Olha Epifanova leans over the railing and looks across to the other bank. “It’s a weird feeling knowing they’re over there somewhere,” she says. By that she means the Russians, who control the area on the other side of the Dnipro River. A few meters from Olha, her husband Genadij Wowk is holding his fishing rod in the water. On this day at the end of November, the two pensioners are standing on the bridge to a small island in the south of Cherson in the middle of the Dnieper. Ever since the Russian army withdrew from the right bank, the river has formed the natural barrier between defenders and occupiers. Genadij’s hook with the little yellow bait that looks like a kernel of corn is floating somewhere in the front line right now.
Hardly a fish bites today. Again and again Genadij catches up with his hook. The bait is gone, but no fish are hanging from it. And if he pulls one out, then only a very small one. “For the cats,” says Genadij. But for both of them, the pastime is more important than the big catch anyway. During the nine-month occupation, they went fishing here almost every day. Because when fishing you are outside in the fresh air and not at home with your thoughts locked up. The couple’s children left Cherson early, leaving only Olha and Genadij with their dog and cats.
