In the key port city of Mykolaiv, where Ukrainian forces have stubbornly held off invading Russian troops seeking to move further west, many residents opt to remain in their hometown while coping with strikes and shortages.

The southern city is a key obstacle for Russian forces trying to move west from Crimea to take Odessa, Ukraine's major port on the Black Sea, and it has taken a battering in the more than three weeks since Russian troops invaded. However, citizens are determined to stay and defend it despite incessant bombardment.

Almost a month ago, Russia sent troops over the border on what it calls a "special operation" that it says is not designed to occupy territory but to destroy its neighbor's military capabilities and capture what it regards as dangerous nationalists. The United Nations human rights office said on Tuesday it had recorded 953 civilian deaths, however, the Kremlin denies targeting civilians. Russian forces tried to storm Mykolaiv on March 4 but met with fierce resistance.

In the eastern Inhulskyi district of the city, an unexploded artillery rocket can be seen sticking up from the pavement, a traffic cone planted alongside it to warn motorists.

A bit further, in the city's vast cemetery, another unexploded rocket has burrowed into the ground nearly up to its fins. Smoke from burning garbage hangs in the air.

It's there that a dozen family and friends have gathered to bury Igor Dundukov, 46. He was killed along with dozens of other soldiers last Friday, when the military barracks came under fire. His elder brother, Sergei, weeps as he kisses Dundukov's swollen, blood-stained face.

Sergei's wife, Galina, slips a crucifix into a pocket of Dundukov's fatigues before the coffin is sealed and lowered into the ground. Igor enlisted at the start of the invasion, Sergei told Agence France-Presse (AFP).

"We supported his commitment to defending our homeland," he added, dismissing any idea of leaving the city despite the boom of artillery fire in the distance.

"This is our land. We live here. And where would we run to? Where would we run to? We grew up here."

Galina agreed. "We were born here and grew up here. And we don't have anywhere else to go. No relatives abroad. No-one."

If a good part of the city's 500,000 prewar residents have fled – mostly towards Odessa, some 130 kilometers (80 miles) to the southwest – those that remain are determined to hold out.

In the afternoon, an airstrike gutted a building. Witnesses say it was a hotel with a bank branch on the ground floor. Several hundred meters away, Anatoly Yakunin, 79, calmly picked up debris and sweeps broken glass.

"Leave? But to do what?" he asked. "I have four grandchildren here, one who is fighting. How could I leave them?"

In the Kulbakino district, which includes several blocks of residential buildings, the population has fallen from 12,000 to fewer than 1,000, according to Alexander Zadera. The 56-year-old had to pull his octogenarian mother from her apartment after the building was struck on March 7.

"We've got used to eating with that sort of background noise," he said of the fighting at the nearby front. "Now even my mother recognizes the sounds of different types of artillery and missile fire," the former air force colonel added wryly.

The building's residents have set themselves up in the basement for the duration. At the back, between two mattresses, a game of backgammon has been left waiting while the residents share tea in the candle-lit main room.

"We pass our evenings here praying for our soldiers, our homeland," said schoolteacher Inna Kouriy. "Every time there is a raid or a strike, we come down here. And when things calm down we go back up, and so on," she adds.

Kouriy tries to organize remote classes for her students who have left the city or the country. "There were quite a few of us here at the beginning but many left the city because they had children or family. But we're staying until the end," she says. "We Ukrainians are patient people but we won't give our country up to anyone."

Every little bit helps

The courtyard of the psychiatric hospital in Mykolaiv reverberates with the sound of broken glass being swept up by staff and volunteers. Every day, residents clean up the debris from the latest bombardment by the Russian army and prepare for the next.

Using whatever resources they can lay their hands on, they are just some of those trying to do their bit to support the Ukrainian forces who have so far frustrated the Russian push towards Odessa.

Nurse Svetlana Muraska, her eyes red from crying, weeps anew as she sees the crater that has appeared in front of the women's detoxification center at the hospital. The center's facade has also been blown away in the blast.

But despite the damage, the strike caused no casualties, Oleg Kondratenko, a manager at the facility, told AFP. "The patients of the psychiatric hospital are in other buildings that were not hit," he said.

In the main courtyard, staff and a handful of young volunteers were working to clear away the most visible traces of the bombardment, sweeping and picking up the shattered glass.

"Faced with the Russian aggression, we have to participate in some way," said one young volunteer in a black beanie and down jacket. "I want to join the territorial defense corps, but they don't have enough weapons for everyone, so for now I'm helping out like this," he added. "We have to clean everything because they can bomb again and if there is still broken glass lying around it will be even more dangerous."

"Yesterday we cleaned a warehouse and protected the windows with tape," he added. "I'm a handyman, I need to do something and I'm more useful here," he said, before the hospital manager interrupted him and prevents him from giving his name or saying more for security reasons.

Oleg Yarshenko, a road maintenance worker in peacetime, and his wife Lilia drove around the area in a brown van, asking those manning security checkpoints what they need and, if possible, supplying it.

He can offer them "firewood, cigarettes and food," but also medicines and sleeping bags, said the 54-year-old, sporting a straggly beard and walking with a cane.

The company he works for also has lorries ferrying supplies to surrounding villages whose access roads have been destroyed, said Yarshenko, whose children fled to Bulgaria a few days ago.

"You have to be totally mentally deranged to start a war in the 21st century," he said of Russian President Vladimir Putin.

In the car park of a supermarket, one of the city's remaining businesses, Nikolai Oskchik, a 69-year-old widower, was also making his modest contribution to the war effort.

With the help of a deaf-mute friend, he spread out a jumble of bric-a-brac – hoover parts, kitchen accessories and other utensils – on the bonnet of his blue Moskvitch car, a 37-year-old Soviet antique. He said he gives his wares to the military, or sells them to troops "at half price" to buy himself medicine.

"I'm too old to fight," sighed Oskchik, the father of a military nurse. "But at least I can do this for them."

Stress prompts baby boom

Just minutes old, baby Katya lies on her mother Tamara Kravchuk's chest, unaware of the joy and solace she has brought. It is a moment of bliss and gratitude, despite the war raging close by.

"I'm so happy. No matter what happens now – I'm the happiest person ... my daughter is healthy. God willing there will be peace," 37-year-old Kravchuk, lying in a hospital bed in Mykolaiv, told Reuters.

Staring at her new daughter's face and tiny hands, she talks of the future. The desperation and anxiety that dominated her thoughts before Katya's birth are gone – for now.

"I think the war will end and we will live as it was before, our life will be calm again," said Kravchuk. "I hope our children won't see all these crazy things and everything will be good."

The head of the maternity ward, Valentin Podaranchuk, was all smiles after delivering Katya. "A new life is born, despite all the horrors happening around," said the 39-year-old. "That's why we still have hope. Today a new little girl came to our world."

The Russian invasion brought a wave of new births in Mykolaiv, as women went into labor through stress, said Podaranchuk. Katya is baby 49 since the war began on Feb. 24.

"During the first 10 days we had a baby boom – a lot of births. I think this is because of a lot of stress ... It was very unusual."

Now the birth rate is back to normal for the hospital, but many people have fled the city.

Before having Katya, Kravchuk had been fearful, especially when there were explosions 500 meters (yards) from the hospital, she said.

"I'm really scared of what's going to happen next, how it's going to end."