I was sent to do soporific subjects, but I was happy with them. That was three or four years ago, I didn’t know exactly. Time had passed and had plunged me into a soothing inertia. My life was lacklustre, the routine was suffocating me. The boredom of a smooth and dull existence was waiting for me. I would probably end up swallowing Prozac in my days watching the rain fall through the window. This perspective seemed to be the only possible way out.
However, one event managed to turn me away from my daily slump. In 2014, the uprising in Maidan Square revived a sleeping blaze. Like many revolutions, its onset was troubled. Legitimate claims had become entangled in violence with dubious motives. Ukraine was in the spotlight of the media, making the continuous news channels satisfied.
I was following events with interest. The popular uprising quickly turned into an armed conflict. The belligerents seemed more heterogeneous than in the beginning. Acts of violence were on the increase, as were suspicions of external interference. Bloody images followed one another in a loop. Kiev had caught fire. World bodies and political leaders condemned statements, press releases and attempts at international mediation in all directions.
The conflict became too complex for the average viewer, his media coverage was no longer worth it. In a final programme analysing the events, one of the reporters mentioned the Chernobyl region, where huge works were underway. This allusion captures my heart. In the face of the uproar of the revolution, the other battle of Ukraine had almost been forgotten. The resonance of this name has always had a special meaning for me. The memory of my father, the identity that my mother had tried to deny, the memory that she had hidden from me, all of a sudden seemed to reappear.
My newspaper in Vienna boasted a “sharp and nonpartisan” editorial line. I suggested to my Editor-in-chief the idea of writing a paper on the situation in Ukraine. Faced with the immediate nature of the events and the nature of my origins, he immediately accepted without asking too many questions. I was sent to do a report on this new Ukraine and the so-called split that threatened its population. I had to deal with highly political and sensitive subjects such as the annexation of the Crimea or the war in the Donbass. Ukraine was divided, so was the world. Hard work was on the way.
I was bored with politics. I dared to admit it only too little, but it was only a pretext to go there. Something deeper was driving me in this return to Ukraine. An intimate twitch, a kind of imperceptible intuition stretched out my arms. I would come back to childhood lands, abandoned and unknown areas that I wanted to understand. Pripyat had seen me grow up, it was the witness of my young existence. I felt a deep attachment to it. My first memories of being human were rooted there. Not going to Pripyat would be a denial of my identity. I had to go to there. Now I wanted to revive that past, lift the veil of my childhood and unlock the secret of my origins. The decision was made. The venom of this crazy idea was spreading too quickly in me. Damn the Maidan uprising, I would go to the Chernobyl exclusion zone.
FIRST PART
Chapter 1 — Reunions
32 years after the reactor explosion.
A debate was raging in Ukraine over the operation of the plant site. As the Zone was already condemned, should nuclear waste from the rest of Ukraine be stored there? Could Chernobyl become the nuclear wastebasket of the whole of Europe?
Yet brand new photovoltaic panels had been installed 150 metres from the sarcophagus, suggesting a possible healthy conversion. Nevertheless, the lack of sunlight in the region and the low efficiency of the panels left experts sceptical. The project was more symbolic than necessary. The problem of nuclear waste was more urgent. Storage spaces had already been set up before the disaster and their operation continued despite the various maintenance scandals that affected them. The exclusion zone finally seemed to be under control. Radioactivity had fallen and workers from all over the world were present for the work.
The place had taken on a whole new dimension. Once a place to flee, it had become a curiosity; unhealthy for some, captivating for others. It was said that the Zone was infested with legends. Double-headed wolves, piglets with deformed eyes and giant ants were supposed to thrive there. The genetics would have gone wild because of the radiation and the natural order would have been disrupted. The Internet was full of paranormal anecdotes and miscellaneous facts about monstrous anomalies that fuelled the imagination of the most naive. Photographs and even pseudo-scientific surveys had been carried out to measure the extent and truthfulness of these myths. For example, a famous American blogger had visited the Zone and published several mysterious photos coupled with dubious stories. One of them was a kind of female ghost wandering around the Pripyat stadium. Obviously, these deceitful actions triggered passions and interest around the Zone grew exponentially. The tourists, more and more numerous, came continuously. They carried the risk of an accident because of their sometimes borderline or even perfectly shameful behaviour.
The Zone had become a semblance of an amusement park. Visitors, although theoretically supervised, were engaged in activities such as drone races or ascents of the Pripyat Ferris wheel. Some people did not hesitate to handle contaminated objects in order to find the right angle, the proper light to take the perfect picture. A Dutch couple had even promised to marry each other in the small church of St. Elias, a few miles from the power station. In short, things were getting out of hand. Sooner or later, a death would happen. Pripyat’s buildings were in danger of collapsing while the stupidity of visitors worsened. Every day the risk increased, raising the spectre of a tragedy. Stalkers’ arrests were increasing. These lonely prowlers were legion. Some were caught in the act of theft, fire. Drugs and condoms had even been discovered in the crane at the docks. For many, the exclusion zone was nothing more than an outlet.
I myself had wondered about the opportunity to go there. Was the painting so black? Was it immoral to visit the Zone?
Basically, I knew that my expedition was not really different from those of the Stalkers. I was driven by the same curiosity and found myself indifferent or unconscious in the face of danger. I wanted to see, feel, understand this place that had shaped my childhood and the destiny of the whole of Europe. I wanted to take part in this enigma, to embrace this ode to the vagrancy that attracted so many people.
The exclusion zone was both fascinating and frightening. While the nuclear accident was an undeniable tragedy, it had also had unthinkable positive effects until then. Radioactivity had defeated human activity, but not wildlife. It was with amazement and satisfaction that the scientists observed an increase in the number of certain so-called condemned species. Thus, lynxes, beavers, wolves and other bears had gradually multiplied in the region. The experts were struggling to understand, to explain the reasons for this prosperity. The inhabitants of the exclusion zone seemed to compromise animal life much more than radioactivity. Cesium 137 was less fearsome than the human specie. Iodine-131 was devilishly threatening, but its half-life period was just over 8 days, which made it harmless for the expedition I was planning. According to the scientists, other radioactive elements remained harmful, but I decided to ignore them.
There are several ways to enter the exclusion zone. The first and easiest way is to book a trip with one of the agencies specially approved by the Ukrainian government. If the proposed excursion is unique in its kind, it remains nevertheless formatted and more or less supervised: the guide who accompanies you has full power over the course of the day. The visitor only follows a pre-established and marked program, much like walking through a large museum with signs announcing the direction to follow. The second option, much more interesting, is the pure and simple intrusion into the Zone in an illegal manner by sneaking through the barbed wire wall and the various breaches it contains. To do this, it was better to have reliable information in order to know the flaws in the gigantic fence. It was also necessary to master the topology of the area and the organisation of military patrols. The operation was risky, which is what made it attractive.