Mad dogs and Putin’s shells: A dispatch from Kherson

Browsing the shelves at Tsum, a supermarket in the centre of Kherson in Ukraine, you could be forgiven for thinking you were in Whole Foods in Kensington. The deli and the grocery are as well stocked and diverse as any in London and, in the patisserie, the smell of freshly baked brioche permeates the air. Every day, people walk the aisles, gathering not only essentials but exotic fruits, kombucha and even Christmas decorations. In many ways, Tsum is emblematic of this city’s resilience in the midst of war. On the upper floors, its windows are either smashed or missing altogether; at street level, its doors are appended with large protective sheets of wood. Yet inside, life goes on much as it did before. Step outside and the booms and crumps of artillery, aerial bombs and grads reverberate constantly across the city. Although its residents can leave at any time, and many already have, Kherson feels very much like a city under siege. 

The Kherson region is cut almost in half by the Dnipro river, with Kherson city on its Western bank.