Latest news with #Iryna
Eater
6 hours ago
- Business
- Eater
Sample Ukrainian Pastries and Chicken Kyiv at This Stunning Sequel
Since it opened in January 2024, Lincoln Park's Soloway Coffee has maintained its long lines out the door even more than a year later. Artur and Iryna Yuzvik, the Ukrainian couple behind the stylish corner cafe, aren't strangers to thoughtfully crafting caffeine-centric concepts and the culture around it. They've opened two Karma Coffee cafes in their hometown of Ternopil, Ukraine. Soloway Coffee Roastery followed in 2016, becoming the first roastery in Ukraine to receive permission to export coffee to the U.S. On Wednesday, June 4 at 10 a.m., the couple will grow their community with the opening of Abrah just a few steps away at 2269 N. Lincoln Avenue. While coffee is the star at Soloway, at Abrah it's bread and pastries. The all-day bakery and bistro features a different menu of coffee drinks, baked goods, and more complex dishes for brunch and dinner. Like at Soloway — a term of endearment and sign of spring, meaning 'nightingale' in Ukrainian — Abrah's kitchen doesn't feature any prominent chefs. The couple recently hosted a four-day master class for their staff led by celebrated French pastry chef Romain Dufour. 'We have a good team, and we train them, so the end result behind everything is due to the teamwork,' Artur says. Adds Iryna in Ukrainian, which Artur translates into English: 'There's not a single dish or pastry that isn't our vision and matches our lifestyle philosophy. We want to make sure that people feel there is a personal touch to every project we do.' Abrah is divided into two spaces. One features freshly baked breads and to-go pastries, including creme brulee danish, seasonal berry-filled laminated pastry, and classic plain croissants. On the savory side, there's kimchi danish and puff pastry topped with roasted vegetables, bacon, and mashed sweet potato. For the streamlined coffee program, they have collaborated with the Soloway roastery team in Ternopil to create a 100 percent arabica custom blend with hints of peach yogurt, blueberry, and linden honey. Tea options are from Chicago's Spirit Tea. The couple also plans on adding a small retail section with items made on premises and unique imports. An intimate dining room open for breakfast, brunch, and dinner, with seating for 24 guests, occupies the other side, with an open kitchen dominating the space. For the menu, the couple found inspiration from France, Scandinavia, and Ukraine with American touches as well. 'We've been here for two years in Chicago, and we've noticed what are the local favorites,' says Artur. But they will be open to feedback. 'We will listen to our guests to make sure that they find what they're looking for.' 'We'll try to surprise our guests with unexpected flavors,' says Iryna, adding that the goal will be to present the ingredients in a way that best showcases them. Menu dishes include a Kyiv-style chicken cutlet, which is filled with dill butter. It's served atop parsnip puree and finished with pickled onions. Charred romaine and garlicky baby potatoes tossed in smoked paprika and butter sauce accompany a grilled skirt steak paired with a peppercorn sauce. Gombovci, a classic dish from Western Ukraine, features tender dumplings made from fresh farmer's cheese, flour, and eggs. They're filled with ripe cherries and include a coating of breadcrumbs, which adds a delicate crunch. They're garnished with a rich sour cream sauce, seasonal fruit, and cherry jam. The concise wine list features natural wines, including pét nats. For brunch, the cocktail offerings focus on aperitif-style drinks, while in the evening, there are espresso martinis and whiskey sours along with other classics. The interior design of Abrah features many custom elements, including charming food images hand-drawn by Iryna on white tiles on one wall. Lime-wash paint with delicate warm undertones helps create a calming atmosphere. Above the pass of the open kitchen, light blue and white patterned tiles add a vintage touch. A small patio is planned for the middle of the summer. For the name of their second venture in Chicago, the couple looked close to their new home. 'We wanted to play a bit with Abraham Lincoln as this is Lincoln Park,' says Iryna. 'We decided to give some respect for the street and area that accepted us as strangers and made us feel very welcome.' Tour the space before Wednesday's opening below. Abrah , 2269 N. Lincoln Avenue, opening on Wednesday, June 4; opening hours will be 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. on Wednesday through Sunday.
Yahoo
2 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
Russia tells Ukrainians in occupied areas to get Russian passport or leave
For more than three years, every time 67-year-old Iryna and her husband stepped beyond their front door, the Ukrainian couple feared for their lives. They could be caught up in shelling or in a drone strike — or end up being interrogated by security agents at gunpoint as they tried to cross a checkpoint in the southern part of Kherson region, an area still under Russian control. The couple, who had been living under occupation since the early days of Russia's invasion, initially refused to get a Russian passport even as Moscow made it increasingly difficult to survive without them. "Everything was becoming harder and harder," said Iryna during an interview with CBC News last month. "You felt like you were in a cage." Iryna, who CBC News agreed to identify only by her first name due to her concerns about retribution from Russia, said she and her husband felt they had no choice but to get Russian passports last year. That was when the local stores closed and it became impossible to get groceries without going through a Russian checkpoint. Like many other Ukrainians, she and her husband accepted Russian citizenship because they feared what would happen if they didn't. It is part of what human rights experts see as a widespread campaign of coercion that's designed to extend Moscow's influence over the occupied territories, areas it demands Ukraine relinquish as part of any potential peace deal. At the same time, the Kremlin has refused to implement a 30-day ceasefire, and Russian forces have recently launched a new offensive to try and take more Ukrainian land. According to Moscow, 3.5 million residents living in Donetsk, Luhansk, Zaporizhzhia and Kherson have received passports. While Russian President Vladimir Putin said that the country had "virtually completed" the mass issuance of passports in these areas, he signed a presidential decree in March to target the few Ukrainians still holding out. Ukrainians who live in Russia, or the areas it purports to control, have to legalize their status by Sept. 10 — or leave their homes. Though these Ukrainian regions aren't fully controlled by Russia, Moscow attempted to justify its claim to them by staging "sham" referendums in September 2022 that were condemned by world leaders. Its passport policy is an extension of that strategy, considered an attempt to weaken Ukrainian sovereignty and a clear sign that Moscow has no intention of giving up the territory it now occupies. Russia has previously used its fast-track passport scheme as a geopolitical tool in other areas, including in thebreakaway regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia in Georgia and in Moldova's separatist Transdniestria region. After Russia illegally annexed the Crimean peninsula in 2014, it distributed Russian passports in a widespread campaign. At the start of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine on Feb. 24, 2022, Iryna and her husband were living in a cottage on an island in the Dnipro River Delta in the Kherson region. The area was seized by Russia during the first week of the war. When Ukrainian forces retook part of Kherson, including Kherson City in November 2022, Iryna said Russia's soldiers ordered her and other residents to evacuate further south. She and her husband ended up living in someone else's house in the village of Stara Zbur'ivka, located along the south side of the Dnipro river. They tried to avoid interacting with the Russian soldiers, Iryna told CBC News, but having to cross a Russian checkpoint each time they needed groceries or supplies meant they would be grilled by those manning it. "They kept asking 'Why are you not taking a passport, are you waiting for the Ukrainian military to return?'" said Iryna. On one occasion, she said, a soldier pointed a gun at her husband's head while questioning him. "It was no longer possible without them," she said of getting a Russian passport. "It was just dangerous." When Iryna and her husband decided to leave Kherson in March, they used their Russian passports as they travelled into Crimea and then Russia. At that point, she said, a local underground network of volunteers helped them get back to Ukraine by going through Belarus. Now living in Dnipro, the couple said they have no use for the passports Russia imposed on them. Even before Russia launched its full-scale invasion, Moscow was trying to entice Ukrainians with citizenship. Putinsigned a decree speeding up the process for those living in the self-proclaimed regions of Donetsk and Luhansk, which were then controlled by Russian-backed separatists. By July 2022, the Kremlin announced that all Ukrainian citizens were eligible to receive passports under the fast-track scheme. According to Human Rights Watch, the passports were distributed through anillegal pressure campaign, in which Russian authorities threatened to detain Ukrainian citizens or confiscate property if they didn't accept a passport. Russia has made it increasingly impossible to live without the document in the territory it occupies, requiring it to access state services, including pension payments, education and health care. During a six-month period in 2023, the international organization Physicians for Human Rights documented at least 15 cases of people being denied medical care, because they lived in the occupied territories and didn't have a Russian passport. The group said some hospitals even set up a desk so desperate patients could fill out the necessary paperwork right there. Ivan, a co-ordinator with the Yellow Ribbon resistance campaign that's active in the occupied territories, told CBC News that through the first few years of the Russian invasion, he and other volunteers advised residents about how to avoid accepting a Russian passport. CBC News agreed not to identify him by his last name, given his work in the occupied territories and the possibility of retribution by Russian authorities. In 2023, the resistance group ran an information campaign about steps Ukrainian citizens could take to prevent their flats or other real estate from being confiscated if they didn't have Russian citizenship. But he said as Russia ramped up restrictions, the messaging changed. "We are recommending that people take a Russian passport because you basically need it if you want to survive," he said during a Zoom interview in April. "You could be arrested or detained ... just because you don't have it." While he and others try to reassure residents that getting a passport is "no big deal" and they can later relinquish their Russian citizenship, he acknowledges that it could mean that men who are new citizens could be drafted into the country's military. Ivan, who graduated from university in information technology in 2021, was living in Kherson City when it was invaded by Russia. At the time, he had lost his Ukrainian passport, so he ended up being issued a Russian legal document. After the liberation of Kherson City, Ivan went to the northern part of the country, before later taking a route through Russia to enter the Russian-occupied part of the Ukrainian territory of Zaporizhzhia. He told CBC News he had relatives living in the area that he needed to bring passports to, and he helped a few local activists there stage non-violent resistance campaigns by tying yellow ribbons to trees and distributing information pamphlets. But he acknowledges he only knows of a few people in the occupied areas who haven't yet taken a Russian passport. "Even they know that they will have to accept a passport if the occupation continues."
CBC
2 days ago
- General
- CBC
Russia tells Ukrainians in occupied areas to get Russian passport or leave
For more than three years, every time 67-year-old Iryna and her husband stepped beyond their front door, the Ukrainian couple feared for their lives. They could be caught up in shelling or in a drone strike — or end up being interrogated by security agents at gunpoint as they tried to cross a checkpoint in the southern part of Kherson region, an area still under Russian control. The couple, who had been living under occupation since the early days of Russia's invasion, initially refused to get a Russian passport even as Moscow made it increasingly difficult to survive without them. "Everything was becoming harder and harder," said Iryna during an interview with CBC News last month. "You felt like you were in a cage." Iryna, who CBC News agreed to identify only by her first name due to her concerns about retribution from Russia, said she and her husband felt they had no choice but to get Russian passports last year. That was when the local stores closed and it became impossible to get groceries without going through a Russian checkpoint. Like many other Ukrainians, she and her husband accepted Russian citizenship because they feared what would happen if they didn't. Mass distribution of passports It is part of what human rights experts see as a widespread campaign of coercion that's designed to extend Moscow's influence over the occupied territories, areas it demands Ukraine relinquish as part of any potential peace deal. At the same time, the Kremlin has refused to implement a 30-day ceasefire, and Russian forces have recently launched a new offensive to try and take more Ukrainian land. According to Moscow, 3.5 million residents living in Donetsk, Luhansk, Zaporizhzhia and Kherson have received passports. While Russian President Vladimir Putin said that the country had "virtually completed" the mass issuance of passports in these areas, he signed a presidential decree in March to target the few Ukrainians still holding out. Ukrainians who live in Russia, or the areas it purports to control, have to legalize their status by Sept. 10 — or leave their homes. Though these Ukrainian regions aren't fully controlled by Russia, Moscow attempted to justify its claim to them by staging "sham" referendums in September 2022 that were condemned by world leaders. Its passport policy is an extension of that strategy, considered an attempt to weaken Ukrainian sovereignty and a clear sign that Moscow has no intention of giving up the territory it now occupies. Russia has previously used its fast-track passport scheme as a geopolitical tool in other areas, including in the breakaway regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia in Georgia and in Moldova's separatist Transdniestria region. After Russia illegally annexed the Crimean peninsula in 2014, it distributed Russian passports in a widespread campaign. Life under occupation At the start of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine on Feb. 24, 2022, Iryna and her husband were living in a cottage on an island in the Dnipro River Delta in the Kherson region. The area was seized by Russia during the first week of the war. When Ukrainian forces retook part of Kherson, including Kherson City in November 2022, Iryna said Russia's soldiers ordered her and other residents to evacuate further south. She and her husband ended up living in someone else's house in the village of Stara Zbur'ivka, located along the south side of the Dnipro river. They tried to avoid interacting with the Russian soldiers, Iryna told CBC News, but having to cross a Russian checkpoint each time they needed groceries or supplies meant they would be grilled by those manning it. "They kept asking 'Why are you not taking a passport, are you waiting for the Ukrainian military to return?'" said Iryna. On one occasion, she said, a soldier pointed a gun at her husband's head while questioning him. "It was no longer possible without them," she said of getting a Russian passport. "It was just dangerous." When Iryna and her husband decided to leave Kherson in March, they used their Russian passports as they travelled into Crimea and then Russia. At that point, she said, a local underground network of volunteers helped them get back to Ukraine by going through Belarus. Now living in Dnipro, the couple said they have no use for the passports Russia imposed on them. Passport policy Even before Russia launched its full-scale invasion, Moscow was trying to entice Ukrainians with citizenship. Putin signed a decree speeding up the process for those living in the self-proclaimed regions of Donetsk and Luhansk, which were then controlled by Russian-backed separatists. By July 2022, the Kremlin announced that all Ukrainian citizens were eligible to receive passports under the fast-track scheme. According to Human Rights Watch, the passports were distributed through an illegal pressure campaign, in which Russian authorities threatened to detain Ukrainian citizens or confiscate property if they didn't accept a passport. Russia has made it increasingly impossible to live without the document in the territory it occupies, requiring it to access state services, including pension payments, education and health care. During a six-month period in 2023, the international organization Physicians for Human Rights documented at least 15 cases of people being denied medical care, because they lived in the occupied territories and didn't have a Russian passport. The group said some hospitals even set up a desk so desperate patients could fill out the necessary paperwork right there. Advising Ukrainian citizens Ivan, a co-ordinator with the Yellow Ribbon resistance campaign that's active in the occupied territories, told CBC News that through the first few years of the Russian invasion, he and other volunteers advised residents about how to avoid accepting a Russian passport. CBC News agreed not to identify him by his last name, given his work in the occupied territories and the possibility of retribution by Russian authorities. In 2023, the resistance group ran an information campaign about steps Ukrainian citizens could take to prevent their flats or other real estate from being confiscated if they didn't have Russian citizenship. But he said as Russia ramped up restrictions, the messaging changed. "We are recommending that people take a Russian passport because you basically need it if you want to survive," he said during a Zoom interview in April. " You could be arrested or detained ... just because you don't have it." While he and others try to reassure residents that getting a passport is "no big deal" and they can later relinquish their Russian citizenship, he acknowledges that it could mean that men who are new citizens could be drafted into the country's military. Ivan, who graduated from university in information technology in 2021, was living in Kherson City when it was invaded by Russia. At the time, he had lost his Ukrainian passport, so he ended up being issued a Russian legal document. After the liberation of Kherson City, Ivan went to the northern part of the country, before later taking a route through Russia to enter the Russian-occupied part of the Ukrainian territory of Zaporizhzhia. He told CBC News he had relatives living in the area that he needed to bring passports to, and he helped a few local activists there stage non-violent resistance campaigns by tying yellow ribbons to trees and distributing information pamphlets. But he acknowledges he only knows of a few people in the occupied areas who haven't yet taken a Russian passport.
Yahoo
2 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
Silent acts of resistance and fear under Russian occupation in Ukraine
A fifth of Ukrainian territory is now under Russian control, and for Ukrainians living under occupation there seems little chance that any future deal to end the war will change that. Three Ukrainians in different Russian-controlled cities have told the BBC of the pressures they face, from being forced to accept a Russian passport to the risks of carrying out small acts of resistance. We are not using their real names for their own safety, and will call them Mavka, Pavlo and Iryna. The potential dangers are the same, whether in Mariupol or Melitopol, seized by Russia in the full-scale invasion in 2022, or in Crimea which was annexed eight years before. Mavka chose to stay in Melitopol when the Russians invaded her city on 25 February 2022, "because it is unfair that someone can just come to my home and take it out". She has lived there since birth, midway between the Crimean peninsula and the regional capital Zaporizhzhia. In recent months she has noticed a ramping up of not only a strict policy of "Russification" in the city, but of an increased militarisation of all spheres of life, including in schools. She has shared pictures of a billboard promoting conscription to young locals, a school notebook with Putin's portrait on it, and photos and a video of pupils wearing Russian military uniforms instead of the school outfits - boys and girls - and performing military education tasks. Some 200km (125 miles) along the coast of the sea of Azov, and much closer to the Russian border, the city of Mariupol feels as if it has been "cut off" from the outside world, according to Pavlo. This key port and hub of Ukraine's steel industry was captured after a devastating siege and bombardment that lasted almost three months in 2022. Russian citizenship is now obligatory if you want to work or study or have an urgent medical help, Pavlo says. "If someone's child, let's say, refuses to sing the Russian anthem at school in the morning, the FSB [Russia's security service] will visit their parents, they will be 'pencilled in' and then anything can happen." Pavlo survived the siege despite being shot six times, including to his head. Now that he has recuperated, he feels he cannot leave because of elderly relatives. "Most of those who stayed in Mariupol or returned, did so to help their elderly parents or their sick grandparents, or because of their flat," he tells me over the phone after midnight so no-one will overhear. The biggest preoccupation in Mariupol is holding on to your home, as most of the property damaged in the Russian bombardment has been demolished, and the cost of living and unemployment has surged. "I'd say 95% of all talk in the city is about property: how to claim it back, how to sell it. You'll hear people talk about it while queuing to buy some bread, on your way to a chemist, in the food market, everywhere," he says. Crimea has been under occupation since Vladimir Putin annexed the peninsula in 2014, when Russia's war in Ukraine began. Iryna decided to remain, also to care for an elderly relative but also because she did not want to leave "her beautiful home". All signs of Ukrainian identity have been banned in public, and Iryna says she cannot speak Ukrainian in public any more, "as you never know who can tell the authorities on you". Children at nursery school in Crimea are told to sing the Russian anthem every morning, even the very youngest. All the teachers are Russian, most of them wives of soldiers who have moved in from Russia. Iryna occasionally puts on her traditional, embroidered vyshyvanka top when she has video calls with friends elsewhere on the peninsula. "It helps us to keep our spirits high, reminding us about our happy life before the occupation". But the risks are high, even for wearing a vyshyvanka. "They might not shoot you straight away, but you can simply disappear afterwards, silently," she declares. She speaks of a Ukrainian friend being questioned by police because Russian neighbours, who came to Crimea in 2014, told police he had illegal weapons. "Of course he didn't. Luckily they let him go in the end, but it's so frightening." Iryna complains that she cannot go out on her own even for coffee "because solders can put a gun at you and say something abusive or order you to please them". Resistance in Ukraine's occupied cities is dangerous, and it often comes in small acts of defiance aimed at reminding residents that they are not alone. In Melitopol, Mavka talks of being part of a secret female resistance movement called Zla Mavka (Angry Mavka) "to let people know that Ukrainians don't agree with the occupation, we didn't call for it, and we will never tolerate it". The network is made up of women and girls in "pretty much all occupied cities", according to Iryna, although she cannot reveal its size or scale because of the potential dangers for its members. Mavka describes her role in running the network's social media accounts, which document life under occupation and acts like placing Ukrainian symbols or leaflets in public places "to remind other Ukrainians that they are not alone", or even riskier practices. "Sometimes we also put a laxative in alcohol and baked goods for the Russian soldiers, as a 'welcome pack'," she says. Punishment for that kind of act, which the BBC is unable to verify, would be severe. Russia's occupation authorities treat the Ukrainian language or anything related to Ukraine as extremist, says Mavka. Ukrainians are well aware of what happened to journalist Viktoriia Roshchyna, 27, who disappeared while investigating allegations of torture prisons in eastern Ukraine in 2023. Russian authorities told her family she had died in custody in September 2024. Her body was returned earlier this month, with several organs removed and clear signs of torture. Silent disappearance is what Mavka fears most: "When suddenly nobody can find out where you are or what's happened to you." Her network has developed a set of tasks for new joiners to pass to avoid infiltration, and so far they have managed to avoid cyber attacks. For now they are waiting and watching: "We cannot take up arms and fight back against the occupier right now, but we want at least to show that pro-Ukrainian population is here, and it will also be here". She and others in Melitopol are following closely what is happening in Kyiv, "because it is important for us to know whether Kyiv is ready to fight for us. Even small steps matter". "We have a rollercoaster of moods here. Many are worried documents might get signed that, God forbid, leave us under Russian occupation for even longer. Because we know what Russia will do here." The worry for Mavka and people close to her is that if Kyiv does agree a ceasefire it could mean Russia pursuing the same policy as in Crimea, erasing Ukrainian identity and repressing the population. "They've been already replacing locals with their people. But people here are still hopeful, we will continue our resistance, we'll just have to be more creative". Unlike Mavka, Pavlo believes the war must end, even if it means losing his ability to return to Ukraine. "Human life is of the greatest value… but there are certain conditions for a ceasefire and not everyone might agree with them as it raises a question, why have all those people died then during the past three years? Would they feel abandoned and betrayed?" Pavlo is wary of talking, even via an encrypted line, but adds: "I don't envy anyone involved in this decision-making process. It won't be simple, black and white. Iryna fears for Crimea's next generation who have grown up in an atmosphere of violence and, she says, copy their fathers who have returned from Russia's war against Ukraine. She shows me her bandaged cat, and says a child on her street shot it with a rubber bullet. "For them it was fun. These kids are not taught to build peace, they are taught to fight. It breaks my heart." How the West is helping Russia to fund its war on Ukraine The terrifying new weapon changing the war in Ukraine Russian advance in Ukraine's north east may be attempt to create 'buffer zone'
BBC News
2 days ago
- General
- BBC News
Russian occupation in Ukraine: Silent acts of resistance and fear
A fifth of Ukrainian territory is now under Russian control, and for Ukrainians living under occupation there seems little chance that any future deal to end the war will change Ukrainians in different Russian-controlled cities have told the BBC of the pressures they face, from being forced to accept a Russian passport to the risks of carrying out small acts of resistance. We are not using their real names for their own safety, and will call them Mavka, Pavlo and potential dangers are the same, whether in Mariupol or Melitopol, seized by Russia in the full-scale invasion in 2022, or in Crimea which was annexed eight years chose to stay in Melitopol when the Russians invaded her city on 25 February 2022, "because it is unfair that someone can just come to my home and take it out".She has lived there since birth, midway between the Crimean peninsula and the regional capital recent months she has noticed a ramping up of not only a strict policy of "Russification" in the city, but of an increased militarisation of all spheres of life, including in has shared pictures of a billboard promoting conscription to young locals, a school notebook with Putin's portrait on it, and photos and a video of pupils wearing Russian military uniforms instead of the school outfits - boys and girls - and performing military education tasks. Some 200km (125 miles) along the coast of the sea of Azov, and much closer to the Russian border, the city of Mariupol feels as if it has been "cut off" from the outside world, according to key port and hub of Ukraine's steel industry was captured after a devastating siege and bombardment that lasted almost three months in citizenship is now obligatory if you want to work or study or have an urgent medical help, Pavlo says."If someone's child, let's say, refuses to sing the Russian anthem at school in the morning, the FSB [Russia's security service] will visit their parents, they will be 'pencilled in' and then anything can happen." Pavlo survived the siege despite being shot six times, including to his that he has recuperated, he feels he cannot leave because of elderly relatives."Most of those who stayed in Mariupol or returned, did so to help their elderly parents or their sick grandparents, or because of their flat," he tells me over the phone after midnight so no-one will biggest preoccupation in Mariupol is holding on to your home, as most of the property damaged in the Russian bombardment has been demolished, and the cost of living and unemployment has surged."I'd say 95% of all talk in the city is about property: how to claim it back, how to sell it. You'll hear people talk about it while queuing to buy some bread, on your way to a chemist, in the food market, everywhere," he says. Crimea has been under occupation since Vladimir Putin annexed the peninsula in 2014, when Russia's war in Ukraine decided to remain, also to care for an elderly relative but also because she did not want to leave "her beautiful home".All signs of Ukrainian identity have been banned in public, and Iryna says she cannot speak Ukrainian in public any more, "as you never know who can tell the authorities on you".Children at nursery school in Crimea are told to sing the Russian anthem every morning, even the very youngest. All the teachers are Russian, most of them wives of soldiers who have moved in from occasionally puts on her traditional, embroidered vyshyvanka top when she has video calls with friends elsewhere on the peninsula."It helps us to keep our spirits high, reminding us about our happy life before the occupation". But the risks are high, even for wearing a vyshyvanka. "They might not shoot you straight away, but you can simply disappear afterwards, silently," she speaks of a Ukrainian friend being questioned by police because Russian neighbours, who came to Crimea in 2014, told police he had illegal weapons. "Of course he didn't. Luckily they let him go in the end, but it's so frightening."Iryna complains that she cannot go out on her own even for coffee "because solders can put a gun at you and say something abusive or order you to please them". Resistance in Ukraine's occupied cities is dangerous, and it often comes in small acts of defiance aimed at reminding residents that they are not Melitopol, Mavka talks of being part of a secret female resistance movement called Zla Mavka (Angry Mavka) "to let people know that Ukrainians don't agree with the occupation, we didn't call for it, and we will never tolerate it".The network is made up of women and girls in "pretty much all occupied cities", according to Iryna, although she cannot reveal its size or scale because of the potential dangers for its describes her role in running the network's social media accounts, which document life under occupation and acts like placing Ukrainian symbols or leaflets in public places "to remind other Ukrainians that they are not alone", or even riskier practices. "Sometimes we also put a laxative in alcohol and baked goods for the Russian soldiers, as a 'welcome pack'," she for that kind of act, which the BBC is unable to verify, would be occupation authorities treat the Ukrainian language or anything related to Ukraine as extremist, says are well aware of what happened to journalist Viktoriia Roshchyna, 27, who disappeared while investigating allegations of torture prisons in eastern Ukraine in 2023. Russian authorities told her family she had died in custody in September 2024. Her body was returned earlier this month, with several organs removed and clear signs of torture. Silent disappearance is what Mavka fears most: "When suddenly nobody can find out where you are or what's happened to you."Her network has developed a set of tasks for new joiners to pass to avoid infiltration, and so far they have managed to avoid cyber now they are waiting and watching: "We cannot take up arms and fight back against the occupier right now, but we want at least to show that pro-Ukrainian population is here, and it will also be here".She and others in Melitopol are following closely what is happening in Kyiv, "because it is important for us to know whether Kyiv is ready to fight for us. Even small steps matter"."We have a rollercoaster of moods here. Many are worried documents might get signed that, God forbid, leave us under Russian occupation for even longer. Because we know what Russia will do here." The worry for Mavka and people close to her is that if Kyiv does agree a ceasefire it could mean Russia pursuing the same policy as in Crimea, erasing Ukrainian identity and repressing the population."They've been already replacing locals with their people. But people here are still hopeful, we will continue our resistance, we'll just have to be more creative".Unlike Mavka, Pavlo believes the war must end, even if it means losing his ability to return to Ukraine."Human life is of the greatest value… but there are certain conditions for a ceasefire and not everyone might agree with them as it raises a question, why have all those people died then during the past three years? Would they feel abandoned and betrayed?"Pavlo is wary of talking, even via an encrypted line, but adds: "I don't envy anyone involved in this decision-making process. It won't be simple, black and fears for Crimea's next generation who have grown up in an atmosphere of violence and, she says, copy their fathers who have returned from Russia's war against shows me her bandaged cat, and says a child on her street shot it with a rubber bullet."For them it was fun. These kids are not taught to build peace, they are taught to fight. It breaks my heart."
