Report from Kharkiv: When the gigantic fire roller rolled in

EThe Nemyshlanskyi district actually seems quiet. A commercial area interspersed with single-story residential buildings with snow-covered roofs, somewhere in the east of Kharkiv, Ukraine's second largest city. But even from afar, the flickering blue light shows you the way to the scene. There are several fire engines lined up in front of a scorched gate. The air smells poisonous and burnt, ash crunches under your shoes.

Behind the gate, firefighters use their hoses to spray onto meter-high cylinders. One of them has collapsed, leaving only a limp metal shell. The others are full of holes and a steaming, yellowish soup shoots out of them. The rescue workers direct their beam at the openings. Some smoke rises into the already gray sky.

One of the exhausted firefighters finds time for a few words. His face is dirty, his uniform is wet. He speaks quietly and is hard to understand. The press spokesman is currently away, but he could also say something. “Three Shahed drones hit the fuel depot yesterday evening, shortly before 11 p.m..” Firefighting work has been ongoing since then. But the burned houses are “back there”. He points into the distance. A trickle flows downhill along the perforated outer wall of the site. It smells like a gas station here, only much more intense. A stream of diesel.

A man films the skeletons with his smartphone

On the right are the first houses with charred facades. A few people are wandering around, probably wanting to see with their own eyes what happened. Oleksandr is standing in front of one of the houses. He has a fur hat on his head, like the ones stereotypical Soviet characters wear in American films. His hands are black with soot, his face is somewhat smeared. He lives here alone and has been in this house for twenty years. Oleksandr says the windows were burned by the heat, but the situation inside was relatively okay. How will he fix it? “No idea. Maybe someone will come and bring something over.” Then he has to go in and feed the dogs.

Further down the houses look worse. The roofs are burned; Where the facade once was, the fire has left only bare bricks. Yellow ribbon hangs in front of a building. A man films the skeletons with his smartphone. On his sweater, the Ukrainian trident merges into a maple leaf – the logo of his aid organization. His name is Paul and he comes from Canada and wants to chat. He has been in Kharkiv for a year and a half, repairing cars and distributing humanitarian aid. He served in Germany, at Airpark Baden. The German beer is great, he says. He received a medal for his service. To this day they joke that they actually only got a medal for drinking beer. Unlike now, there was no war back then.

A small crowd of people stands on the stairs in front of a sooty building. A woman talks to two Japanese journalists there. An air alarm sounds in the background, and the alarm also goes off on the Japanese's cell phones. The translator reassures. After the Japanese, two local volunteers come to the woman. They offer their help and want to know what is needed. Then they exchange phone numbers.

A couple and their three sons died in the flames

The woman standing in the charred remains of her house is called Tatjana and is 61 years old. She says again that the only reason she was awake in the evening was because she was on the phone with her daughter. Then she heard explosions and a splashing noise. When she looked out the window she saw the “little river” and noticed a pungent smell. The escaping fuel had quickly made its way into the valley along with the melted snow. A few seconds later she saw a gigantic roller of fire rolling towards her. “Then I grabbed my husband and we ran out of the house.” Seconds later the house was on fire. Barefoot, the couple rubbed themselves with snow behind the house so as not to catch fire themselves. The clothes she is currently wearing were given to her by volunteers at the hospital.

Is there anything left in the house? “Come in, I'll show you what else you can use here.” The house no longer has a roof and is completely burned out inside. The floor is covered with a black mass, and only a few pieces of metal remain from the piano. Only the radiators look intact. “Living here is like roulette,” says Tatjana. “It affects you, it doesn’t affect you. It affects you, it doesn't affect you. It affects you, it doesn’t affect you.” She spreads her arms. “Oh well.”

Just a few kilometers away, people slept through the air raid alarm and only found out about the attack on the news the next morning. “We were lucky,” says Tatjana, “but what happened over there. Three children.” Tatjana stops and wipes tears from her face. In the house with the yellow ribbon just a few meters away, a family of five burned to death. A couple and their three sons died in the flames. The mother was a 35-year-old prosecutor, the youngest son, Pavlo, was only ten months old. Because the bodies were so badly burned, forensic scientists had to take DNA samples for identification.

Local media spread pictures showing the killed family smiling on the beach. They write of 15 houses that were damaged by the flames. A total of seven people died. Collateral damage in Putin's war, a brief report in the newspapers. There should be public mourning on Sunday. There are impacts almost every night in Kharkiv these days.

Twilight is slowly setting in. At the top of the road, firefighters are still spraying on the fuel tanks. In the distance you can hear sirens wailing again. Maybe it will start again soon.