Five Days Without Power, Five More to Go: 161.RU Report from Nakhichevan

The storm that hit Rostov Oblast on 25 July left thousands of homes without electricity. Six days have passed since the hurricane, yet some residents are still in the dark. A 161.RU correspondent traveled to partially blacked-out Nakhichevan — a district of old houses, narrow courtyards, and people accustomed to relying on each other.

“We have 28 apartments — all without power”

We start at 19th Line. Broken tree limbs lie across the sidewalk. We enter a shared courtyard squeezed between an old two-story apartment building and private homes that almost grow into one another. One house boasts a veritable “orangery”: geraniums, violets, and grapes climbing a trellis. Amid this green oasis, we meet our first protagonist.

“The storm started — the lights went out, and that was it,” says a woman at her doorstep, eyeing us warily. “We have gas — that«s our only salvation. As for electricity, we use flashlights.”

Our interlocutor works as a cleaner. Their shared courtyard has 28 apartments, and none have power. In fact, the entire block is dark — houses two, three, four, five in a row. “Water is available,” she adds with cautious gratitude.

Vera Ivanovna, 75, emerges from the next entrance. She moves briskly, but as she wipes her face with a handkerchief and mechanically adjusts her graying hair, it«s clear the heat has taken a toll.

“I couldn«t even reach the Emergency Ministry on Saturday,” the resident begins at once. “They pick up and hang up. On Sunday I got through. They said: ‘What do you mean no power since Friday? The storm was Saturday.’ Was it Saturday? The power went off on Friday!”

It turns out the outage had been planned — for Friday. On Saturday around six in the morning, power returned for a couple of hours, but the bulbs burned dimly; only Vera Ivanovna«s TV and clock came on. Then the hurricane struck — and the lights went out again, this time for good.

“You couldn«t get through anywhere,” she continues. “112 picks up and immediately hangs up. When I finally got through on Monday, they said: ‘We»ll restore power within 24 hours.’ But Tuesday came — nothing. Wednesday — nothing. I«ve stopped calling. Why bother? Just to hear lies. They won»t turn it on anyway. My husband is almost 90. Now I have to think: should I cook porridge or potatoes? What do I feed the men?”

The woman threw out everything from her refrigerator. Meat, fruit, winter provisions — all went into the trash. Yesterday she bought minced meat, made four cutlets, fed her husband — and now frets about tomorrow«s meal, with nowhere to store anything.

“I bought sausages,” she grimaces, “and I can«t stand them. This morning I ate two peaches — that was my whole breakfast. I»m seventy-five, a pensioner — where am I supposed to find the strength to keep going to the market?” said Vera Ivanovna.

In the same courtyard, she says, lives a neighbor, Nina — a seriously ill woman who barely leaves her apartment, caring for her son who also has health problems. Then Vera Ivanovna leads us to show us the trees: one dry one — it fell into the yard three times; another crashed onto the roof during the storm; a third has split and now hangs over the wires, supported only by neighboring branches.

The traffic light at the intersection is dark, and the trolleybus line only resumed Monday. At the nearby transport prosecutor«s office, a generator hums through the night — Vera Ivanovna hears it even through closed windows, buzzing until dawn.

We descend into a nearby basement. There, in semi-darkness, a printing and stamping center operates. There«s no light, but the woman behind the counter stays at her post, handing out orders placed earlier.

We step into a diagnostic center nearby. Here, in a medical facility, power was restored quickly — as early as Monday. The center is always closed on weekends, so the disruption was barely noticeable. Yet neighboring residential buildings — with disabled residents, the elderly, children — remain without power.

21st Line: “Buns, lemonade — whatever comes to hand”

On 21st Line, we spot an elderly woman with a cane and a man in a security guard«s uniform. They stand by the gate, as if waiting for someone.

“We«ve had no power for five days,” says the guard. “We called, of course. They said: 260,000 requests, chaos. What can we do?”

His house has no gas, and the electric stove, naturally, doesn«t work. There»s no water — hot or cold — so washing is impossible, and cooking too. For four days he«s lived on buns and lemonade. Tatyana Vasilyevna, his neighbor, stands beside him, nodding silently. She is 83.

“You buy whatever«s cheapest,” the man explains. “All the meat is ruined. What else can you do with it? This morning they told us: don»t expect anything — power won«t be back for another four days.”

“We meet people halfway”

We enter a nearby chain grocery store. The power is on here — it was cut, says manager Olga, but only briefly, for at most an hour. Yet every day she sees those who are less fortunate.

“Older people — they«re our regulars,” she says, adjusting something on a shelf. “They come in and buy a little, because their refrigerators don»t work. Some, the younger ones, ask to charge their phones. They bring food from home: ‘Please, put it in your fridge.’ We meet them halfway — we store it for them.”

Olga herself has power at home — the storm passed her by. But on neighboring lines, just a block away, it«s dark. The store on Myasnikova Street, she says, still runs on a generator, and when fuel runs out, it simply closes.

“People were told it will be another four to five days without power,” she adds. “They«ve already been without it for five days, and they have just as long ahead of them.”

We walk on — and hit a huge trunk, cut into sections, lying across the road. The tree fell during the storm, and though four days have passed, it hasn«t been fully cleared. Nearby stands a woman in a housecoat.

“They came the very first day after the storm, cut it down,” she explains, “but they still haven«t hauled it away. Yesterday I saw a truck from the other end of the street hauling similar trunks. They»re probably clearing things gradually.”

Street lighting on this line has been out since Saturday. But the house has power, and the windows are intact — they got lucky.

“The hurricane lasted about twenty minutes,” she recalls, “and in that time, God knows what happened. Branches crashed on the roof, showered the road. It was terrifying.”

A fruit tree in her yard fell; now her son is figuring out what to do with it.

Holiday shop and extension cords across the courtyard

On one of the lines, we see a sign for a shop selling balloons and other party goods. There«s been no power here since Saturday, but the shop is open.

“We ran extension cords from the neighboring house,” explains the saleswoman. “But over there,” she waves vaguely, “they cut the power about forty minutes ago too.”

Neighbors, she says, come from all around: someone puts meat in the freezer, someone leaves fruit, someone charges a phone. No one is turned away, even though now the shop itself has no power. They promised to turn it on today, but no one gives a precise time.

Further on, a couple stands at the gate of their home. They«re no longer waiting; they»ve simply accepted the situation and try to figure out what to do next. They«ve taken their food to relatives, they say, but the problem isn»t even the food.

“For five days there«s been an outage in the district — not a single repair truck,” says the man. “We don»t see anyone fixing anything, and there«s no information about when it will happen. Three days, a week, two weeks — we»re ready to wait, but nobody tells us anything.”

Residents called 112 — their appeal is registered, and an official response will arrive within 30 days, as required by law.

“That«s just an acknowledgment,” he clarifies with a bitter smile. “Not a solution. Why do journalists show up, but not people from the administration? Why doesn»t anyone come by and say: ‘Power will be on at such-and-such time. I understand you might not have a TV or radio. Here I am, a person in authority, I«ve come — I»m telling you’? When the hotline says, ‘You«ll get an answer in a month’ — that»s not help. Right now, psychologists should be sitting with people, calming them down. People need to be engaged, not provoked.”

He talks about the traffic lights on Severny. They were out for three days, causing massive jams, and no one responded. Then suddenly they were fixed, and traffic police officers were deployed.

“That«s probably what will happen here too,” he says. “Once the locals fix everything, the services will probably show up retroactively.”

The family has solar-powered garden lights in their yard. During the day they charge in the sun; at night they place them around the house: in the toilet, the bathroom, the stairwell. The air conditioner doesn«t work, the heat is unbearable, and they don»t start their generator — they«re afraid, it»s too dangerous.

A bit further, we notice a man in his underwear rummaging in the trunk of an old car — searching, rearranging, trying to improvise. He«s had no power since Saturday.

“They promised Friday, I think,” he says without looking up from his task.

Granny in a hat and a branch no one will cut down

In one courtyard, an elderly woman in a housecoat and hat greets us, accompanied by a neighbor who occasionally helps drag broken branches. Above their yard, a huge broken piece of tree hangs from the wires.

The woman is 85, and she seems ready to take up a saw herself. A crew came today — she heard the sound of saws, ran out of the yard as fast as she could.

“Three of them were standing there, two young and one older,” she recalls. “They saw me running and immediately left.”

The grandmother has lived on this street for 35 years and doesn«t remember power ever going out for so long.

“There have been winds and outages before,” she says, “but five days and no word on when it«ll come back... Many say it»ll only be after four more days. God willing.”

Near the next house, a woman is collecting pears in front of her plot. She is remarkably calm. The reason: a gasoline generator. Her home has become a gathering point for the whole neighborhood. Neighbors come in a steady stream: someone brings ice cream, someone pancakes, someone meat.

“My freezer is half-empty,” she explains. “The second one is completely empty — I washed it out, so go ahead and put things in.”

And people do.

Gasoline is hard to come by these days: gas stations won«t sell fuel into canisters, so people have to be cunning — the woman»s son fills up his car, drives home, and siphons the gas out. Expensive and fiddly, but the generator hums, the refrigerators freeze, and neighbors know they can come here any time.

We walked through Nakhichevan — from 19th Line to 37th Line. Where power was on, neighbors ran extension cords and opened their freezers to others« food. Those less fortunate hope that in four days electricity will finally return.

Earlier, 161.RU reported that on 25 July residents of 15 municipalities, including Rostov, Taganrog, Shakhty, Bataysk, and Novocherkassk, were left without electricity. The storm and downpours caused outages on power grids. We gathered all the consequences of the hurricane in this article.