One day in Ukraine illustrates the harsh realities of life while the conflict rages for a thousand days.

One day in Ukraine illustrates the harsh realities of life while the conflict rages for a thousand days.

Nearly as soon as the day broke, the clock on the wall halted, its hands frozen by the Russian bomb that struck the hostel where war-displaced Ukrainians were staying. In the eastern city of Zaporizhzhia, where Natalia Panasenko has been for little under a year since the town she considers to be her true home was occupied by the Russians, it was 1:45 am in an upstairs room. Her television and refrigerator were destroyed, a door was shattered over her, and the flowers she had just received for her 63rd birthday were torn to shreds.

“There were flowers and people everywhere in the house. I had people congratulating me. Then nothing was there. She remarked, “Everything was mixed in the rubble.” “I’m from a place where there is constant conflict. It looked to be quieter here, and we had just gone. And we were once more caught up in the fight.

In Ukraine, November 11 was just another day of bloodshed and resiliency. Just as Ukraine was getting ready to commemorate a somber milestone Tuesday—1,000 days since Russia’s full-scale invasion on February 24, 2022—the Associated Press spread out across the country to document 24 hours of life.

Two Russian bombings began the day: one struck Panasenko’s flat, while another near Mykolaiv killed six people, including a mother and her three children. Another residential complex in the city of Kryvyi Rih was destroyed by a Russian ballistic missile before the day was even halfway through.

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A baby was born, steelworkers kept the economy sluggish, and swimmers braved the Black Sea seas off Odesa. After dying, soldiers were buried. The fortunate ones were able to find some mending for their shattered faces and missing limbs.Russia currently controls over one-fifth of Ukraine’s internationally recognized territory. Life becomes more dangerous the closer one gets to those invisible geographic limits, which are always shifting.

There is very little life in the area that is a no-man’s-land between Ukrainian and Russian military. There’s a reason it’s called the Gray Zone. As far as the eye can see, there are burnt trees, ashen houses, and blackened pits from shells detonating during 1,000 days of conflict.

Late fall temperatures in the Black Sea average about 13 degrees Celsius (55 degrees Fahrenheit). They mine the seashore. Drones and missiles frequently target the city of Dmytro.However, Dmytro, who insisted on being called by his first name only because he was concerned about his family’s safety, remained unfazed and dove into the waves with a few buddies for their daily swim.

Before the war, the group numbered a couple of dozen. Many fled the country. Men were mobilized to fight. Some returned with disabilities that keep them out of the water. His 33-year-old stepson is missing in action after a battle in the Donetsk region.

For Dmytro and fellow swimmers, the ritual grounds them and makes the grimness of war more bearable. He said the risks of his hobby are well worth the reward: “If you’re afraid of wolves, don’t go into the forest.”Managing the Zaporizhstal steel mill during wartime means days filled with calculations for Serhii Saphonov.

The staff of 420 is less than half its pre-war levels. Power cuts from Russian attacks on electricity infrastructure require an “algorithm of actions” to maintain operations. Russian forces are closing in on the coke mine in Pokrovsk that supplies the plant with coal. And the city is under increasing attack by Russia’s unstoppable glide bombs.

Right outside his office, a bulletin board displays the names of 92 former steelworkers who have joined the army. Below are photos of the dead. Staff hold fundraisers for supplies for colleagues on the front, including two bulletproof vests sitting in the corner near his desk.

“The old workers, they carry everything on their shoulders. They are hardened. They know their job,” Saphonov said. “Everyone knows that we have to endure, hold out, hoping that things will get better ahead.”Dr. Vladyslava Friz has performed more reconstructive surgeries in the past 1,000 days than she did in the previous decade of her career. And the injuries are like nothing she had ever seen before.

Her days start early and end late. In the first months of the war, she said, the hospital was admitting 60 people per hour, and eight surgeons worked nonstop. They’re still catching up, because so many of the injured need multiple surgeries.On November 11, she was rebuilding the cheek and jaw of a patient injured in a mine explosion.

“Appearance is a person’s visual identity,” she said. “There is work to be done; we are doing it. We have no other options. There are medicines, equipment and personnel, but there are no metal structures for reconstruction. There is no state funding for implants.”

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