This story aired in the October 8, 2025 episode of Crosscurrents.
On the twenty fourth of February 2022 Russia sent their military to invade Ukraine.
Over three years later, the war continues to grind on with Russia conducting a full-scale assault on the country — which includes targeting critical civilian infrastructure.
Just this weekend reports came out that Russian drones had attacked Ukraine’s passenger rail lines.
NEWS CLIP: Governor, both staff and passengers were injured. Today, the enemy hit the railway station in Shotska where civilians were at the moment. During the rescue works, there was a second strike on the same railway station.
But as the conflict rages, everyday life for Ukrainians goes on.
To understand how they’re living from day to day, Bay Area reporter Adreanna Rodriguez went to Ukraine. And what she found is people doing what people do- seeking pleasure, joy, and normalcy despite the ever-present shadow of war.
Today, we bring you part one of her reporting that explores the hope, and cultural survival at the heart of a city under siege.
Click the button above to listen.
Story Transcript:
REPORTER: I’m walking around the streets of Kyiv with my local producer, Liubov , and the pulse of the capital city is undeniable.
The sidewalks are crowded with people sipping coffee and talking with friends.
As we search for a place to have lunch, she points out the landmarks, trendy shops, and cozy cafes.
LIUBOV: It's a very popular place with young people, and sometimes these roads are getting blocked, and they organize some food courts on the streets, and DJs are playing.
REPORTER: For a moment, it feels like I could be in any metropolitan city.
But as we make our way past Independence Square, I see a row of flags fluttering in the wind, a quiet reminder that we are not just in any major city trying to beat the lunch rush.
We’re in Kyiv, Ukraine, and life here is a delicate balance of normalcy and survival.
It’s been more than three years since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine began in 2022, but the war has deep roots.
In 2014, Russia invaded and annexed Crimea, a peninsula that had been part of Ukraine.
The move violated international law and sparked global outrage, setting the stage for years of mounting tension. The annexation of Crimea was a key turning point that led to the full-scale invasion.
Most of what you hear about Ukraine right now in the news focuses on violence, destruction, and displacement.
ARCHIVAL: REUTERS ANCHOR: A war that's displaced more than three million people
ARCHIVAL: DW ANCHOR: Breaking overnight, Russia pounded Ukraine's capital of Kyiv overnight with drones and missiles.
ARCHIVAL: CNN ANCHOR: A Russian missile and drone bombardment of Ukraine killing 15 people.
REPORTER: I came to Kyiv to report on the ways that Ukrainians have been navigating daily life in a time of war.
I had some assumptions about the reality here. But it’s not just the unpredictable chaos mentioned in the news clips. As I walk through Kyiv with my producer, Liubov, the story feels different. There’s a visceral, sharp dissonance I can feel in daily life.
I feel it while touring the lively streets of the capital, and when we finally duck into a packed lunch spot. This place makes something I don’t expect. It’s not the traditional Ukrainian dishes like potato borscht and potato pancakes.
We’re at Japan Hi, Liubov’s favorite sushi spot. On their beautiful rooftop patio, we fiddle with chopsticks as we scan the menu.
This scene isn’t unusual in Kyiv. When I first arrived here and searched for food on Google Maps, Sushi restaurants formed a mosaic on my screen.
Sushi isn’t just Liubov’s favorite lunch craving; it's somewhat of a national obsession for Ukrainians. Even before the full-scale invasion, sushi's popularity had been expanding quickly. And that popularity matters now more than ever. When the war began, restaurants closed, curfews were imposed, and daily life was upended. But sushi lasted, and not just because it’s easy, portable, and healthy.
To some, it's a symbol of modernity, a taste of normalcy in a time of constant uncertainty. Life in Ukraine can feel closed off, insular, and trapped by war. Access to sushi is a reminder that Ukrainians can connect with global culture through this cuisine.
In many ways, eating sushi became a small act of resistance against the violent disruption of war. Not only does this cuisine represent something completely different from the Soviet past, but it also became a way for people to carve out moments of calm amid chaos.
In this city, resilience isn’t just about holding the frontlines. Ukrainians are not just surviving, they are adapting. Despite the weight of war, life continues here in ways that are hard to understand at first.
I assumed people would be rationing pleasure during this time of chaos, but the Sushi phenomenon shows that Ukrainians are infusing joy into their new rhythm of life.
KOSTIANTYN: My name is Kostiantyn Mikhalkov, Pavlovych. I'm the chef of Japan Hi.
REPORTER: That’s Kostiantyn, the chef of Japan Hi. He recalls the first time he tried sushi 15 years ago. He was out eating pizza with his friends when they convinced him to trade a slice for a couple of pieces.
KOSTIANTYN: It was such an explosion. Just such a boom, when I felt several flavors at the same time — sour, salty, spicy, and sweet. And all of it together.
REPORTER: In traditional Ukrainian cuisine, dishes tend to be hearty, comforting, and earthy flavors that center on potatoes, cabbage, beets, and pork. So these new flavors had Kostiantyn hooked.
When the full-scale invasion began, Japan Hi’s kitchen, as well as several other restaurants, became voluntary feeding hubs for soldiers on the frontlines. Everything the restaurant Japan Hi had in its cold storage rooms went entirely to feed the military.
SEMEN: Greetings! My name is Danylchenko Semen Vyacheslavovych. I am the director of Japan Hi. This is a restaurant in the center of Kyiv on Reitarska Street.
It was for a long time, about one and a half months non-stop, and then it became more. Each restaurant already has established relations with certain units and cooperates directly.
REPORTER: He says serving soldiers was non-stop. Each restaurant worked directly with military departments. And eventually, large food suppliers and importers joined in.
KOSTIANTYN: We ourselves order salmon from Norway. That is, these are direct deliveries, and after the fish is slaughtered, it reaches us on the fourth or fifth day, and that’s according to Euro standards at zero temperature.
REPORTER: They order fresh salmon directly from Norway, and it's delivered under European health standards. Although Japan Hi has shifted its focus back to Kyiv residents, it still supports the frontline through a tip system, set up towards feeding soldiers.
KOSTIANTYN: In fact, we are helping, and thanks to this support we can actually exist, keep working, and somehow feel like we have a more or less normal life here.
REPORTER: Thanks to the support they provide and receive, they can work, exist, and feel, more or less, normal. Because during the daytime, Kyiv feels deceptively normal. But as night falls, and the sun dips behind the skyline, the streets grow quieter. These same streets, which were bustling with life and chatter, begin to feel tense with anticipation. As the nighttime curfew approaches, I head back to my hotel.
I’m about two weeks into my stay in Ukraine, and not a single night goes by without Kyiv being targeted by drone attacks. This city never truly sleeps anymore, because these drone attacks aren't just about destruction. They’re a form of psychological warfare, a way to wear down the city’s nerves.
The air defense app on my phone pings with real-time alerts. The drones arrive in waves at night, and the response of Kyiv’s air defense keeps my body on edge. This happens nightly. But this time feels different.
The sounds of explosions outside are more frequent, and I can see flashing lights flicker through a narrow slit in my curtains. I can’t sleep, so I check in with a few other journalists staying in my building.
REPORTER: Are you gonna go to the shelter?
CECILIA: I dunno why I was thinking about it.
REPORTER: Yeah, it's pretty loud.
CECILIA: It's really loud.
REPORTER: You can see the lights.
REPORTER: A few people grab their blankets, and we sit together in the hallway talking quietly, hoping the sounds of explosions will ease. An hour passes. We each return to our rooms and try to sleep through the night.
ARCHIVAL: CNN ANCHOR: Russia pounded Kyiv with hundreds of missiles and drones overnight.
ARCHIVAL: BBC ANCHOR: Damage appears to be extensive // It is one of the biggest attacks in recent months.
ARCHIVAL: REUTERS ANCHOR: Several killed in the Capitol, more than 70 injured, including six children, rushed to the hospital.
REPORTER: Just coming outside for today. Um, it was so hard to sleep last night. There were so many air alerts, and I woke up this morning to the news that people have been killed. I don't know how people can live like this.
As soon as I step outside the next morning, I’m overcome by the smell of smoke. Russian missiles hit a residential area in Kyiv around 1 a.m., when most people were sleeping. The strike happened just 15 minutes away from my building. It’s one of the deadliest assaults on the Ukrainian capital since last summer.
I make my way to the site of the bombing with another local producer, Anna. We meet up with our security advisor, Jeff, who walks us through the dilapidated residential neighborhood. In Ukraine, damage from the war is repaired as quickly as possible, a way of making sure the physical scars don’t linger any longer than they have to.
JEFF: That's all. That's really minor. Everything else in the building collapsed. But you see all the windows are shattered because of the blast.
REPORTER: Nearly every window in the neighborhood is shattered. Balconies hang in ruins, and one entire apartment building has been leveled. Search and rescue crews dig desperately through the rubble as survivors stagger through the debris, stunned and terrified.
JEFF: We had access all morning, but now 'cause they're working.
REPORTER: A group of teenagers stands nearby, watching anxiously as the search and rescue team works through the rubble. They cling to hope that the crew will find their friend, one of their classmates who lived in the building.
ANNA: Okay, let's try to talk with the teenager.
REPORTER: Their eyes are swollen with tears, as they decline our invitation to talk. Later, we find out that the teens waited and watched for over twelve hours, until rescuers found his lifeless body.
We hear the news that a couple of kids from the site of the bombing had been taken to the local children’s hospital. So Anna and I make our way there in an effort to understand the toll this war is having on Ukraine’s most vulnerable, its children.
The children's hospital in Kyiv is a leading institution in Ukraine, dating back to 1894. It's the main center for intensive care, serving the city and surrounding regions at all hours.
As we approach the hospital, the damage from last year’s Russian missile strike on the facility is impossible to miss. Parts of the building are boarded up, like scars slowly healing over a wound. We meet Dr. Tetiana to hear firsthand about the challenges the hospital continues to face.
ANNA: So, Tetiana Piglova is the chief of the department of the Intensive Care for Prematurely born babies.
REPORTER: Running on adrenaline, Dr. Tetiana jumps into a tour of the hospital’s intensive care unit, until I gently interrupt to ask how she’s holding up after last night’s bombing. She is unable to speak without breaking down and crying. Fighting back tears, Dr. Tetianacontinues the tour, with her back to us. We follow behind her.
The intensive care unit on the first floor was left heavily damaged from last year’s missile attack, forcing the staff to work on the upper floors during renovations.
The result is a cramped, overcrowded space, with everyone doing their best to work around the construction.
Staff use modern technologies to treat and monitor sick newborns, remain on duty 24/7, and even amid the sounds of construction, the staff tries to bring comfort through Music Therapy.
DOCTOR: Our babies love to listen to orchestras, to Mozart music.
REPORTER: We step into a patient's room where mother and baby are huddled around a small iPhone playing classical music.
TETIANA: My name is Tetiana, and my son's name is Volodymyr Kozak.
REPORTER: The mother, whose name is also Tetiana, had a healthy pregnancy until she fell ill with pneumonia, and her baby was born premature. Now, at three months old, he depends on an oxygen machine to breathe and requires regular transfusions.
ANNA: They came here because this is the best hospital in the country, and the father is in the western part of Ukraine.
REPORTER: Tetiana and her husband planned their pregnancy, despite the war. They live out in the countryside, where things are a bit quieter.
TETIANA: So, for me to be honest, staying here in Kyiv is very stressful.
REPORTER: Even in the hospital, there is a limited sense of security. Last night’s attacks are proof of that.
ANNA: I heard the explosions. They were very loud.
TETIANA: My baby needs an infusion and all the tubes. The nurse helped me pack it up.
REPORTER: During last night’s shelling, doctors and nurses grabbed babies and ran down to the basement shelter. Tetiana and her baby needed extra help because of the oxygen tanks. They spent the entire night huddled together, listening to the sounds of Kyiv under attack. I ask her what it’s like to have children during the war.
TETIANA: I think that the war will stop soon I actually believe. It's going to stop, and everything's going to be alright.
REPORTER: Very hopeful.
ANNA: That's what we need.
REPORTER: Yeah.
ANNA: That's what should happen. She's a very positive mom.
REPORTER: Yeah, she is.
ANNA: A very positive mom.
REPORTER: It's like a beam of light in there, huh?
ANNA: Yeah.
REPORTER: That was just like totally different.
ANNA: Yeah. It's just like an angel.
REPORTER: We stepped out of the war for a second.
DOCTOR: And the families who are still staying on the territory of Ukraine are just afraid of having children.
REPORTER: The number of newborns in Ukraine is decreasing year by year. The decline in birth rates can be attributed to several factors: the emigration of 7.5 million Ukrainians, the militarization of the occupied territories, forced deportation of children to Russia, the loss of young men to the armed forces, and widespread fear among families, even in somewhat safe places.
REPORTER: Can you ask her what it is like for her to work specifically with babies at this time?
ANNA: She says It's the story of my life.
DOCTOR: Stress.
ANNA: A lot of stress.
DOCTOR: Sorry.
REPORTER: Dr. Tetiana is working to hold back tears again…
ANNA: She says she’s trying to be strong.
DOCTOR: *SPEAKING UKRANIAN*
ANNA: She says baby children are the best thing there are in this world.
DOCTOR: Yeah, I don't cry. No.
ANNA: By the babies. No cry.
REPORTER: The doctor insists she never cries in front of the babies. For her, maintaining calm is part of the care.
Dr. Tetiana points to herself when I ask who takes care of her.
REPORTER: Does she have something specific that she does to take care of herself?
DOCTOR: Dance.
REPORTER: Dance.
Reporting for this series was supported by the International Women’s Media Foundation’s “Women on the Ground: Reporting from Ukraine’s Unseen Frontlines Initiative” in partnership with the Howard G. Buffett Foundation.
Local Producers in Ukraine include Liubov Sholudko, Tetiana Burianov, and Anna Nemtsova.