Spurred on by curiosity, I decided to make a detour to the station and approach the edge of the forest where a small gathering had formed. The trees were tall enough and prevented me from seeing more. I went around the pines and started climbing the hill overlooking Pripyat. In the distance, some kids were clinging to the railing of the bridge that culminated on the railway track and was later renamed the Death Bridge. From there, they could see the chaos of the power plant and the grey smoke rising in the sky. The distance probably prevented them from hearing, but their eyes remained stuck in front of the cloud of flames and dust that rose tirelessly. The show was undoubtedly striking, but above all it was deadly. They were unaware that they were exposing themselves to phenomenal doses of radiation that would not give them a chance. I remained several seconds to observe, trying to find an explanation as if my reasoning should replace that of the adults in charge of the plant. But the smoke made me uncomfortable. Instinctively, I turned around and turned back. I arrived at the family apartment on the double pace.
My mother and I were only alerted to the seriousness of the accident in the evening after the explosion, almost fifteen hours later, when my father returned home. He was woken up in the middle of the night and then rushed to the reactor to participate in the operations. Without his usual calm, he rushed to the scene and only came back exhausted with an anxious look. Misery of information, he made us swallow new tablets, similar to those in math class.
“I have to go to the nuclear power plant. I won’t be back until tomorrow morning. Avoid going out. And above all, don’t open the windows!”
He had spoken these last words in manifest agitation. He, who was usually so calm and serene, seemed very worried. It was only later that I understood what had happened.
Shortly after 1:20 a.m., an experiment in the plant had slipped. The back-up systems had been deactivated, the temperature had risen, causing a chain reaction and a phenomenal explosion. Crumbs from the building were ejected at an altitude of several kilometres. Nevertheless, the day in Pripyat had gone almost normally, everyone going about their various occupations. The fumes in the sky were content to fuel conversations, to arouse curiosity at most. Few people were really aware of the seriousness of the events. The kids were joyfully rolling around in the grass as if nothing had happened. In the surrounding countryside, villagers persisted in drawing water and working the land. They had not been warned and were in no way aware of the risks. The constituent of their labour was now soiled. Their survival element had become lethal. But no matter what, life went on.
27 April 1986
Around 1:00 p.m. the sentence fell. Local radio stations were broadcasting the same message over and over again: “Be careful, be careful! Dear comrades, following an accident at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, a situation of unfavourable radioactivity has appeared in the city of Pripyat.”
The authorities were stingy with information, but they had finally taken matters into their own hands. An exclusion zone was determined. We were forced to flee. The priority was to evacuate Pripyat and the surrounding villages.
During the day, new iodine pills were distributed without further explanation. The authorities had indicated that the inhabitants had to leave and take only the really necessary things, it was only temporary, they would come back in three days and everything would be an anecdote, an exciting story to tell later in the families.
From this point of view at least, the Soviet organisation was exemplary. 1200 buses had been chartered for the operations, lined up 25 kilometres long and ready to take us on board. The logistical feat had worked. It only took 3 hours for the city to be completely evacuated. 50,000 people had left their homes without suspecting that they would never return. Would they have fled if they had been aware of the irreversibility of their action?
Innocent, but not naive, I understood quite quickly that a serious event had occurred. My father had an unusual behaviour, both nervous and fearful. It didn’t look like him. My mother sobbed and didn’t talk, just packing things, her fingers shaking. I left my toys, books and all my personal belongings. I had to abandon my newly assembled wooden train. The family photo hanging on the living room wall was ripped off, it would come with us. My father stuffed the suitcase in a hurry with provisions. In his approach, I understood that we are fleeing out of disaster and not as a precaution.
The other families seemed more serene, almost carefree. They looked like they were taking the evacuation in a light tone. Some of my friends laughed, the nervous behaviour of the police officers amused them. The panic of the authorities was pleasing to them. I couldn’t characterize my emotion. I was observing without understanding. I was interpreting without concluding. My childhood intuition suggested fears to me. Despite the general attempts at appeasement, a deep anguish had sprouted in me. I looked at it 180 degrees, slowly scrutinizing the stirring of the teeming city. A scent of tension was floating in the air. I was convinced, however, that this was not my last look at these buildings. I would see them again, I was convinced of it. In the meantime, we had to flee, rush to safety.
A noise was coming from a building nearby. The trouble was caused by an individual barricaded in his apartment. He stubbornly refused to leave. The neighbours tried to reason with him, but the scoundrel was determined to stay. He was entrenched with a weapon, they said. Some shouted, “Leave him in his madness, he might shoot.” A man more resolute than the others took the lead and broke down the shattered door. He grabbed the refractory petrified with panic and propelled him outside the apartment to force him into one of the yellow buses. He’d run away like everyone else. The evacuation had to be complete. There were several such anecdotes in history, but few had been recorded. The moment was unprecedented and uncertain.
Of course, the evacuation order did not only concern Pripyat. The inhabitants of the various villages and hamlets in the surrounding area also had to rely on the exodus. The accident posed a serious risk for miles around, there was no question of compromising local populations. In order to clean up the environment and prevent future contamination, it was also agreed to eliminate animals in the area. Thus, thousands of dogs were brutally slaughtered with the hope that the survivors did not survive because of the radiation. Described a posteriori as genocide by some, this order was nevertheless executed in view of the risks.
Meanwhile, at the power plant, the clash continued. About 40 helicopters took turns to contain the fierce fire that was constantly breaking out of the reactor core. Given the colossal level of radiation, the pilots had less than ten seconds to position themselves above the target and release their load. Sand, lead and concrete were dropped on the destroyed reactor to counter the flames. The release of radioactive fumes into the atmosphere had to be stopped, but above all a possible devastating nuclear reaction had to be prevented.
However, in defiance of human attempts, cesium 137 was spreading tirelessly.
Radiation is a tough threat: it is invisible, has no taste or smell and emits no noise. It is therefore impossible to locate them without adequate equipment. Our enemy being undetectable, we were totally ignorant of his presence and number. Of course, none of us had a Geiger counter and only the plant staff and some security forces had one. To avoid panic, they did not share any information with us. The secret of the actual state of the disaster was well kept.
The Soviet government waited for the Swedish concerns of 28 April to officially acknowledge the accident. The Scandinavians had detected abnormally high levels of radioactivity and suspected the USSR. It was finally on the evening of that same day that Moscow announced to the world what had happened. The statement was made through the Russian news agency Tass, a simple message was recited by the presenter on television: “There was an accident at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant that destroyed one of the reactors. Measures have been taken to manage the situation and assistance is being provided to those affected. A commission of inquiry has been established.”