The train pulls into Kyiv’s central station at exactly 5:12 AM – eat your heart out, SJ (Swedish Railways)! Neither war, bombings, nor border controls between Ukraine and Poland affect its punctuality.
Despite the curfew having ended just twelve minutes earlier, the platform is bustling with life. A young man in military uniform embraces his newly arrived girlfriend, kissing her as if the world around them didn’t exist. Parents welcome their children, families reunite, taxi drivers offer rides and porters stand ready to assist travelers up the stairs – though most prefer to carry their own luggage.
The train from Chelm to Kyiv departs three times a day.
It’s 5:30 AM, and we’re driving through Kyiv’s dark streets. At first glance, the city looks just as I remember it from six years ago, but it soon becomes clear that this is not the case. We pass an area that has been heavily bombed – the empty window frames and shattered walls serve as a stark reminder that everything is not as it once was.
Life goes on – in the midst of war.
On Sunday afternoon, the sun shines brightly and spring is well underway. I walk through central Kyiv and am struck by its beauty, just as before. But at Maidan, the brutality of the war becomes palpable. A memorial honours those who have fallen in Russia’s full-scale invasion. The sheer number of portraits, flowers and Ukrainian flags testifies to the immense loss.
The streets are alive with activity. Cafés, restaurants and shops are open and I’m fascinated by how many new Ukrainian brands have emerged. Clothing, embroidery and jewelry with Ukrainian motifs fill the stores – I really have to restrain myself from buying more than I need.
My companions and I settle down at a café, and for a moment the war feels distant again. The small French-inspired coffee shop with checkered tablecloths has everything you could want – all kinds of coffee and tea, freshly baked pastries, cakes and much more.
At midnight, a new reminder of the war arrives. The “Trivoga” (alarm) app blares loudly, and I jump out of bed. It’s a warning for a drone attack. I rush out into the corridor to take shelter – the “two walls” principle applies. Two hours later, the all-clear signal sounds. You quickly learn to do as the locals do. The next night, when the alarm goes off, I first check the Telegram channels to see where the drones are. If they’re more than six kilometers away? Then there’s no need to rush.
After three nights of disrupted sleep, a thought bores into my head: How do the Ukrainian people endure living like this for more than three years? I’m here for a short visit – but what about everyone else? Those who have to go to work after sleepless nights, day after day, month after month. How do they manage? I feel exhausted, but our Ukrainian colleagues are full of energy every morning. When I ask them, I get the answer: “You get used to it, I guess.”
There are many ways to handle war stress – one of them is humour. New jokes are constantly popping up: “Now I have to get a manicure and go to the hairdresser – I can’t look disheveled if the attack comes.” “I should probably clean, imagine my home being messy when the bomb hits.” “I was cooking dinner when the bombings started, and dinner turned into breakfast instead.”
After January 20, 2025, another joke has spread: “Night alarms for drone attacks, and a new alarm when Trump wakes up – what’s he up to this time?”
Monday begins with the first lesson for media managers from different parts of Ukraine. Some have been forced to flee their hometowns and are now working in domestic exile. Some don’t know if or when they’ll be able to return, like a participant from Bakhmut. Everyone is here for an intensive leadership training, organized by Fojo in collaboration with SSE in Riga and the Ukrainian Journalism Institute at Taras Shevchenko University in Kyiv.
The need for knowledge is great. The war, along with USAID’s recent freeze on aid, has hit the media hard, which now have to find new ways to support themselves. Several managers have involuntarily had to take on greater responsibilities as colleagues have left the country or been sent to the front, without any preparation or opportunity for further training. The discussions are many and lively.
During the simulation game – where participants are to pitch their projects to potential investors – creativity bubbles. Ideas flow, and again, it feels like nothing can break the human will and ingenuity.
We are spared – the alarm hasn’t gone off once during class time, except on the last day, when a MIG plane takes off from a Russian airbase. We go to the shelter in the basement and wait there with dozens of students until the danger is over. This time we only had to stay for 20 minutes, but the basement is prepared to hold classes for several hours.
The shelter at the university
During my stay in Kyiv, I take the opportunity to meet with other organisations and partners working with media. The freeze on American aid has already begun to take its toll – some media outlets have been forced to close, and many don’t know if they’ll be able to pay salaries in two or three months. The need for continued funding for media and civil society is enormous, and the future is uncertain.
But people don’t have time to be downhearted. They go to work, socialise, see theatre performances, go to concerts, start new projects – they live life, despite everything. And above all, they don’t give up. A resilience and a will that cannot be broken.
When I leave Kyiv early Friday morning, it’s as calm as it can be and for the first time during my stay, it’s been quiet all night – no alarms. Admittedly, I still couldn’t sleep – my body has learned to wake up at midnight.
Now I’m traveling back to safety, but everyone I met during the week stays behind. As I board the train, I make a sacred promise to myself: to never let myself be discouraged by all the misery in the world and to never lose focus on what’s important. I will do as the Ukrainians do – keep going, no matter what.
This traveler’s account is written by Veronika Menjoun, Regional Manager of Fojos operations in Europe, as she traveled to Kyiv by train in March 2025 to lead Fojo’s leadership programme for media managers, run in cooperation with Stockholm School of Economics in Riga and Taras Shevchenko-universitetet i Kyiv.
The programme is financed with the generous support of the Swedish Institute.
