Tears, blood and courage: when war came to Ukraine

As I stood on Maidan square in Kyiv on the 24th February 2022, the gravity of what had just befallen Ukraine crept under my skin. In the deserted epicenter of the capital, the air was thick with fumes and sorrow.

Kyiv, Mariupol, Donetsk, Kharkiv, Odesa: the country’s main cities are awoken to the sound of explosions following Russian President Vladimir Putin's decision to launch the invasion.

Wrapping blue and yellow flags around their shoulders, a handful of people gather at the square in a show of defiance. “If we need to, we will take up arms, to defend our country, our democracy. We want to show the world that we are not scared”, says 25-year-old Artem, gravely.

It's a spirit I will encounter regularly throughout my two weeks in the war-torn country. A spirit that will be shrouded in tears and pain with the everyday news of death and destruction. The chilling shriek of air raid sirens tears the silence of the city centre.

When I meet Anabell, a young dancer, she is about to go down into the Kyiv metro where she has sought refuge with her parents.

“Every time we go outside, we’re very nervous, will there be a bomb or a rocket? We try not to panic. Me and my parents will stay here until the last possible moment. We will get through this,” she tells me.

Back at the historic Ukrayina hotel, a strange scene awaits me. Groups of journalists, with all their luggage, are getting ready to go. Everyone has been ordered to leave before dawn. News of an imminent strike on Kyiv has spread. All the hotel staff has disappeared.

I send my last files to the newsroom just before the 10 pm curfew and drag my bags, with the help of a Turkish colleague, to another hotel on the opposite side of Maidan square. Night falls on an eerily deserted