Kyiv, February 2022: As Russian tanks closed in, the world held its breath. For weeks, Ukraine’s capital braced for a siege—air raid sirens wailing, missiles raining on power grids, and Western allies urging President Zelensky to flee. His now-iconic reply—“I need ammunition, not a ride”—ignited a defiance that still burns. But how does a city of three million survive an invasion? And why should Africa care?
While fighting continued on Kyiv’s outskirts, the city braced itself for a siege. Air raid sirens wailed incessantly as missile strikes targeted critical infrastructure. For a moment, it seemed that Kyiv would fall. The US called to offer President Zelensky a way out, but Zelensky responded with words which have hitherto become a rallying cry for all Ukrainians: “The fight is here; I need ammunition, not a ride.”
Those words electrified Ukraine, reaffirming its resolve to resist. Buoyed by intelligence from Western allies, the Ukrainians refused to surrender. Residents fortified their neighbourhoods with makeshift barricades, while volunteers prepared Molotov cocktails in basements. Soldiers and civilians alike worked tirelessly to ensure the city’s survival.
30 kilometres northwest of Kyiv, the small village of Moschun became a major flashpoint in the defence of the capital. Strategically located, the village offered access to key roads leading directly into Kyiv. For over a month, this was a battleground as Russian forces sought to break through. The price of resistance was steep—85 per cent of the village was reduced to rubble. Yet, the defenders held their ground.
At Hostomel, in a display of tenacity and tactical acumen, Ukrainian defenders mounted a fierce counterattack. Anti-aircraft weapons took down several helicopters, while small infantry units, armed with Javelin anti-tank missiles, turned the tide against the invaders. Russian troops, unable to adapt to the fluid battlefield, found themselves bogged down in a deadly quagmire.
READ MORE: An African Journey to Ukraine 1
The fall of Moschun and Hostomel would have opened the floodgates to Kyiv. Their defence was a testament to Ukraine’s ability to adapt and endure under unimaginable pressure against a far superior enemy. Whatever the Russians threw at the Ukrainians, somehow Kyiv remained beyond the Russians’ grasp. Despite the chaos, the defenders refused to succumb to fear.
By April 2022, the tide of war had shifted. Russian forces, plagued by logistical failures and fierce Ukrainian resistance, withdrew from the northern front, abandoning their ambitions to capture Kyiv, but retained the Donbas region and Crimea in the East, about 20 per cent of Ukrainian territory that it has more or less held to this day. Kyiv survived to fight another day.
The retreat unveiled the horrors of occupation. In Bucha, a suburb northwest of Kyiv, the world was confronted with the grim reality of war crimes: mass graves, civilians executed with their hands tied, and streets littered with bodies. The Bucha massacre became a symbol of Russian brutality and galvanised international support for Ukraine.
As a visitor to Kyiv, you expect to see razed buildings, but you will have to go on a hunt to see those. It appears that Kyiv has been spared the worst. But this is certainly not for the lack of trying on the Russians’ part – in September 2024, Kyiv reported intercepting over 1,800 cruise missiles and drones sent from Russia. Kyiv has remained intact because it is the most defended of all Ukrainian cities.
Other towns and cities haven’t been so lucky. Bakhmut and Mariupol, for example, have paid a heavy price in this war. So many lives have been lost, and those cities have been almost flattened in possibly the deadliest engagements of this war.
READ MORE: An African Journey to Ukraine – 2
In Chernihiv, the city was put under siege, with the Russians demanding that the city surrender. While in Chernihiv we observed a historic theatre that was doomed to become a tomb to many people within when it was struck by a missile, but the structure held strong, saving hundreds of civilians. Only one person was killed outside the theatre.
Across the country, critical infrastructure was systematically targeted. By the war’s third month, Russia had crippled half of Ukraine’s power-generating capacity, plunging millions into darkness. This was Russia’s attempt to demoralise the population and influence political decisions. Yet, amidst the devastation, the resilience of the Ukrainian people shone through. Kyiv’s streets bear signs of a city adapting to wartime life. Generators power shops and restaurants. Patriotic messages adorn walls and windows. Sightings of soldiers recovering from injuries are not uncommon, a poignant reminder of the sacrifices being made to protect the nation.
Upon our return from Chernihiv that night, and on yet another visit to the shelter at the City Hotel, I found myself in a quiet conversation with a young receptionist in the middle of the night. She hadn’t sought cover in the shelter, and when I asked her why, her response reflected a resilience and clarity of thought that struck me deeply. She spoke of the war with a calm pragmatism, naming the missiles and drones the Russians used, and explaining which ones posed the greatest threat. Her knowledge was unsettling but necessary – survival in Kyiv had become as much about understanding your enemy’s tools as enduring their attacks.
Then, she said something that lingered with me: “We are peaceful people; we are farmers. We enjoy working with our hands. We are not like Russians—they don’t like to work; they just like to conquer others.” Her words, raw and unfiltered, echoed in my mind as I thought of the theatre in Chernihiv, standing defiant against the odds, and the people inside, saved by a twist of fate but forever marked by fear.
For many in Africa, sentiments like hers might seem hard to comprehend. Russia has long been regarded as a friend, and the rush of former Soviet and Warsaw Pact nations to join NATO is often dismissed or misunderstood. A Columbia University PhD friend once argued that these nations had been “brainwashed, lied to, and threatened.” He insisted they couldn’t see how the West would use and abandon them, as history has shown.
READ MORE: An African Journey to Ukraine – 3
But, reflecting on my experiences and the receptionist’s insights, I challenged his perspective. I listed every country bordering Russia that had joined NATO—Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Romania, Bulgaria, Hungary, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, and Slovenia. Then I added Finland and Sweden, historically neutral nations that abandoned their stance immediately after Russia invaded Ukraine. Then I asked him, “Are you saying all these nations were brainwashed and are incapable of reading history? Or is it possible—just possible—that they see Russia’s imperialism and are GENUINELY AFRAID of Russia?”
For us in Africa, as I pointed out earlier, this war is an opportunity to rethink long-held assumptions. It forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about alliances, power, and survival. Looking back at that conversation with my PhD friend, I cannot help but feel that reflection is necessary. Only by seeing the world through a different lens can we hope to truly understand the struggles of others—and perhaps our own.
That isn’t going to be an easy task, though!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.
