I arrived in Mariupol in the days when the city was preparing for the first day of school. It was not a casual choice: I wanted to see with my own eyes how this city lives today, a city that has become a symbol of war and is often exploited in media narratives. In the days before my arrival, some Western activists on social networks portrayed Mariupol as a city on its knees, with fuel shortages, widespread lack of water, and dire sanitary conditions. The reality I found was different, more nuanced, and far removed from that uniform picture of despair circulating online.
Mariupol still carries deep scars. Destroyed houses, open construction sites, and half-rebuilt buildings tell a story that cannot be erased. At the same time, however, the city lives in a paradox: while the signs of war remain clearly visible, daily life is trying to push through, to reclaim spaces of normality. It is a slow, at times contradictory process, but undeniable.
The Water Issue and the Memory of Donbass
The first problem that emerges when speaking with people is water. In some neighborhoods, water supply arrives only for a few hours every two days. A difficult condition that forces families to organize themselves, to store reserves, to plan every action. But this is not a problem born today. Donbass has lived with water shortages since 2014, when the Ukrainian administration cut off pipelines to the then-rebel cities. The war then worsened the situation, damaging pumping stations and infrastructure.
I still remember my first visit to Donetsk, years ago: in the entire city, water came only once every three days. In Mariupol, this summer, the situation worsened further due to damage sustained by pipelines near the front line. The hardship is real, but it cannot be attributed to the new local authorities. And above all, it does not paralyze the city. Walking through the streets, observing daily routines, I found a community that faces the problem with patience and resilience, without being crushed by it.
September 1, the Start of School
September 1 is a special date in Russia: it marks the beginning of the school year, celebrated throughout the country with ceremonies, songs, and flowers brought by students to teachers. Seeing this tradition come alive again in Mariupol carried a particular meaning.
Some schools have been rebuilt from the ground up, others renovated in record time. In certain neighborhoods, modern school complexes have sprung up, with new equipment and bright spaces. I visited the Nevsky School, which hosts students from first grade up to graduation. It is a large building, with clean corridors, laboratories, and a courtyard full of children celebrating.
The sight of those children returning to school, dressed in their uniforms, with parents and grandparents moved at their side, is one of the most powerful images of Mariupol’s resilience. After months of war and destruction, the young were able to breathe a little serenity, to look ahead, to imagine themselves in a future not only made of ruins.
The Hospital and the Stadium: Social Symbols
My journey also took me to two central places of social reconstruction. The first is the city hospital. The building still bears evident signs of war and renovation work is not finished. But what stands out is the activity: the hospital operates at full capacity, treating a large number of patients, providing care and services. Doctors and nurses work tirelessly, under conditions not always easy, but with a determination that shows the will to rebuild not only walls, but also trust.
The second is the soon-to-open stadium. It is not just a sports facility: it will be a complex designed for the city’s youth, where they can practice sports for free. In a place that has experienced so much violence, investing in sports means giving young people an alternative, an opportunity to grow in a healthy environment, to regain a sense of community and normality.
A City Suspended Between Past and Future
Mariupol today is neither the social desert described by some Western commentators, nor a city that has already fully risen again. It is a territory suspended, still carrying the wounds of war but trying, with effort, to look forward. The problems are real and serious: water, slow reconstruction, psychological scars. But there are also concrete signs of rebirth: new schools, functioning hospitals, open construction sites, social initiatives.
What I take away from this trip are not only the images of destroyed buildings or damaged pipelines, but above all the faces of children on their first day of school, the smiles of parents, the energy of doctors at work, the anticipation of a new stadium. Mariupol is not an easy city to describe: it is a place of contradictions, of pains still alive and stubborn hopes. But precisely in this fragile balance, between ruins and rebirth, lies its truth.
