Kherson diary: ‘The poultry all had to be slaughtered. Now the city smells of chicken soup’

For 12 days the Ukrainian city of Kherson has been under Russian occupation. In their second dispatch for the Observer, two female journalists, whose identities we are protecting, describe how tension and fear are rising.

When you are locked in a limited space, measured at best by your neighbourhood, it significantly changes your perception of time. We do not indicate a date or day of the week. For us, today is the 12th day of the war. At noon, guests gathered for my son's birthday. They presented: half a kilogram of flour, a dozen eggs, a jar of beans in tomato sauce ... All these "trophies" were obtained in long queues. Stores are selling all their stock to avoid being robbed.

In the suburbs, at one of the largest poultry farms in Ukraine, chickens had to be slaughtered. The occupiers did not let cars with feed go there. The city smelled of chicken soup. We got two chickens. In feathers. We will have soup, too!

The curfew starts at 8pm. Sounds of bombing outside the window. We drink to victory. The guests are leaving.

At 4am they were shelling so intensively that our cat hid under the bed and did not come out for a couple of hours. The internet dropped to zero, but there is still mobile communication. Even at this time, we are asked to be environmentally friendly - to sort the garbage in order to facilitate the work of the services.

8 March is International Women's Day. Some believe that the "Soviet holidays" should be cancelled. People just need something joyful amidst this horror, we can't blame them.

The private medical centre says that it now accepts patients for free. However, there is a big problem with drugs. Pharmacies are almost empty. A colleague has a mother with blood cancer. She is in despair.

Kherson residents now have two types of entertainment - to stand in lines or to go to a rally. Rallies are held daily. They go there as if they were going to work, telling the invaders in detail how they will die in a foreign land. Soldiers are like stone, guarding the perimeter. Funeral flowers were brought to them - two carnations with a mourning ribbon. Each rally ends with the anthem of Ukraine.

After four hours' standing in line, we manage to buy flour, butter and canned food at normal prices. In one shop there are chocolate Santa Clauses. We got as many as we could. There are three kids in the family who will be happy with them.

The niece and her husband, for the first time in these days, took the children for a walk. They came to visit us. Children understand everything, their father says. War, the children say in a whisper. And they don't laugh, they don't ask questions, they don't rejoice at chocolate Santa Clauses. Mum hugs them tightly.

It's snowing. The weather has become much more severe. So have we, getting more conscious of the consequences we can see of participating in protests every day. There is a clear smell of danger in the air.

The Russian guard enter the city. It's a sort of the military police, to establish a "new order". We watch their large column move along the main street - grey vehicles with people in black uniforms.

There are rumours that there will be political purges, that lists of activists and journalists have already been compiled. They want to behead the protest movement, to intimidate people.

Media spreads the news that 400 civilians were detained in the region. There is no confirmation, but it's really scary. We are drowning in fakes and misinformation.

The "secret chats" of those who work for the enemy are being leaked to social media: "We need up-to-date information on local nationalists who are very active. First of all, the organisers of the rallies, then we will catch the rest". It's all part of the pressure strategy.

We still have not had a green corridor opened. It's almost impossible to get cash from ATMs, which are rarely replenished. It's bad because fewer stores allow card payment for goods. The tension is rising.

In the morning we go to the meeting again. Friends joke that we are becoming protest-addicted. We see the funeral service car which drives to battlefields and collects bodies.

Janitors sweep the streets. Potatoes and beets have been brought to the store, which means that housewives will be able to cook Ukrainian borscht. Grandmother and granddaughter feed pigeons with fresh bread.

The municipal authorities promise to restore windows in the buildings that were shot by invaders.

Walking home, we see a column of Russian vehicles with the letter Z on their dirty bodies. They slowly crawl along the main street of our city. Passersby look on with hatred.

The TV does not work - the cable is disconnected. Internet is weak. Now almost no films are watched, books are not read. Reality is scarier and unpredictable. But we still hope.

Last night, for the first time, there was no shelling. Snow covers the city and erases the traces of the war. We are granted a break.

A colleague from a national publication invites us to start collecting data about killed Kherson residents. This is an awesome initiative. It will also help keep us in a good professional shape.

Lists of working pharmacies and shops have appeared in Telegram channels. The city veterinary clinic consults by phone. The longest lines are at pet stores. Power grids are being restored in the suburbs. An unexploded shell that hit the old people's home is neutralised. A generator and heaters are sent there.

There is a lot of love around. People hug in the streets, call each other, share their supplies.

A bit of a true romance. In the Kherson regional hospital young interns got married.

The 16th day of the war. There are more and more military vehicles on the streets of Kherson. Last night they moved near our house: my heart stopped for a while - in the first days of war they tried to enter, inspecting our yard.

We heard that Russian soldiers had entered a high-rise building and knocked on the doors of apartments. You'd better not open - they immediately move in. Apparently, there are not enough hotels for these "guests".

We put two additional locks on our door. Exactly at 7pm, the iron doors will be closed until morning. In the meantime, children are playing in the yard.

The hunt for food continues. Yesterday I bought six frozen cutlets. On the embankment of the Dnieper, fishers are catching fish. Here you can buy crucian carps, bream. But it is rather expensive.

A journalist was threatened by phone. She was too active on Facebook. We seem to be under scrutiny and need to carefully control our activities on social media. Again there was information about kidnapped activists in a neighbouring village.

About 10 people were detained in the city. Activists warn each other to change where they are living to avoid kidnapping.

We chose a symbol of cultural resistance in Kherson - the dove by Polina Rayko, a local artist (now dead). Her house, completely painted by her, is near Kherson. Despite the shelling, it's still safe.