Elena Sabry on Outages, Survival, and Human Dignity: Life in Kyiv Under Winter Strikes

Elena Sabry is a Ukrainian-American executive career coach at Career Academy, based in Las Vegas. With family in Kyiv and constant contact with friends and colleagues in Ukraine, she follows the war's daily realities through Ukrainian news, social media, and direct conversations. Sabry previously worked in Kyiv hospitality, including at the InterContinental Kyiv, and has lived abroad in the United Arab Emirates, sharpening her perspective on language, culture, and migration. Shaped by early economic hardship after her father died in 1992, she now helps clients build resilient careers and supports Ukrainian communities through advocacy, practical guidance, and storytelling during prolonged crises.

In this exchange, Scott Douglas Jacobsen asks Elena Sabry how Russia's winter strikes on energy systems translate into daily constraints in Kyiv. Sabry describes cascading outages that cut off water, heat, transportation, and basic medical services, forcing apartment residents to climb stairs and go to clinics to ration generator power. She explains how unpredictability collapses planning into hour-by-hour survival: wash, cook, clean, and charge devices whenever electricity returns. Sabry adds that rail travel becomes a lifeline as airports close, and that displacement and workforce shortages intensify burdens on women, families, and pensioners. She argues that dignity includes the right to remain on one's land.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: So, the current war in Ukraine—particularly in big cities like Kyiv—has involved heavy bombing with a focus on civilian or civilian core infrastructure: power, water, heating, mobility, and medical access. What are the most immediate daily life constraints that you are hearing about from family or colleagues?

Elena Sabry: Unfortunately, missile attacks and drone attacks are occurring during the coldest time of the year. Russia has repeatedly targeted Ukraine's energy infrastructure since the full-scale invasion in 2022. The idea has been discussed openly in Russian political discourse—cutting Ukrainians off from basic services such as electricity and water.

Russia targets infrastructure during the coldest months of the year. Can you imagine waking up without water, unable to flush your toilet or make your coffee, and with the room cold? I live in Las Vegas. It's 13 degrees today, and I was still heating my house—it was freezing. In Ukraine, they also have the shortest days of the year, so the nights are very long.

This also has psychological and emotional effects on Ukrainians because people need to walk up the stairs. In big cities, people live in apartment blocks. My mother lives on the ninth floor. My sister, a dentist at a polyclinic, works on the fifteenth floor. They need to run down. They need to go to work. My sister comes to the polyclinic, and it does not work. There is no electricity. She has patients, but she cannot see them because there is no electricity.

They have one generator, but it is not enough. International aid groups, including Rotary networks, have delivered generators and other supplies, but the need is far greater than what any single donation can cover. They use limited backup power for critical cases, because you cannot endure tooth pain. So she sits there and waits.

It gets dark at three or four. She comes back home and tries to manage. She has a battery or backup system, so she has some electricity. All houses have natural gas, and people are looking for ways to generate electricity. She can watch television for two or three hours even when the electricity goes out.

But not all families in Ukraine can afford this, because it costs hundreds of dollars. Think about pensioners whose pension is around $150 per month. They need to pay for heat and water. This makes life much harder.

In the 21st century, how can you live in a city when even buses and the metro are disrupted during outages? You are cut off from everyday life, sitting in darkness. This is not only physical damage—it is psychological pressure, meant to exhaust people and make them leave their homes, as many did in 2022.

Much of this is done deliberately to degrade basic services. Ukraine, by contrast, targets military objectives. They strike Russian military assets and fleets. They do not intentionally target civilian houses. If debris falls, it is usually from intercepted drones. Ukrainians have never deliberately targeted hospitals.

Hospitals and medical facilities in Ukraine have been hit repeatedly during the war, including well-documented missile strikes that international organizations have condemned. These are missile attacks, and missiles are exact weapons. This is not debris falling from drones. These are expensive, precision systems developed by many countries, and they are difficult to intercept.

These attacks are costly, yet they continue to target the power and electricity grid. Ukraine inherited a largely Soviet-era, centralized energy system, which makes cascading outages easier when key nodes are hit. Russia had access to detailed infrastructure knowledge and planned these attacks over time. Putin is trying to relive a Second World War he never experienced, creating this war to portray himself as a hero.

This is a fact: civilian targets are hit to cut people off from basic needs. You know Maslow's pyramid? Ukrainians are now at the bottom of the pyramid—food, shelter, water. This is basic survival. People cannot plan. I was writing your answers, and I remembered this clearly. I even had a blog on Facebook, but I stopped because people in the comments told me, "We cannot plan what will happen tomorrow."

They live day to day, sometimes not even week to week. They do not see a horizon. They are in survival mode.

Jacobsen: What does that do to people who are living there, or to those travelling there for humanitarian, human-rights, or other work? Does that narrowing of the time horizon apply to everyone?

Sabry: Yes. People have to act quickly. When there is electricity, you wash, you cook, you clean, you charge power banks.

You become more efficient, as my sister says. She runs up to the fifteenth floor. When there is electricity, she heats, she cooks. She cooks for a week ahead, so she only has to reheat food later, not cook like before. It forces them to move faster and plan differently. I do not know how they manage, but she still has patients, and they still come.

Her husband works for a pharmaceutical company, which is vital for Ukrainians. He is an IT director there. My nephew works at a hotel as a food and beverage supervisor. He is in charge of breakfast for guests. He works at the InterContinental Kyiv, a five-star hotel. They have foreign guests and media there.

You can see the BBC and CNN filming in front of St. Michael's Cathedral, which is visible from the InterContinental. I worked there for years as well. People go to work. They do not sit and cry. They adapt their lifestyles to the conditions.

There is a lot of snow in Ukraine, and it can be very icy, making it hard to move. Many people fall. City authorities struggle because they lack sufficient staff or resources to properly clean the roads.

I was there a year ago and remember visiting my mother in Kyiv. We had a problem with the kitchen sink—the water would not drain. We called a handyman, a jack-of-all-trades. He told us, "I am in the army. I cannot help you."

Ukraine has a serious demographic problem. In some villages, there are no men left. Women are fighting. Historically, the female population has been higher in Ukraine. During the First and Second World Wars, Ukraine suffered enormous losses. Nazi Germany occupied Ukraine for about three years, and entire villages were destroyed, including my mother's village.

Now there is this war, and war, unfortunately, reduces the male population. Even when travelling through Warsaw, trains sometimes stop at the border due to power shortages. The rail system is the main lifeline.

Kyiv has two international airports, but they are closed. All civilian air travel is suspended. The only functioning lifeline in and out of the country is the railway. Prime ministers, heads of state, volunteers, families, and aid workers all travel by train.

Sometimes my sister was travelling, and she said they warned her about delays.

When travelling after COVID, mainly to or near Ukraine, you have to be very patient. Due to electricity shortages, transport schedules may change. Trains can be delayed. You need patience when you travel.

It is hard for older people because they lack stamina. It is hard for them to stand for long periods. I spoke with my mother's friends who fled at the beginning of the war in 2022. Their family went to the Netherlands. The rail stations were overcrowded, and one woman had to stand for hours. It was tough for them because of their health.

That is why many pensioners and older adults want to stay home in Ukraine. I do not judge pensioners who remain near the front lines. Their house, their animals, their piece of land—this is everything they have. They have nowhere else to go.

Jacobsen: In most cultures, people put their equity into their land or their home. If their house is destroyed and they are 70 years old, their financial life is essentially over. They were born there. Their parents were born there.

Sabry: I coach people, and I see that many cannot survive or restart their lives elsewhere after living their entire lives in one village or one country. Even some young people from Kyiv did not leave because they love the city.

They know they have a job. They have a home. They are in their comfort zone. Starting somewhere else requires money, family, and support—or a spouse. Not everyone has that. That is why I hope this interview helps leaders understand that people have the right to live and die in their own homes. This is a human right.

Why should they be forced to go to Poland or America to search for a new life and become nobody there? At home, they are somebody. This land is theirs. Human dignity means the right to live and die on one's own property.

I hope Putin will not try to turn Ukraine into a so-called "gray zone." Let him create gray zones inside Russia, not in Ukraine. We have farmland. We have people. This is our land. We are not leaving it, and we are not going back.

Jacobsen: You mentioned many men being gone—having left the country, hiding, going to the front line, fighting, or dying. Each of those is its own story. What about the stories of women, where men are not there, or where there are very few men locally within Ukraine? For readers, it is essential to remember that Ukraine is the second-largest country in Europe.

Sabry: Between 7 and 9 million Ukrainians have been displaced—you would need to check the exact figures. That is roughly one-third of the population. Ukraine had about 38 million people before the war. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the population was around 42 million, but it had already been shrinking. Now about one-third is displaced.

Some left Ukraine with their companies or families and went abroad. Others relocated internally. But many people stayed—those who have jobs, who have elderly parents or relatives. My sister, for example, is 53. She is a doctor. She has her own practice and her patients.

Starting life in America is not simple. There was the United States' "Uniting for Ukraine" program, similar to programs in Canada. But even with these programs, restarting a life from scratch is extremely difficult.

The doors were opened, and we were grateful that my mother could stay with us for a year. But for my sister and her husband, it is different. They have good jobs. She has her medical practice, her apartment, and her car. To start a similar life in America would take many years, and she does not have those years if she were in her twenties or thirties, yes. But when you are 45 or 53, it is much harder, especially with the language barrier.

Even I speak with an accent—you noticed it—and that is fine. I went to college to try to remove my accent, but they told me you cannot fully get rid of it. You were born and raised with it. Many experiences shape how you speak, how you live, and what you are exposed to. I am okay with that. At least I can say, write, and explain what I want. I work in America.

Language removes barriers. If you travel to Ukraine, learning Ukrainian will open many doors. I knew this in the Middle East when I lived in the United Arab Emirates. People told me, "Learn Arabic, and it will open doors," and they were right. Unfortunately, not all Ukrainians who immigrate can do this easily. Immigration often means you will not have the same life you had in your home country.

Then there are elderly relatives, like my mother. My sister takes care of her. She visits her every week. She calls her. They go to the summer house. In Ukraine, many families have summer houses where they grow vegetables and fruit, because Ukraine is a farming country, at least historically. We have fertile soil; almost anything grows. It is often compared to the Nile in Egypt.

The parents of my sister's husband also live in a summer house in a forested area. He needs to visit them, because how would they survive otherwise? They live on a minimal pension. Even if he sends them money, someone still needs to bring them food, talk to them, and take them to doctors.

We are the generation caring for aging parents. Even my mother, who is in her seventies and no longer works, feels better at home. Home matters. That is why people have the right to stay and live in their country, speak their language, and use their currency. Ukraine is an independent state.

Many Ukrainian women I know—people I worked with—joined the army or work in territorial defence, while still living and working in Kyiv. They go to their defence roles like a job. Some work with drones. Some do electronics. Some help wounded soldiers who return. My sister, as a doctor, can also be mobilized. She is in a later wave of eligibility for mobilization. She is a children's dentist. When a child has severe tooth pain, it is unbearable. By treating them, she contributes to resilience and victory by easing people's suffering.

I know many people working for Ukrainian foundations, refugee support programs, and initiatives for entrepreneurs. Veterans return from the front and need jobs. Ukraine does not currently have a job shortage. It has a workforce shortage.

Ukraine lacks people, but it does not lack will or resilience. Many countries supply and support Ukraine. Even smaller countries have helped by providing generators and equipment. Ukrainians will always be grateful for that—thankful to America, to presidents, to leadership. Without this support, Ukraine would not survive.

The reason I can visit my mother or call her in Kyiv is because of this international support. And because of people like you, telling these human stories and sharing authentic voices, people know the truth and not Russian propaganda aimed at destroying an independent state.

Many Ukrainian women and men volunteer constantly. Ukrainian communities donate. People go to warehouses to package aid. They fundraise for military brigades that need thermal clothing, equipment, and supplies. Families raise money to buy better helmets and protective gear for loved ones serving in the army. Ukraine has extreme seasons, including frigid winters, and proper equipment can be a matter of survival.

Ukraine has a transitional season—spring and autumn—when there is a lot of rain, and it becomes difficult for tanks to move. Then there is summer, which is green, warm, and sometimes very hot. Ukraine needs a lot of clothing. I lived in Dubai and did not need much at all. I hardly spent any money on clothes. But when you live in Canada, you know you need winter clothing. In some ways, it feels similar.

You need different types of clothes for other conditions. I have a large audience on Facebook and LinkedIn, mostly Ukrainians. Every day, my sister and her husband come home from work and donate. They listen to YouTubers and war observers who analyze events, including American and international press. Then a blogger raises money for drones and donates daily. What she earns, she gives toward drones. Pensioners donate. Children donate through schools. It has become the new normal.

Sometimes I see people I know posting that a friend from high school is serving and raising money for a pickup truck. I donate because I trust these people. This volunteer movement is part of the resistance. Ukrainians are not waiting for the government. The government is dealing with diplomacy and international meetings. People on the ground do their jobs and contribute to keeping the Ukrainian economy functioning.

I know a former editor of a lifestyle magazine. She left that work and said, "What lifestyle?" Before the war, she wrote about Ukrainian celebrities, awards, and entertainment. Her magazine covered topics like the most intelligent person, the most beautiful person, and the best singer. I worked in that industry because my hotel sponsored these events. During the war, I met her again. She is now working on television.

She told me that she and her children—her sons, who are now around 21 and therefore eligible for mobilization—decided to stay in Ukraine. They said, "If we leave, who will stay? Who will support the economy?" She understands that people need to work, spend money, and keep services running. Baristas need to make coffee. The metro needs to operate. If everything stops, who remains?

Almost everyone has relatives or friends who have died. People see it every day on Facebook. I know families personally who have lost someone. It is tough in the 21st century to go to work knowing this. I worked with an executive housekeeper, and later I spoke with a friend while opening a hotel in Europe. She reminded me that her husband had been killed in the war. She became a widow. Who helps these women?

My father died when I was 15, in 1992, just after the collapse of the Soviet Union. It was an economic disaster. There were no goods in stores. You have probably seen films about the 1990s in Moscow and across the former Soviet bloc. The military pension my family received was about $100. That $100 supported my mother, who had lost her job because she did not know computers or English. I was 15. My sister was in medical school.

We lived on that pension until I was 21. My mother eventually found work. I went to university and found a job. But I remember the economic burden and how hard it was. When you are young, no one can help you. You are a minor and not even allowed to work. That experience shaped my career. It is why I became a career coach. I was driven to build a profession, earn money, and become independent. Even now, I help others because of that experience.

Economically, it is tough. That is why I always accept invitations to webinars supporting Ukrainian women entrepreneurs or to share knowledge about career development and entrepreneurship. Work gives hope. Without work, life becomes tough. Everyone needs a job because it gives purpose.

Jacobsen: Thank you very much for the opportunity and your time, Elena.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen is the publisher of In-Sight Publishing (ISBN: 978-1-0692343) and Editor-in-Chief of In-Sight: Interviews (ISSN: 2369-6885). He writes for The Good Men Project, International Policy Digest (ISSN: 2332–9416), The Humanist (Print: ISSN 0018-7399; Online: ISSN 2163-3576), Basic Income Earth Network (UK Registered Charity 1177066), A Further Inquiry, and other media. He is a member in good standing of numerous media organizations.