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A day as a reporter in Kyiv

Junior Investigative Reporter Linda Hourani

Smoke is seen in the distance near Kyiv's Central Railway Station in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Sept. 23, 2026. (Linda Hourani/The Kyiv Independent)

Hi dear reader, I'm Linda Hourani, an investigative reporter at the Kyiv Independent. Today, I want to take you through one day in my life in Kyiv. It was supposed to be a normal office day for me, researching for an investigative story. But amid Russia's daily drone and missile barrages, the word "normal" has taken on a new meaning for Ukrainians. As you may have heard, since August, Russian attacks on Kyiv and other cities have intensified. Unlike the nightly drone and missile attacks Ukrainians had grown used to, these new attack waves stretch throughout the whole day. They become your constant companion. That morning a loud explosion outside around 6 a.m. first woke me up. A Russian jet-powered drone had hit somewhere in Kyiv. I reached for my phone and checked in which district the explosion had happened. As it was nowhere near me or my family's home, I went back to sleep. By the time I woke up again and got ready for the office, our work chat was filling up with reports of isolated strikes across Kyiv and photos of distant smoke. I was about to head out when my roommate called, her voice tense. "Linda, are you okay? I'm reading about live attacks in our area." She told me to leave the house as quickly as I could. We both laughed nervously — the kind of confused laughter we have learned to use for releasing some of the stress. A few minutes later, I heard a deafening strike that sounded close. I checked my phone for more incoming drones, then photographed the rising smoke and sent it to the news team. As the reporter closest to the impact, I was assigned to cover the attack on the area surrounding Kyiv's central railway station. I had to stay put until the alert was over, then head there.

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While waiting for it, I felt restless and headed to the cafe down the street. It was unexpectedly crowded. I waited for my turn, watching the barista work on an oat milk cappuccino, when another blast sounded from outside. Then another. The street rumbled with the sounds of an attack, including the familiar bursts of air-defense fire. Inside the cafe, the barista didn't even flinch. I thought of how quickly a scene like this had become unremarkable. I grabbed my coffee and headed to the basement shelter. After the attack had finished, I set out to the site, following the rising smoke. A few blocks away from Kyiv's central railway station, I saw rescue workers fighting a fire inside a historic market that Russia had struck. As I reached the scene, our video creator Nastia Kasinchuk joined me. We interviewed locals and recorded a video about the attack for our social media coverage. That morning, a series of deadly Russian drone strikes on Kyiv killed two people and injured at least 43 others, damaging railway infrastructure, business centers, and residential buildings.

Linda Hourani reports from the site of a Russian attack in Kyiv on Wednesday, Sept. 23. (The Kyiv Independent)

As I was speaking on camera, another air-raid alert went off, meaning we had to stop and move to a shelter. The rescue workers also paused their work and moved to a safe distance — a precaution in case of a double-tap strike. We finished our reporting with almost half the day still ahead of us. At first, I felt fine. I thought this attack had taken less of an emotional toll on me than previous ones, where I had covered residential buildings with entire floors burned out. At least nobody lived in that market building. But it did get to me later that day. After finishing the interviews and transcribing comments at a nearby cafe, I tried to continue with my original assignment for the day. I had urgent messages to answer about the investigation I was working on, but whatever energy had carried me through the morning had disappeared. A strong headache forced me to spend most of the evening in bed. This wasn't the first time an attack had affected me this way. I have learned that the exhaustion can sometimes come after the reporting is finished, when calm settles in.

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The war affects everyone differently, but perhaps one thing we all share is the need for some sense of predictability. We establish new routines, adapt to alerts, and figure out when to shelter and when to go back to work safely. Russia's constant drone attacks make even that more difficult, as the jet-powered drones are getting faster, circling the city for hours and striking repeatedly throughout the day. There is less and less to hold on to for understanding where the next attack might come from and when it might strike. Still, the next morning, you wake up, check your phone, get dressed, go to work, grab a coffee. You learn to fit the war around your life's schedule — until the next explosion reminds you that it is always there. This is what life in Kyiv looks like now — and it is our job to keep documenting it as it happens. If you value independent journalism from Ukraine, consider supporting our work by becoming a member.

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With love from Kyiv, Linda

Linda Hourani The Kyiv Independent