Latest news with #Sloviansk
Yahoo
3 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
War-weary Ukrainians find solace by frontline lake
Raisa Ustimenko barely looked up as a fighter jet swooped overhead, roaring over the lakeshore in Sloviansk towards the agonisingly close war front in eastern Ukraine. The 67-year-old was more focused on rummaging through a pink plastic bag for the plums she brought for her summer picnic by the lake. "Take some of my plums... This one is the best -- the largest!" she told AFP as the noise from the fighter became deafening. Some beachgoers shrugged at the roar. Others shaded their eyes to watch the swerving Ukrainian Su-27 as it sped away towards the front just 20 kilometers (13 miles) away. The lakeside is busy on summer days with mostly elderly residents who stayed behind when half the population of Sloviansk fled the Russian advance. It is one of the pockets of relative normality even in areas near the front, where residents can seek some solace from the war and the heat. Russian troops are pushing toward Sloviansk, now within range of devastating glide bombs dropped from Russian warplanes, and drones that have left buildings across the city in ruins. In the face of uncertainty, Ustimenko said she needs to hold on to something positive. "It can be at the beach, it can be in a beautiful cup of coffee, it can be just a flower. You look at a flower and you feel happy," she said. "You forget about what's flying over the sky -- that's the most important thing. We won't be able to survive here otherwise." - 'The little moments' – Omar Salih Rasheed, programme coordinator at the International Committee of the Red Cross Mental Health Support Programme, said such scenes are common across different conflicts. "People always look for the ways to adapt, to cope with what is happening," Rasheed said. "It does not mean that everyone is fine." Rasheed said the need for mental health support will grow after the fighting stops, and people take stock of what has happened to them. While the war continues, it is important "that communities can enjoy the little moments that they can." At the Sloviansk lakeside, Vyacheslav Shatalov, who works at a nautical-themed beach bar, said people might scatter if they hear explosions but still come back later in the day. "If they left in the morning, they'll be back by the evening to relax," said the 61-year-old, his skin weathered by a decade of summers at the resort. At his bar, decorated with a giant ship's wheel, Shatalov hands out beach mattresses as Coldplay blared from the radio. "Those who are really scared have left already, but the seasoned ones still come," he said. - 'Look and remember' - The beach features white wooden huts and a concrete shelter in case of attacks. But Mariana Rebets, 37, said she had never seen anyone using it. "If the alarm rings and we see smoke, we'll see what people do, and follow them," she said. "My husband said: if something flies over the lake, just dive," said Rebets, wearing a bright pink dress and huge sunglasses. Rebets regularly travels from relatively safer western Ukraine to spend a few days with her husband, a soldier stationed near the front. Since Russia launched its full-scale invasion in 2022, about half of the population of Sloviansk fled, leaving only 53,000 in the former industrial city. Many of those who stayed are older residents attached to their homes, while younger people moved to safer areas. Ustimenko's family has moved away too. From the wilder side of the lake, she gazed at the water where her grandchildren once learned to swim. "Now they're not here. No one is here," she said. "We come here on our own, we look and remember, we rejoice." brw/dt/tw
France 24
3 days ago
- General
- France 24
War-weary Ukrainians find solace by frontline lake
The 67-year-old was more focused on rummaging through a pink plastic bag for the plums she brought for her summer picnic by the lake. "Take some of my plums... This one is the best -- the largest!" she told AFP as the noise from the fighter became deafening. Some beachgoers shrugged at the roar. Others shaded their eyes to watch the swerving Ukrainian Su-27 as it sped away towards the front just 20 kilometers (13 miles) away. The lakeside is busy on summer days with mostly elderly residents who stayed behind when half the population of Sloviansk fled the Russian advance. It is one of the pockets of relative normality even in areas near the front, where residents can seek some solace from the war and the heat. Russian troops are pushing toward Sloviansk, now within range of devastating glide bombs dropped from Russian warplanes, and drones that have left buildings across the city in ruins. In the face of uncertainty, Ustimenko said she needs to hold on to something positive. "It can be at the beach, it can be in a beautiful cup of coffee, it can be just a flower. You look at a flower and you feel happy," she said. "You forget about what's flying over the sky -- that's the most important thing. We won't be able to survive here otherwise." - 'The little moments' – Omar Salih Rasheed, programme coordinator at the International Committee of the Red Cross Mental Health Support Programme, said such scenes are common across different conflicts. "People always look for the ways to adapt, to cope with what is happening," Rasheed said. "It does not mean that everyone is fine." Rasheed said the need for mental health support will grow after the fighting stops, and people take stock of what has happened to them. While the war continues, it is important "that communities can enjoy the little moments that they can." At the Sloviansk lakeside, Vyacheslav Shatalov, who works at a nautical-themed beach bar, said people might scatter if they hear explosions but still come back later in the day. "If they left in the morning, they'll be back by the evening to relax," said the 61-year-old, his skin weathered by a decade of summers at the resort. At his bar, decorated with a giant ship's wheel, Shatalov hands out beach mattresses as Coldplay blared from the radio. "Those who are really scared have left already, but the seasoned ones still come," he said. 'Look and remember' The beach features white wooden huts and a concrete shelter in case of attacks. But Mariana Rebets, 37, said she had never seen anyone using it. "If the alarm rings and we see smoke, we'll see what people do, and follow them," she said. "My husband said: if something flies over the lake, just dive," said Rebets, wearing a bright pink dress and huge sunglasses. Rebets regularly travels from relatively safer western Ukraine to spend a few days with her husband, a soldier stationed near the front. Since Russia launched its full-scale invasion in 2022, about half of the population of Sloviansk fled, leaving only 53,000 in the former industrial city. Many of those who stayed are older residents attached to their homes, while younger people moved to safer areas. Ustimenko's family has moved away too. From the wilder side of the lake, she gazed at the water where her grandchildren once learned to swim. "Now they're not here. No one is here," she said.
CNN
5 days ago
- Politics
- CNN
Panic in eastern Ukraine as Trump entertains idea of giving parts of it to Russia
On the beaches of Sloviansk's tiny salt lake, where the medicinal waters provide a moment of solace from the whirling violence of the eastern frontlines just a few miles away, talk of a Ukraine land deal at Friday's Alaska summit seems dark and surreal. 'I feel like I just float away from this reality,' said local journalist Mykhailo, in between dips into the water, from the lake's sands overlooked by a large concrete bomb shelter. Shelling is regular near here, which Mykhailo jokingly calls 'the Salt Lake City of Sloviansk'. But the Kremlin's proposal to US special envoy Steve Witkoff to exchange a ceasefire for the parts of Donbass Russia has yet to conquer means this town, and those near it, could suddenly become Moscow's territory. And even on this quiet beach, it's caused what Mykhailo calls 'panic.' 'Many of my friends want to stay here and we all will have to leave,' he said. 'But frankly speaking I don't think it is going to happen.' There is defiance, and recognition the high stakes diplomacy US President Donald Trump is engaged in with Russian President Vladimir Putin may fall as flat in execution as it has been hurried in preparation. 'What Trump did wrong he took him out of the bog – he took him out and said 'Vladimir, I want to talk to you. I just like you,'' said Mykailo. 'He didn't care that every day Ukrainians die.' To Ludmila, moving herself to the waters in an arm-propelled wheelchair, the salt lake is a brief moment of buoyancy that provides relief from her injuries from stepping on a land mine two years ago. It is a daily pain that leaves her unimpressed by diplomacy. 'There, they are lying', she said, waving her hand dismissively. 'For them it is all a spectacle. They decide one thing, say another, and do another. That's always been politics.' Across the Donetsk region, word of Witkoff's emerging deal with the Kremlin, confused in details, and immediately refused by Kyiv, has put lives already ravaged by war into a deeper spin. The town of Sloviansk was first taken by Moscow's proxy 'separatists' in 2014 before Ukrainian forces retook control. New ditches have been hastily dug to its west to prepare for the possibility Russia's ongoing offensive might threaten the town itself once again. But few imagined their key ally, the United States, might entertain the idea of giving their home away. In the town's maternity ward, the only functioning facility of its kind for miles, Taisiya strokes Assol, her daughter born Sunday into a world where suddenly the risks of being in Sloviansk have multiplied. 'I saw the news', she said. 'That would be very bad. But we have no influence on that. It's not going to be our decision. People will just give away their homes.' Births and deaths continue, that of Sofia Lamekhova particularly distressing. Her parents, Natalia and Sviatoslav, had been glad when she and her husband, Mykyta, decided to live with their newborn son Lev in Kyiv. As Sviatoslav said: 'We wanted them to be further from the frontline. Here in Sloviansk, every day there are drone attacks and shelling.' But the family of three were found in the rubble of the July 31 airstrike on an apartment block in Kyiv, killed together by the building's collapse. Sofia was three months pregnant and due in Sloviansk in a few days, to tell her friends the good news. 'They left from the war, and it was quiet there, but the war caught them there', said Natalia. Sviatoslav added: 'To come to terms with that as a person is impossible. It is impossible to come to terms with the loss of children.' They had spoken the night before Sofia died. 'She said she really wanted to come to Sloviansk', said Natalia. 'To tell everyone the news, spread the joy. But they didn't return. They came back together, differently.' Sofia's mother is macabrely referring to the family's burial on the outskirts of town. A Ukrainian jet roars overhead as she and her husband tend the dusty flowers on their burial mounds. The couple cannot leave Sloviansk – their home, but also where they provide food and water aid to many of the locals, often elderly who live alone and survive on handouts. The nearest train station is Kramatorsk, the de facto capital of Ukrainian held Donetsk, a bustling town, where civilian life sustains among the military who are based there. A vast airstrike took down a central building – tearing through its four storeys and into its basement. Russian drone attacks are regular. But the city brims with the urgent business of survival in war, and the war itself. The train from Kyiv arrives to air raid sirens on Monday. Dozens sit on the platform to greet and replace those arriving from the capital. Weeping is Tetyana, whose husband Serhiy, has been fighting since the second day of Russia's full invasion and has been given two days off from his tank unit outside Kostiantynivka to celebrate his birthday. As Tetyana weeps, the soldier gently admonishes her fuss. 'It would have been better if she had not come', he said. 'Calm down.' Tetyana has little interest in the wider machinations of Trump's diplomacy. 'Do you know what my dream is? Just for my husband to come home. I don't care about those territories. I just want him to be alive and come home.' The train picks up to return to the capital, men placing their hands to its moving glass windows, and a girl etching a heart on a closing door. The sirens continue.
CNN
5 days ago
- Politics
- CNN
Panic in eastern Ukraine as Trump entertains idea of giving parts of it to Russia
Russia Donald Trump War in UkraineFacebookTweetLink Follow On the beaches of Sloviansk's tiny salt lake, where the medicinal waters provide a moment of solace from the whirling violence of the eastern frontlines just a few miles away, talk of a Ukraine land deal at Friday's Alaska summit seems dark and surreal. 'I feel like I just float away from this reality,' said local journalist Mykhailo, in between dips into the water, from the lake's sands overlooked by a large concrete bomb shelter. Shelling is regular near here, which Mykhailo jokingly calls 'the Salt Lake City of Sloviansk'. But the Kremlin's proposal to US special envoy Steve Witkoff to exchange a ceasefire for the parts of Donbass Russia has yet to conquer means this town, and those near it, could suddenly become Moscow's territory. And even on this quiet beach, it's caused what Mykhailo calls 'panic.' 'Many of my friends want to stay here and we all will have to leave,' he said. 'But frankly speaking I don't think it is going to happen.' There is defiance, and recognition the high stakes diplomacy US President Donald Trump is engaged in with Russian President Vladimir Putin may fall as flat in execution as it has been hurried in preparation. 'What Trump did wrong he took him out of the bog – he took him out and said 'Vladimir, I want to talk to you. I just like you,'' said Mykailo. 'He didn't care that every day Ukrainians die.' To Ludmila, moving herself to the waters in an arm-propelled wheelchair, the salt lake is a brief moment of buoyancy that provides relief from her injuries from stepping on a land mine two years ago. It is a daily pain that leaves her unimpressed by diplomacy. 'There, they are lying', she said, waving her hand dismissively. 'For them it is all a spectacle. They decide one thing, say another, and do another. That's always been politics.' Across the Donetsk region, word of Witkoff's emerging deal with the Kremlin, confused in details, and immediately refused by Kyiv, has put lives already ravaged by war into a deeper spin. The town of Sloviansk was first taken by Moscow's proxy 'separatists' in 2014 before Ukrainian forces retook control. New ditches have been hastily dug to its west to prepare for the possibility Russia's ongoing offensive might threaten the town itself once again. But few imagined their key ally, the United States, might entertain the idea of giving their home away. In the town's maternity ward, the only functioning facility of its kind for miles, Taisiya strokes Assol, her daughter born Sunday into a world where suddenly the risks of being in Sloviansk have multiplied. 'I saw the news', she said. 'That would be very bad. But we have no influence on that. It's not going to be our decision. People will just give away their homes.' Births and deaths continue, that of Sofia Lamekhova particularly distressing. Her parents, Natalia and Sviatoslav, had been glad when she and her husband, Mykyta, decided to live with their newborn son Lev in Kyiv. As Sviatoslav said: 'We wanted them to be further from the frontline. Here in Sloviansk, every day there are drone attacks and shelling.' But the family of three were found in the rubble of the July 31 airstrike on an apartment block in Kyiv, killed together by the building's collapse. Sofia was three months pregnant and due in Sloviansk in a few days, to tell her friends the good news. 'They left from the war, and it was quiet there, but the war caught them there', said Natalia. Sviatoslav added: 'To come to terms with that as a person is impossible. It is impossible to come to terms with the loss of children.' They had spoken the night before Sofia died. 'She said she really wanted to come to Sloviansk', said Natalia. 'To tell everyone the news, spread the joy. But they didn't return. They came back together, differently.' Sofia's mother is macabrely referring to the family's burial on the outskirts of town. A Ukrainian jet roars overhead as she and her husband tend the dusty flowers on their burial mounds. The couple cannot leave Sloviansk – their home, but also where they provide food and water aid to many of the locals, often elderly who live alone and survive on handouts. The nearest train station is Kramatorsk, the de facto capital of Ukrainian held Donetsk, a bustling town, where civilian life sustains among the military who are based there. A vast airstrike took down a central building – tearing through its four storeys and into its basement. Russian drone attacks are regular. But the city brims with the urgent business of survival in war, and the war itself. The train from Kyiv arrives to air raid sirens on Monday. Dozens sit on the platform to greet and replace those arriving from the capital. Weeping is Tetyana, whose husband Serhiy, has been fighting since the second day of Russia's full invasion and has been given two days off from his tank unit outside Kostiantynivka to celebrate his birthday. As Tetyana weeps, the soldier gently admonishes her fuss. 'It would have been better if she had not come', he said. 'Calm down.' Tetyana has little interest in the wider machinations of Trump's diplomacy. 'Do you know what my dream is? Just for my husband to come home. I don't care about those territories. I just want him to be alive and come home.' The train picks up to return to the capital, men placing their hands to its moving glass windows, and a girl etching a heart on a closing door. The sirens continue.
Daily Mail
09-08-2025
- Daily Mail
British medic, 26, who was found dead on Christmas Eve in Ukraine after serving in the war against Russia 'may have been murdered'
A British medic who was found dead in Ukraine after serving in the war against Russia may have been murdered, it has been claimed. Katherine Mielniczuk, 26, tragically died from opioid intoxication on Christmas Eve in 2023. Cops initially said they did not believe the former chemistry student's death was suspicious, but have now raised questions over whether there was 'foul play' involved. Police in the city of Sloviansk have launched an 'ongoing' murder investigation - with fears Ms Mielniczuk could have been pumped with a fatal dose of drugs, the Mirror reports. It comes as a coroner demanded to know if someone 'administered something without her consent' before colleagues discovered her lifeless body in her bed. Ms Mielniczuk went to Ukraine after Russia's full-scale invasion in 2022, compelled to use her medical skills to help those in need. The University of Bristol graduate had been in the country for 18 months, primarily with the humanitarian group Stay Safe UA, and was attached to the 151st unit of the Special Operations Forces. She also served as an instructor and combat medic with a group calling itself Menace Medics. Police in the city of Sloviansk have launched an 'ongoing' murder investigation - with fears Ms Mielniczuk could have been pumped with a fatal dose of drugs, the Mirror reports After travelling to the most volatile stretches of the frontline, Ms Mielniczuk earned herself the nickname 'Apache'. At a pre-inquest review hearing, South London Coroner's Court heard Ms Mielniczuk died of 'opioid intoxication' but that vital evidence had not yet been passed to British authorities. Assistant coroner Ivor Collett told the court in Croydon: 'We know that the police authorities in Sloviansk did initiate an investigation into Katherine's death under article 115 of their criminal code dealing with homicide. 'The latest from them is that the investigation is ongoing.' And speaking to the Mielniczuk family's solicitors, he added: 'Has there been foul play? Has someone administered something without Katherine's consent? 'Has someone put them into her system without her being willing? What we are really concerned with is what happened while she was a combat medic in Ukraine.' Mr Collett told solicitors at the hearing that he would write to the authorities in Sloviansk to request they provide further information on the death. The hearing was told Ms Mielniczuk's family have still not been provided with the phone she was using at the time of her death. Mr Collett said Ukrainian police had offered to show evidence from it if a representative travelled to Ukraine, but Mr Collett said that was unreasonable considering it was a warzone. Her family, from Westerham in Kent, said in a statement after her passing: 'She devoted her life to helping others, as a medic, as a scientist and researcher, and as a friend. She volunteered her last 18 months in Ukraine, working in logistical aid and as a combat medic all over the country. 'It is impossible to truly convey what an incredible woman Katherine was or how deeply and widely she was loved and will be missed. 'Kasia is gone, but the endless warmth, love and grace she brought to the world will never be lost.' Writing on her blog, the volunteer, who graduated from the University of Bristol, said before her death: 'At Menace Medics, our goal is to assist the medics on the ground with critical medical equipment and vehicle repairs/fuel, which will transcend our ability to operate, thus saving the lives of courageous foreign combatants and relentless Ukrainian soldiers.' According to a post on her blog, she had spent the last 18 months volunteering in Ukraine in a 'medical and operational capacity, primarily with StaySafeUA, a volunteer group dedicated to supporting those 'living on the frontlines of Russia's invasion.' In a post on November 28, she said she had spent her 'first days [in an] ambulance donated for me', sharing a photo of a puppy that appeared to be inside the vehicle with her. In a video posted in July, she gave an interview to a local reporter in which she said she had been working in Bristol when she decided to sign up for Ukraine saying she felt it was her 'duty to help.' She added: 'I will stay as long as until it's perhaps not safe to be here or until I need to go back to my brother or my mother.' Andriy Depko, her former boss at StaySafeUA, a support organisation she worked for for 13 months, exclusively told MailOnline that she was a dedicated volunteer who always put others before herself. 'From the beginning, she would volunteer to go to the very front lines of the invasion,' Andriy said. 'We always told her to stay safe, but she insisted on going to the most dangerous places to help. 'We told her "you need to be safe", but she was insistent, and kept saying "I need to be helpful." 'She did so much for Ukraine in the 13 months she was with us, before she left to be a military paramedic. 'She wanted to be on the very front lines, saving soldiers and using the education and skills she had. She wanted to be there 24/7. 'She wanted to show how brave she was.' He said he didn't believe the news of her passing upon hearing it. 'At first, I thought it was impossible. I was thinking, "this is not real. We'll hear the news that she's fine".' 'It's very hard to understand that a kind and active person could disappear. It tears my heart apart. 'It was very tough for my team. We had a meeting to talk about [her passing], and we shared memories of her. 'Everyone liked her. She was still part of our team [even after she left]. 'I want people to remember as the kind, involved, woman she was. 'Her involvement will never be forgotten. She wanted to help children, soldiers, everyone. I want everyone to remember her for that.'
