Correspondent of Ukraine
BBC/Matthew Gadard“I have no plans for the future,” says Oleksandr Bezhan, who was standing next to an empty, frozen paddock, where he worked as a fisherman on the Dnipro River in southern Ukraine. “When I wake up in the morning, it’s very good.”
Malokaterynivka sits in just 15 km (9 miles) north of the front line in the Zaparisha of Ukraine.
When US President Donald Trump succeeds, Malokaterynivka hopes to be on the right side of this front.
I last visited the area in 2023 when Ukraine launched a long -awaited opposition.
At the time, the Ukrainians dared to dream of winning this war. After all, they won the Battle of Kiev and liberated the territory elsewhere.
But 18 months, similar to the tombstones, reflect the failure of this operation and the dominance of Russia.
The front line here is wide in the same place – but the wide space of the river has gone.
When a Russian dam was destroyed by the current, it became a huge, uninterrupted space of the steal.
The endless environment reflects Ukraine’s frozen limb.
“If the front would be the border, it would be scary … The fight could break at any moment,” Oleksandr explains.
The open river bed separates our location from the occupied Russian territory. Far sunlight bounces off the Zaporizzhia metal nuclear power plant, in the Moscow meeting since 2022.
Ukraine and the US want peace, but it seems here that consensus ends.
Washington’s vision, along with the realities of Battlefield, means that Russia is likely to retain the Ukrainian land it confiscated.
Ukraine wants significant safety guarantees that would prevent the invasion from pressing across the river.
Instead, Donald Trump denied the dream of Kiev to join the NATO alliance when he focused on Russia.
Watching and reporting Ukraine’s struggle for more than three years, it is a particularly rigid hand to get the country.
There are feelings of betrayal. Comments criticize either the President of the Ukrainian Zelensky or the new foreign policy of their largest ally.
“The border is independent of us,” says Oleksandr. “It may not work, but Seoul is 30 km from North Korea, and they somehow live and bloom.”
BBC/Matthew GadardThe task of milking is to find a new goal at the heart of Ukraine’s future.
And while politicians talk about negotiations, Ukrainians continue to fight and die.
The villagers are going to the funeral of a local soldier who is also named Oleksandra. Half of the graves in the cemetery are freshly dug.
The ceremony cannot last more than 25 minutes with the artillery threat. Mourning took off and ducks for cover when his comrades shoot a salute with a gun.
“I do not hope to stop the fire,” says his widow Natalia, who nevertheless wants me to be wrong.
“They just continue to send more and more of our boys to the front. If only they could find a way to finish it.”
Next to the river is a non -working rail line surrounded by barbed wire.
“It is to stop the Russian agents to sabotage the track,” explains Ludmila Valik, who lived in a dairy all his life.
Trains went all the way to Crimea in the south.
“We hope it will be restored one day,” the 65 -year -old says optimistically. “And once we go to our Crimea.”
Eleven years of Russian occupation of the peninsula is difficult to imagine.
BBC/Matthew GadardPresident Zelensky insists that he will not sign any agreement that does not include Ukraine, so does Lidmil trust him to get a deal that protects her?
“We want to believe,” she replies after a deep breath.
When Donald Trump leads peace to Ukraine, he is welcomed in many quarters.
The prospect of continuous night, the sirens who are silent and the soldiers return home.
But as everything stands, any relief will soon be littered unanswered questions about how the ceasefire will be held and who will perform it.
Kyiv see this lack of details as something else to play. The problem for Ukraine is that Russia will be.
Additional Svitlana Libet report, Toby Luckhurst and Hanna Chornous
