Still I do have a reminiscence, confirmed by my mother, in 1991. That autumn, only weeks after independence was claimed, I remember spending a lot of time in my red baby carriage in the middle of long line of people in our city of Dnipropetrovsk.
The point of being in that line was to buy some butter. They were selling it right from the huge dirty trucks. My mother took me with her in order to be able to buy more – it was sold per-person. And fortunately, a 2-year-old child was considered as an equal butter consumer, so everyone took their kids to the line.
That’s what I’ve associated the first year of independence with – warm butter of a bright yellow color, nothing like the butter that they sell nowadays.