By Noor Bakthtiar Ahmad
KYIV, Oct 17 (Bernama) -- The invitation to visit Kyiv stirred mixed feelings in me. I felt a sense of duty to witness first-hand the realities of a country still at war and report on what I saw, but I also had reservations about travelling into an active conflict zone.
The invitation came in early July, when I was asked to join a media visit to Kyiv organised by the Ukrainian Foreign Ministry under its “Ukraine – Southeast Asian Countries” Communication Strategy (2026–2028).
After much thought, the call of duty prevailed. With the approval of my editorial leadership, I decided to go.
On Sept 6, I joined four other journalists from Thailand and the Philippines on our journey to Ukraine.
We flew separately to Chisinau, Moldova, as all airports in Ukraine had been closed since the war began due to the closure of its airspace. From there, we continued our journey by road to Kyiv.
Kyiv By Road
The journey from Chisinau to Kyiv took almost 10 hours by road, covering about 560 kilometres.
We passed through villages, farmland and stretches of sunflower fields before reaching the Ukrainian capital at 6.26 pm.
Along the way, we stopped briefly to buy fruit and spoke to residents about the situation in Ukraine.
Some appeared surprised that a group of foreign journalists was heading towards Kyiv. They asked why we wanted to come, whether we were afraid and what we thought about the war.
Their questions lingered in my mind as we continued towards the capital.
Signs of War
For the first few hours, much of the journey seemed peaceful, but signs of the war gradually became harder to miss after we crossed the border into Ukraine.
One such sign was a bridge damaged in an attack, a reminder that the serene landscape around us had also been scarred by the conflict.
Yet when we finally entered Kyiv, the capital appeared almost normal, like any other bustling city.
The roads were busy, and traffic was heavy. People hurried about, perhaps because we had arrived around the time many were heading home from work.
It was not quite the image I had imagined of a capital in a country still locked in war.
First Alert in Kyiv
We reached our accommodation at 7.30 pm. After checking in, I was tired and looking forward to settling into my room on the sixth floor.
I had barely unpacked when an air raid alert sounded, followed by an announcement over the public address system urging guests to head downstairs to the shelter.
The Air Alert app also offered an unexpected touch. In its English-language version, the all-clear message, voiced by “Star Wars” actor Mark Hamill, ended with the familiar line: “May the Force be with you!”
For a moment, I was unsure what to do. Remembering the receptionist’s instructions, I grabbed my passport and headed downstairs, where I met two Thai reporters from our group on the staircase.
We were still looking for the shelter entrance when another guest, an Englishman named Mike, showed us the way.
Two Filipino reporters from our group were already inside.
The underground shelter, located near the parking area, was dimly lit and equipped with beds, bean bags and tables. Apart from our group, other guests were already there, including families with children. Some worked on laptops, while others lay on beds or bean bags.
The air raid siren could still be heard overhead, while alert notifications continued to sound on mobile phones.
About 30 minutes later, we returned upstairs.
I did not feel particularly worried. Instead, I wondered whether this was what the next few days would be like and how Ukrainians themselves had learnt to live with such disruptions.
A Sleepless First Night
Another alert sounded at 12.24 am, and I rushed downstairs again, this time carrying my passport, laptop, camera, cables and other essentials.
Many guests had already made their way to the shelter. Some were settling down to sleep, while others continued working or checking their phones. By about 3.30 am, even more people had arrived, as the alert remained active and the siren continued to blare.
I did not sleep. Instead, I wrote notes and checked my phone as the night wore on.
Kyiv is five hours behind Malaysia, so while it was still the middle of the night in Ukraine, my colleagues back home were already starting their day.
At one point, my editor messaged me to ask how the journey had gone. I replied that everything was fine.
What I did not tell her was that I was replying from inside an air raid shelter. There was little point in making her worry.
A City That Kept Moving
By morning, Kyiv seemed to have returned to its usual rhythm.
People went to work, restaurants and shops opened, cars moved through the streets, and pedestrians went about their day.
During one journey through central Kyiv, not far from Independence Square, we suddenly noticed a thick column of smoke rising in the distance. It continued to grow as we watched.
Our Ukrainian translator, Anna Pantiukhova, then told us that a building had been hit.
Like the other ASEAN journalists in our group, I took out my camera and began recording what we could see. Around us, however, people continued walking, and cars kept moving.
At first, I wondered how they felt and whether they were afraid as they went about their daily activities despite what had happened nearby.
Over the next few days, I began to realise that fear was perhaps not the right question. Their lives had changed, but they had also learnt to carry on and adapt to the changes.
Ukraine’s Deputy Foreign Minister, Mariana Betsa, described the situation during a meeting with us.
“Kyiv is living, Kyiv is standing. Yes, it’s not easy, because it’s daily attacks, and it should not be a new normalcy, obviously. But Ukraine is very resilient,” she said.
As she spoke, explosions could be heard outside, while air alert notifications sounded on mobile phones in the room.
Learning When To Move
Those mobile alerts had become part of everyday decision-making. Alert sounds could be heard on the street, in restaurants and inside offices, often prompting people to check their phones immediately.
Pantiukhova explained that a differentiated warning system had been introduced to minimise disruption to daily routines, including education and economic activity, by allowing residents to distinguish between different levels of aerial threat.
Yellow indicates a drone threat, while red signals a mass drone attack, a missile threat or a combined missile and drone threat.
I experienced the difference while travelling in a van to another location, when a red warning appeared on our phones.
Pantiukhova told us that the capital was under a mass drone attack and that we would head to the nearest metro station for shelter.
We stopped the van and ran towards the station, then descended on long escalators to a depth greater than I had ever experienced before.
Several groups were already sheltering there. Some sat on the floor while others moved around the station.
What struck me was that the metro continued operating. Trains kept arriving and departing even as people used the same underground space as a shelter.
We waited until the danger had passed before continuing our journey.
Children Who Kept Learning
Perhaps the clearest evidence of how Ukrainians had adapted came during a visit to a school.
We were nearby when another air raid warning sounded. I saw pupils step out of their classroom and quickly form a line before making their way to a shelter. We followed them inside to take cover.
The shelter contained desks, chairs and even a refrigerator.
Once underground, the children did not simply wait for the alert to end. Their teacher resumed the lesson, and the pupils sat at their desks and continued studying.
For someone visiting from abroad, watching a lesson continue inside an air raid shelter was unsettling. For the children and their teacher, however, it appeared to be a routine they were already accustomed to.
During a meeting, we asked Betsa whether Ukrainians, particularly children, were tired or afraid of living under such conditions.
Her response was resolute. “This is absolutely clear. This is our home. We have only one home, one country”.
When Kyiv Stops
At Independence Square, thousands of small Ukrainian flags, photographs and flowers form a memorial to fallen soldiers.
Every morning at exactly 9 am, Ukraine observes a nationwide minute of silence in honour of those who have lost their lives in the war. Users of the Air Alert app also receive a notification marking the moment.
I experienced it myself. Cars stopped, and people stood still. I did the same.
For 60 seconds, there was no movement. Then Kyiv moved again.
A Different Understanding
Towards the end of the visit, representatives of a non-governmental organisation turned the tables on us.
This time, they asked the questions. They wanted to know what we had thought about Ukraine before arriving and whether our views had changed after spending several days there.
I told them that, before the trip, I had imagined fewer people on the streets, tighter restrictions and a very different atmosphere in a country at war.
By then, even my reaction to the alerts had changed. When a yellow warning appeared, I sometimes found myself carrying on with what I was doing rather than immediately seeking shelter, although a red warning was different.
I joked that I felt “a little like a Ukrainian myself now”. Everyone laughed.
Of course, several days in Kyiv could never compare with what Ukrainians have endured for years.
But the question I had carried with me since that roadside stop on the journey from Chisinau had begun to find an answer.
People knew when to stop, when to seek shelter and when to continue.
I had spent much of my first night in Kyiv largely underground. By the time I left, I understood that resilience here was not about ignoring the danger.
It was about learning how to live while the danger remained.
-- BERNAMA