Sleepless Nights and Ruin: Russian Attacks Torment Kyiv

By Faith Barbara N Ruhinda Updated at 1427 EAT on Monday 14 July 2025

Kyiv, Ukraine I’m jolted from sleep by what feels like an explosion inside my own body, as if a balloon has burst deep in my stomach. A split second later, I hear the real explosion loud, close, unmistakable. I’m instantly awake.

The cold blue glow of my phone illuminates the corner of the room. Messages from our Ukrainian producer, Luda, flash across the screen: drones and ballistic missiles are incoming.

As my eyes adjust to the harsh light, I realize it’s 2 a.m. In my deep sleep, I missed the air raid siren the one that usually blares twice: first to warn of an incoming strike, then again to signal the all-clear. I had slept through the first warning. The danger was already here.

My instinct is to roll over and retreat into the safety of sleep, just as quickly as I was yanked from it. But a second explosion — likely a surface-to-air interception — makes that impossible. It reverberates through the air and sparks a slow-burning dread that settles in the back of my mind.

The standard advice in these situations is clear: draw the curtains and stay away from windows.

A nearby blast could send a shockwave strong enough to shatter glass, turning windows into weapons. But my windows are bare, their dark panes now looming ominously above me. Reluctantly, I pull on some clothes and shuffle into the bathroom the one place in the apartment mercifully free of windows.

I can hear them clearly now drones, buzzing like giant, enraged hornets. They seem to pass directly overhead, followed by the sharp, stuttering triple boom of anti-aircraft machine gun fire echoing through the night.

It occurs to me the bathroom walls are lined with large ceramic tiles. A nearby impact could easily blast them loose, sending them crashing down, possibly onto me.

In war, even tasteful décor turns hostile. What once felt clean and modern now feels sharp-edged and threatening. Half an hour passes with no pause in the assault. Finally, I grab a small backpack keys, wallet, passport and quietly make my way to the lobby to take silent refuge among my fellow hotel guests.

The next hour unfolds in a tense, looping rhythm: the high-pitched whine of passing drones, the crack and thud of air defense fire, and the relentless thunder of explosions.

Some are interceptions. Some are direct impacts. Others carry a different, more unsettling sound the eerie, almost metallic roar of a hypersonic Kinzhal missile tearing through the sky nearby.

I try to reassure myself it’s highly unlikely this particular hotel will be hit. But fear lingers, a quiet, insistent doubt. Danger hangs in the air; death feels close. There’s a helplessness to it all, a kind of suspended vulnerability. Outside, the staccato punch of machine-gun fire marks the resistance — men and women risking everything in the dark, fighting for control of the sky.

For Ukrainians, this night terror isn’t an exception — it’s routine. Each evening brings the threat of another strike. Sleeplessness, stress, injury, and death have become part of daily life. But in a week, I can go home.

Around 5 a.m., the siren finally sounds the all-clear. We drift back to our rooms and return to our beds — though after 397 drones and 18 missiles launched at Kyiv, sleep is no longer easy to find.

In the morning, we visit several impact sites apartment blocks, warehouses, an outpatient clinic. Twenty-five people were wounded, and two lost their lives: Lyubov, a 65-year-old who had recently undergone spinal surgery and was unable to evacuate in time; and 22-year-old Maria, who managed to flee her apartment but returned briefly—and in that moment, lost her life.

Survivors, rescue crews, and firefighters worked tirelessly—clearing rubble, patching shattered windows, and setting up small tents offering tea, instant porridge, medical supplies, and, above all, a powerful sense of solidarity and support.

Meanwhile, in Rome at the Ukraine Recovery Conference, President Volodymyr Zelenskyy warned that Russia will soon be launching 1,000 drones in a single night a daunting prospect he believes can be countered with interceptor drones.

As the war in Ukraine grinds on, control of the skies increasingly hinges on drone-versus-drone battles — once the stuff of science fiction, now the stark reality of tonight’s nightmare.

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