders. Thirteen of them never made it out alive. Some were shot by soldiers, others succumbed to the unspeakable conditions.
The basement was a living tomb. Without electricity or heat, the air became stale and damp. Food was scarce, and the overcrowding left many struggling for oxygen. The villagers described the gnawing descent into hypoxia, a dazed stupor that dulled the senses and sapped the will to live. It wasn’t just the physical deprivation; it was the psychological toll of knowing that every creak of boots above might be the last thing they’d hear.
As we walked through Yahidne, I couldn’t help but think of those days of captivity. The school has since been turned into a museum, a living testament to what happened there. Foreign dignitaries have walked the same paths we tread, their visits a solemn acknowledgement of the atrocities committed. Europeans have an extraordinary commitment to preserving their history; their lives seem deeply intertwined with their past. In Yahidne, this ethos is palpable. Even while the war rages on, the Ukrainians have ensured that Yahdine stands as a declaration: this happened, and it must not be erased.
The scene was hauntingly familiar, like something torn from a World War II documentary. I’ve spent countless hours watching those old black-and-white reels, piecing together the brutal history of the 1940s. There are many stories of brutalities that accompanied Russians’ ‘liberation’ of Eastern European nations from the hands of the Nazis. But standing there in 2024, in a village that bore witness to such unthinkable cruelty, I couldn’t escape the gnawing question: has Russia changed at all?
To understand that question, though, one must take a step back, to look beyond the immediate brutality and into the deeper shadows cast by history. Yahidne is a scar that forces us to confront the darker truths of our shared humanity. And Russia presents us with an unsettling reflection—a reminder of how easily power, unchecked and unrepentant, can resurrect the spectres of the past, dragging them into the present with devastating familiarity.
************
On the night of February 24, 2022, the Russian Federation, under the orders of President Vladimir Putin, launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine—a stunning escalation in a conflict that had been simmering since 2014. Ten separate fronts erupted into violence as over 200,000 Russian troops descended upon Ukraine, their ultimate goal clear: the capture of Kyiv.
READ MORE: An African Journey to Ukraine – 2
For Ukraine, the signs of impending war had been mounting for months. Satellite images had revealed a massive buildup of Russian forces near the border, while intelligence reports detailed meticulously coordinated plans to overwhelm the nation in a matter of days. Yet, when the invasion finally began, it was no less shocking. Missiles rained down on cities across Ukraine, and armoured convoys pushed forward in a brazen bid to seize control of key territories.
Nowhere was the urgency greater than in Kyiv. The capital, situated a mere 100 kilometres from the Belarusian border, became the primary target of Russia’s blitzkrieg strategy. A 65-kilometre-long convoy of Russian armoured vehicles began its ominous advance toward the city, the massive column snaking its way south like a steel leviathan. The world held its breath as the Battle for Kyiv commenced.
Hostomel: The first crucible
As the Russians were closing in on Kyiv, their strategy was as comprehensive as it was devastating: encircle the city, eliminate Ukraine’s political leadership, and capture the capital in a lightning strike.
To achieve that, the Russians concentrated their efforts on capturing Irpin, Bucha, and Hostomel. Hostomel, a town just 30 kilometres north of the capital—became the focal point of one of the war’s earliest and most decisive battles. Hostomel is home to the Antonov Airport, famous for housing the Antonov An-225, the biggest aeroplane to have ever been built. But to the Russians, its significance lay not in aviation history but in its strategic value. Capturing the airport would provide a vital air bridge for deploying thousands of troops directly to Kyiv’s doorstep, a move which would have enabled Russia to take the city with minimum resistance.
While the Russians advanced on Kyiv with tanks and infantry and helicopters and missiles, another, more sinister plan was unfolding—a decapitation strategy aimed at erasing Ukraine’s political leadership in one swift stroke. Central to this plan was the deployment of over 400 mercenaries from the Wagner Group and the Kadyrovites, tasked with assassinating President Volodymyr Zelensky and key members of his government. These elite operatives infiltrated Kyiv in February 2022, armed with detailed intelligence and orders to destabilise the Ukrainian state by cutting off its head.
READ MORE: Kisangani Hostage Crisis of 1964 Can Help Explain Africa’s Reaction to Russia-Ukraine Conflict
This strategy was not an afterthought but a critical element of the broader offensive, designed to paralyse Ukraine’s resistance and create a power vacuum that could be swiftly filled with a puppet regime. The Wagner mercenaries operated in tandem with Russian military efforts to encircle the capital, their actions coordinated to exploit any vulnerabilities exposed by the chaos of war.
The assault began with ferocity. According to Russian sources, 200 helicopters roared into Hostomel, their rotors slicing through the frigid air as they unleashed volleys of rockets and gunfire. The defenders were extended and ill-prepared, as the Russians managed to establish dominance over the airport. By 25th February, Russia announced to the world that Antonov Airport was under its control.
Kyiv’s fate was in the balance.
Charles Makakala is a technology and management consultant based in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. He is available at makakalajr@yahoo.com and on X as @makakalajr. The opinions expressed here are the writer’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of The Chanzo. If you are interested in publishing in this space, please contact our editors at editor@thechanzo.com.
