Odesa Photographer Borys Bukhman Reflects on War's Impact in Kherson and Mykolaiv

Near the military, you immediately understand where black and white are, where your friend is and where the enemy is. In cities that are not geographically close to the war, the reality is a little different. Odesa-based photographer Borys Bukhman shared his memories of the beginning of the full-scale invasion, conversations at the front line, and the reality in Kherson and Mykolaiv. Watch the full interview and read the abridged version on Intent about the military, the difference between the South and the different perceptions of reality.

We are talking to you on the third anniversary of the full-scale invasion. Can you remember what it was like for you on February 24?

February 24. It was such a day. I didn't believe in all this, but when I heard it, I went outside with a camera. There were no cars, no people. The first thing I did was look in the store. There was no hype. People were swimming as usual. But it was very quiet in Odesa. I was walking down the streets, flowers were being sold somewhere, a car was passing. And you feel that silence, an ambulance passing by - you start to react.

I was walking around with a camera and didn't know what to do. The first thing I did was to look in my closet and take out a military uniform that the border guards gave me, and I started trying it on. I went to the military enlistment office and was told: "Grandpa, don't do it. It's not your age. But if someone dies for you, it will be hard for you." I realized one thing: if I can't fight, I have to help. If you can't help, help those who can. I applied to various volunteer groups.

Today you are opening an exhibition, not the first one dedicated to the anniversary of the invasion. What is it about, what did you shoot during 2024?

I made my first exhibition on February 24, 2023 - "Paths to Victory". The second exhibition was in 2024. And now I show the people I met in the war. These are boys and girls, generals and soldiers. The geography is from Odesa to Luhansk region. These are ordinary people. Some are from the countryside, some are from the city, and you look at them and think that they are so brave. I always look up to them.

Why they can do it and I can't. I can do it too. And this is what my exhibition is about now. Ordinary soldiers. Somewhere they are shaving, eating, somewhere they are with a machine gun. Some are near a tank. There are two boys in the exhibition, one whose father is missing, the other who was captured. You look at them and feel proud.

At the exhibition last year, there is a photo of us driving through Pokrovsk. There is a boy standing by the road with a flag. We stopped, and he was given 200 hryvnias. And he says: "No, don't bother, I'm not in it for the money." I realize it's a donation to the Armed Forces. My mom and grandmother come up and say that every day after school, he goes with the flag and waits for his dad. It's touching - it's a lump in my throat.

Here I will have wounded and guys with no limbs. And you see these guys, they have a smile on their face. There is no anger in their eyes, only a vision of our victory. It inspires you to live.

Photo: Intent/Natalia Dovbysh

Has the invasion changed your environment?

When I go to the guys, I go to the first line or to the front. That's where I feel the best. I know that there is an enemy there, but here are my friends. Here (in Odesa - ed.), you realize that there are different people. But my policy is only one. We are all Ukrainians in Ukraine, of different nationalities, first and foremost Ukrainians.

Every photographer should be a psychologist. He or she knows who to talk to and how. And when I come across someone with the phrase: "It's not so simple here," I have a good answer to send them to. Three words are the best. Go to the ship. I have a flag signed by this fighter who sent a Russian warship. I am proud of it.

You came to Kherson after the flooding of the Kakhovka hydroelectric power plant, tell us what you saw there.

First, we saw silence and water. The water was coming down very fast. Very fast. People from the first floors took out their animals and some things. It was worse when we arrived for the second time, when the water subsided, there was a smell. The smell was very bad. People brought us to their homes and showed us how their refrigerators floated. Have you ever seen a refrigerator floating? These are the moments when you feel a lot of pain. And then, after that, the military took me to their place, and I saw the Kakhovka hydroelectric power station with my own eyes, took pictures.

Did we learn more about neighboring cities like Mykolaiv and Kherson? What changes have you noticed in the South?

Mykolaiv and Kherson were just passing through towns for me. When the conflict started, the first thing we did was to transport water to Mykolaiv. I first came to Kherson after the de-occupation. I drove around the city, saw the devastation. I met a woman who is 70 years old. She was twice held captive, tortured, and had wires attached to her chest. And you feel all this as if through yourself.

Mykolaiv is getting rougher. We have more romance in Odesa. Mykolaiv became a fortress for me, and when I was photographing all the floors of the Mykolaiv Regional Council, I went into my office and the day it was hit was still on the calendar. I saw something hanging from the top floor. Something was hanging on a wire, or a fax machine was hanging on an extension cord.

For me, there is no difference: Mykolaiv, Kherson or Odesa residents. When the occupation of Kherson began, the apartment where my daughter lived became a transit point. People would come from Mykolaiv, from Kherson, for one day, two days, spend the night and move on.

How did you react in 2014, did you realize that the war had started?

In 2014, I did not understand what it was. Then I started to think. Ukraine had to be Ukraine right away. We had Russian television and watched it.

Slowly I began to understand, to see people, to follow their example, to think about why they volunteer. It's important that you don't have someone tell you, but you understand it yourself, let it pass through you, and you become a real Ukrainian. I was taught that Bandera was the enemy.

You have to change your bubble a little bit. I was able to do it, some people can't. When I came to Israel, I met a woman who told me that if it were not for Stalin, there would be no Israel. I was in the United States. Those people who came from the Soviet Union, from any city, from Russia, from the Baltic States, from Ukraine or Belarus. They have Moscow as their capital. They do not understand what is happening here. We are brothers. And that was a year ago.

Our Odesa cotton wool has not disappeared. It is still here. In this house, in this apartment. It is here. I go back to 2022 and I remember walking around Odesa, before I received the accreditation of the Armed Forces, looking out the windows. I thought, if Russians appear here in Odesa, which window will show the tricolor.

Photo: Intent/Natalia Dovbysh

Was there any fear of traveling and staying in the war zone?

If I am accredited, I have the opportunity to go to the military, and if they trust me, I do my job. There are moments where it is impossible for the press to pass. But I have photos that I can't show until now because they are of military objects and people. I was not afraid to go anywhere. It was my wife who was afraid to let me go.

I was traveling with the military, they were next to me. I followed their example, I wasn't afraid even when it exploded in Chornobaivka at the checkpoint. I saw everyone scattering, I was sitting with a young guy, a driver, and I told him: "Drive quietly". And it exploded about 100-150 meters from us. I told him to drive out and let's go. The third time he did it.

Maybe I was not in the terrible events. When young men and women are not afraid, why should I be afraid? I gave birth to a son, built a house, planted a tree.

Марія Литянська