“We cross ourselves and keep going”: A night with Kyiv’s garbage collectors under Russian air raids

At night, Kyiv's streets grow quieter, but the work of garbage collectors is just beginning.

Driver Ihor and his colleague Oleksandr work for Kyivkomunservis, a municipal waste collection company. Their overnight route takes them to roughly 40 locations across the Ukrainian capital, where they empty containers, collect discarded rubbish and move on to the next stop.

They know the route by heart. That does not make it predictable.

Cars parked too close to garbage containers can prevent their truck from getting through. Sometimes people leave bags of rubbish on the ground beside nearly empty underground containers, forcing the workers to collect everything by hand.

And then there are the residents.

"People have thrown eggs at me," Ihor recalls. "Sometimes they shout from their windows, swear at us. People want to sleep, and we're disturbing them."

He admits he might feel the same way if a garbage truck were making noise outside his own window. But most residents are understanding, and some even thank the workers.

"People come up and simply say, 'Thank you for your work,'" he says.

Two men, one night shift

Neither man originally planned to work in waste collection.

Ihor previously worked at a factory and later as an international truck driver. But spending so much time away from home became difficult after he had a child. His current job allows him to see his family every day.

Oleksandr trained as a musician and worked in retail and security management before moving from Kharkiv to Kyiv after getting married.

He was looking for a job that offered an exemption from military mobilization - known in Ukraine as bron, or a reserved-worker status, available for certain essential positions.

Oleksandr says he was initially embarrassed by the idea of collecting garbage for a living. But the schedule suited his family, and he came to see the work differently.

He also brings music to the night shift. Sometimes he plays instrumental backing tracks and sings Ukrainian songs in the truck. Ihor jokes that he gets a front-row seat at a concert.

The two men have developed an easy working relationship. One drives and operates the truck's lifting equipment, while the other handles the containers and helps guide the vehicle through tight spaces.

They depend on each other to finish the route safely.

When the air raid sirens sound

During a night shift accompanied by hromadske journalists, an air raid alert interrupted the routine.

As Ihor drove toward the next collection point, Oleksandr checked reports about the approaching aerial threat, tracking its direction so they could seek shelter if necessary.

For Kyiv residents, Russian air attacks have become a recurring danger. For people whose jobs take them across the city at night, they are also a practical challenge: when to stop, where to shelter and how to finish work that cannot simply be postponed indefinitely.

The two men have experienced alerts during many shifts. Sometimes they have worked near the aftermath of Russian strikes.

"Sometimes after explosions, we're standing there and everything around us is rattling and falling," Ihor says.

Oleksandr explains that stopping work every time an alert sounds can leave the crew unable to finish its route before morning. The next day's garbage then piles up on top of what remains uncollected.

"It's a vicious circle," he says.

Asked whether he is afraid, Oleksandr gives a short answer.

"Apparently not. We cross ourselves and keep going."

The lives people leave behind

Collecting garbage also means encountering pieces of other people's lives.

Ihor remembers finding an entire family archive beside a container: photographs, certificates, awards and documents belonging to a woman who appeared to have worked as a kindergarten director. The photographs stretched from the 1950s to recent years.

He spent about half an hour looking through them.

"I couldn't tear myself away," he recalls. "I felt so sorry to throw it all away."

On another occasion, he found military clothing and equipment discarded near a container. He did not know what had happened to the soldier who owned them. Unable to bring himself to throw the items away, he left them beside the bin in case someone could use them.

During the shift observed by hromadske, he also discovered a suitcase filled with tools in good condition.

Yet Ihor does not romanticize his job.

"Someone has to do this work," he says.

In a city where nights can bring Russian drones and missiles, that simple observation carries particular weight.

By morning, the containers must be emptied, the streets cleared and the city ready for another day.