Mariupolis

A city of half a million people is waiting for a war: for some it’s an occasion to fight, for others it’s the best time to repair shoes and rehearse new plays. The city of Mariupolis is by the Azov sea. It is also on the river Kalmius. Most of the city’s residents, half a million according to the last census, are working for the steel factory and do fishing, for leisure or food, in between shifts. The orthodox church towers above the city and its newly build bronze domes are sitting next to it, waiting to be donned. A tent near by is sheltering a crying icon, which receives a steady flow of visitors. The train station opens at five each morning, yet no trains are coming for the last few months. The rail bridge has been blown up recently; these are times of war. More precisely and accordingly to Ukrainian officials and the representatives of the newly established pro-Russian republics in Eastern Ukraine, it should be truce - peremirja, literally in-between-peace. As the bombs fall in the outskirts of Mariupolis and gun battles are louder than the church bells, it feels like war is coming to the city, instead. A Greek play is being rehearsed in the House of Culture; lions, lamas, and now cows from nearby fields are exhibited in a semi-functioning zoo; a paramilitary group occupying a library is fighting the enemy which has settled in the school a few hundred meters away. Dancers, soldiers, and workers fix their shoes at the shoemaker Sevelijus, who has a shop at the very center of the city.