Photos: The bread delivery runs in Ukraine’s war-torn Donbas

Clapping three huge bags under the handlebars of his red and white moped, Oleksandr speeds through the winding paths of the Donbas region, in eastern Ukraine, to deliver bread to the remaining locals.

Almost every day, Russian attacks hit the town of Siversk, about 10 km (6.2 mi) from a front line that has barely moved since last summer.

Oleksandr has just collected the bread from the humanitarian center of Siversk City Hall, which receives about 2,500 loaves of bread twice a week from the cities of Kramatorsk and Kostiantynivka.

“We have to drive fast so that nothing overtakes us,” says Oleksandr, referring to possible shelling.

Under the spring sun, the 44-year-old drives at full speed until he reaches a dirt road lined with small houses and flowering trees.

He starts the day’s deliveries to his neighbours, opposite his own house.

Olena Ishakova, 62, emerges from her home in a long blue robe with yellow pockets and collars.

“On Tuesday we get two white loaves of bread, on Thursday we get sweet bread and black bread,” says Ishakova.

She picks up the loaves that are packed in bags with the logo of the ‘World Food Programme’ on them.

Ishakova’s daughter and granddaughter were evacuated to quieter western Ukraine last February, but she remained in Siversk with her husband.

In July and August, Russian forces launched small unsuccessful attacks on the city which they also shelled.

The eastern part of Siversk with its tall buildings was most heavily damaged, while the western part and its smaller houses were relatively spared.

“On May 5, it will be one year since we had electricity,” Ishakova says to the roar of artillery fire in the background.

“We don’t know who is shooting or from where. We only hear the explosions… I’m in the house, the windows are shaking, it’s scary, very scary,” she says.

Oleksandr comes across Valentyna Zaruba, a 73-year-old who delivers bread on a neighboring street.

“I’m in charge of my street and someone else is in charge of theirs, that’s how we work,” explains Zaruba.

Depending on the days, Zaruba delivers the bread with a wheelbarrow or with her bicycle.

The night before, shelling damaged three houses at the end of the street. An 82-year-old was injured.

Zaruba holds her bicycle and goes to Lyubov Shcherbak, who is surrounded by a dozen talkative hens and four roosters.

“How can we live without bread? We can’t bake it anywhere’ in Siversk, she says.

“I don’t know what to think anymore. I hope it gets better…I don’t know,” she says, her gaze lost on the horizon.

Zaruba, standing next to her, says she ‘can’t leave an older woman alone. My conscience just won’t let me.”