Life under explosions, "Dream 4.5.0" and the taste of real bread: a report from the heart of Kremenchuk

Kremenchuk is a large industrial city on the Dnipro River in the Poltava region. During the full-scale invasion, it was often recall in the news because of Russian shelling. The Russians tried to deprive the people of Kremenchuk of heat, electricity, and water, bombed the largest shopping center in the city and are trying hard to destroy the industry.

At the same time, life goes on here: journalists go to work to keep the locals informed, entrepreneurs bake bread in craft bakeries, and former military personnel manufacture drones. LIGA.net walked the streets of Kremenchuk and talked to its residents to find out how the city lives now and how it plans its future.

What is Kremenchuk?

Kremenchuk is a small but long city where everyone knows each other, even though 200,000 people live here. In recent years, many people from Donetsk, Luhansk, and Kharkiv regions have moved here. There are incredible sunrises and sunsets over the Dnipro River; in the fall and summer, locals say, the city comes to life and blooms, while in the fall and winter its gray streets sometimes make you feel sad. After the Second World War, when about 90% of Kremenchuk's housing stock was destroyed, in the 1970s, mostly the same type of panel and brick houses were built from materials produced by the Kremenchuk House Building Plant.

Kremenchuk actually consists of two cities: the main one on the left bank of the Dnipro River and the right-bank Kriukiv, which became a district of Kremenchuk only in 1975. They are connected by the long Kriukivskyi Bridge. The townspeople were promised a new bridge and even started building it before the full-scale invasion. It was supposed to be completed by the end of 2024, but the war stopped the work. We meet with Oleh Bulashev, a journalist from Kremenchuk, in his office, where a map of Kremenchuk hangs on the wall.

Oleh, like most people in Kremenchuk, remembers the day of the missile attack on the Amstor shopping center in June 2022, when 22 people died, as the most memorable of the full-scale Russian invasion. Amstor was located in the central part of the city, and about a thousand people were there at the time of the Russian strike. Most of the dead were young people in their 20s and 30s. The body of a 51-year-old cleaner in the Comfy store was never found.

"We were all sitting in the newsroom at the time, and there was a very loud explosion, and we thought that the Kryukovsky Bridge had been hit," recalls Oleh Bulashev. "People always said that the Russians would bomb the bridge so that no one would go anywhere. But we went outside to look, and there was no smoke on the bridge. But there was black smoke coming from the direction of Amstor; my colleagues and I went there, of course. It was a silent, indescribable horror. I had never seen anything like it in my life. Lena, my colleague and I helped people who were running out of there. Some broke glass to get through, and then the entrance was already on fire."

The Russians usually hit Kremenchuk en masse, targeting factories or other infrastructure facilities. In recent days (LIGA.net was in Kremenchuk in early September), no explosions were heard, so the townspeople could breathe a little. Instead, Oleh is solving another problem in the newsroom: he is looking for new employees. Since the end of August 2025, men under the age of 22 have been allowed to leave abroad. Two cameramen under the age of 22 are leaving from the Kremenchuk Gazeta editorial office, where Bulashev is the editor-in-chief. One of them is accompanied by another employee. And this, says Oleh, is actually half the editorial staff.

"We're trying to find new employees to replace those who have left, but it's not easy," he says. "The market is now in the greatest demand for pensioners, or at least men aged 50+. These are the real "valuable personnel" now, because they are not mobilized. If such a man is also, for example, a truck driver, he can earn a lot of money."

Oleg was born in the north of Russia, but after his parents divorced, he stayed in Kremenchuk. Prydniprovskyi Park holds a special place in his heart because his entire childhood is connected to it. Oleg also recalls the Dnipro River and the Green Island, where in the summer he and his parents or friends often pitched tents and spent time outdoors.

"This is my hometown, which raised me and gave me everything I have," says Oleg. "I am proud of this city, and even when I go somewhere for a few days, I always think: "God, I want to go home so badly."

In Kremenchuk, Bulashev is also known as a person who systematically criticizes local authorities. In his materials, he repeatedly raised the issue of possible abuse, noted the lack of transparency in the distribution of budget funds, and questioned the integrity of some tenders and procurements. In addition, the journalist drew attention to conflicts of interest among officials and the possible influence of business groups on decision-making in the city. Because of this position, the journalist was repeatedly subjected to pressure, ranging from defamatory information campaigns in the media and social networks to direct threats of physical violence.

"I criticize the government for many things," says Oleg. "If they ask me: "Who is your opposition journalist?", my name will definitely be on the list. I criticize the authorities because I have lived here for many years and I know exactly where, what and how. There's a joke that if I don't go to the police for questioning once a week, it's a bad week."

How Kremenchuk lives

Oleh talks about Kremenchuk: this city is considered the industrial center of Poltava region. It used to be home to more than 60 large industrial enterprises. At that time, Kremenchuk was often compared to Poltava: while Poltava was a scientific center and attracted students, Kremenchuk was a city of production, where industry brought money, taxes, and jobs. Oleh recalls the words of a famous Russian politician who once said that "work clothes in Kremenchuk are fur coats and cars are Mercedes," emphasizing the city's relative wealth.

Today, the situation has changed. Many of the former giants have reduced production or shut down. For example, the AvtokrAZ car plant, which once produced up to 30,000 cars a month for the domestic market and export, has recently stopped producing cars. Instead, the Kryukiv Carriage Works has become the city's calling card: many of the cars for the Kyiv subway are made there.

Other export-oriented and profitable enterprises include a carbon black plant (Kremenchuk Carbon Black Plant – LIGA.net) and Dormash, which produces various machinery but barely makes ends meet. Today, Kremenchuk lives mainly thanks to these enterprises, as well as small and medium-sized businesses that have partially replaced large factories.

After the attack on the Amstor shopping center, the Russians began to hit the infrastructure of Kremenchuk: power plants, an oil refinery, and thermal power plants. Soon the CHP plant was bombed, and the city was left without heat and hot water. Then, the journalist says, the region helped: new turbines were built in Kremenchuk, and heat was restored. However, the heat tariff has risen significantly, even though there is a moratorium on raising utility tariffs from 2022.

"About five thousand people in Kremenchuk are still suing Poltava-Teploenergo for this tariff," says Oleh, "although the service company has already changed. Some lawsuits have reached the Supreme Court, and now people are hoping for a recalculation."

One of the last arrivals was at the premises of the territorial recruitment center. A nearby school was damaged: windows were smashed. By September 1, the city and the region were supposed to restore the windows, but they didn't have time. Part of the school is working: everyone is studying in one building, and the windows are still being replaced in the other.

Of the 32 schools in Kremenchuk, 21 have their own shelters. Children there study offline, although no ceremonial lineups were held for them on September 1. The mayor of the city decided that it was dangerous.

Where there are no shelters, classes are held in a mixed format. A modular shelter is being built in one of the schools. It was supposed to be completed by September 1, but was postponed by a month.

"In the first year after the full-scale invasion began, Kremenchuk had a problem with shelters," says Oleh. "In Poltava or Horishni Plavni, they immediately started doing something, but nothing happened for a year. Now, if there is not enough space in the school, the children are divided into shifts: some study in the morning, others in the afternoon. While there were no schools with shelters, private schools were in great demand. The basements there were equipped faster, and parents sent their children there en masse. Of course, for a lot of money. My friend sent her goddaughter to such a school: 17 thousand hryvnias a month plus another 258 hryvnias a day for meals. But now that the state-run shelters have appeared, children are being sent there again."

"Everyone here knows each other"

In 2022 in Kremenchuk vein about 226,000 people. Many of them, says Oleh Bulashev, left because of the war, but instead, immigrants came to Kremenchuk.

"In the city center, one nine-story dormitory is being converted for IDPs," says the journalist. "In fact, almost all dormitories in educational institutions are now occupied by IDPs, either completely or half of them.

The city is also developing a program to build a modular settlement in the suburbs, near the village of Potoky. There is also a larger idea to build 29 high-rise buildings for IDPs, but it seems unrealistic at the moment: there is no funding for any of these buildings yet.

"A lot of IDPs from Kharkiv have been coming to us lately," says Oleh. "For some reason, it's been like this since the beginning of the invasion: they come, then they leave, and now they're coming back again. It's like a wave going back and forth."

Kremenchuk residents often remember the city's previous mayor, Oleh Babayev. His portrait and monument can be seen in the city center in a park renamed in his honor. Babayev was the mayor of Kremenchuk from 2010 to 2014. He was shot dead with a shotgun near his home. The defendants in the murder were sentenced to 15 years in prison, but since the defendants had been in jail for almost a decade, this term was counted as time served, so they were released right out of the courtroom.

"He gave the city an impetus for development," says journalist Bulashev. "The current mayor, Vitalii Maletskyi, worked as Babaiev's deputy. He did not complete most of his predecessor's projects. For example, Babayev was cleaning up old kiosks. Instead, Maletskyi continues to build retail outlets throughout the city. Some of them are rented out, some are empty. The mayor explains this by saying that such outlets create jobs and bring in taxes. But in fact, Kremenchuk is being littered, trees are being cut down."

In Kremenchuk, Oleh says, everyone knows each other, at least through the third handshake. This, he says, helps journalists get information quickly and interact with people. He gives an example: his godfather was hospitalized, his wife called Oleh, and he immediately went to the hospital and found out what had happened because everyone knows Oleh.

"I go to the park with my friends in the evening and sometimes I think: "Oh, my God, I wish no one would stop me," because often someone in the city just asks for help," the journalist says. "I used to walk to work, I liked it. But active old ladies quickly determined my route, and every morning began with: "We have a pit here, and a broken bench there, a tree bent over...". I received calls last night as well. It was eleven at night, I didn't want to pick up the phone, but they called four times. A resident reported problems with the water supply. I found out that her water supply was cut off by her upstairs neighbor. I explained to her that she had to negotiate with her neighbors. But I still felt guilty for not warning the readers of the website about this."

Oleh wishes his city to develop and have adequate, non-corrupt authorities, with an effective police chief who really investigates all cases.

"Teach people to long for the sea and they will build a ship"

In February 2024, military personnel and entrepreneurs founded a company in Poltava Oblast with the symbolic name Mriya 4.5.0. Its products are well known not only in Ukraine but also in Russia. "Mriya 4.5.0 manufactures and supplies light aircraft drones that can fly for tens of kilometers, hit enemy vehicles, and shoot down other drones.

Viktor, the director and one of the co-founders of Mriya 4.5.0, is 34 years old. Originally from Poltava region, he used to run his own law practice, and when the full-scale invasion began, he voluntarily mobilized into the army. Viktor says he has always understood that the future belongs to drones.

"Ukraine doesn't have enough people to deter the enemy in all directions with such a long frontline, so drones have long been a new reality," says Viktor. "I once heard this idea: a pilot can destroy a few tanks, but the one who creates one company will provide the front with thousands of drones. And then other pilots will be able to destroy many more targets and bring much more benefit. This is what our team is doing now."

The company develops aircraft drones capable of hitting enemy ground targets at a distance of up to 30 kilometers. The planes are adapted to the needs of the military and are designed to destroy logistics, guns, strongholds, and other enemy equipment hiding behind the front line. Unlike quadcopters, which can fly at a range of 7-15 kilometers, the airplane type allows for more economical energy consumption and achievement of more distant "tasty" targets.

Viktor says with a smile that the pilots who use their drones are jokingly called "our dreamers" because they fly "dreams". He is proud that even as a civilian he is able to help the military. The company has sent about 6,000 unmanned aircraft. In their own school, the "dreamers" have trained more than 80 crews.

Viktor's team has come up with a system that eliminates signal loss due to depressions in the ground, mountains, or trees, allowing them to fly from anywhere and hit targets even in difficult terrain. That is, where conventional drones could lose control, the "dreamers'" planes work.

"At first, the company developed drones to engage ground targets at a distance of up to 30 km. And then, because the platform was universal, we were able to adapt it to destroy air targets, both enemy reconnaissance wings and enemy attack and high-speed drones," says Viktor. We produce one board from scratch to finished in just ten minutes. You know, like in the movie "The Founder" about the creation of McDonald's: every move is perfected to the smallest detail."

The development went through laboratory tests, a training ground, combat use, and then changes were made based on feedback from the military. The aircraft are equipped with a homing system that compensates for signal loss and ensures accurate targeting.

"The military personally send me the results of their work with our planes," says Viktor. "One crew destroyed two Shahids in 40 minutes, another one hit three Gerberas in about two hours.

The main goal of the "dreamers" is to improve a universal drone that will work effectively in all departments and will be recognizable by its name alone. Finally, Viktor opens the notebook he always carries with him and shows a postcard with a quote by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

"That's what we used when we started the company," he says. "If you want to build a ship, don't gather people to get wood, prepare tools, and divide the work. Teach them to long for the endless sea, and they will build the ship themselves."

Olegovna

Anzhelika Denysenko is the owner of Olehivna, a craft bakery that opened last winter in the village of Omelnyk, a suburb of Kremenchuk. We meet her at Rock Coffee, one of the places where you can taste the bread she bakes, and walk from the center to the waterfront. On a warm Thursday evening in September, Kremenchuk greets us with a soft golden sunset and the sound of a saxophone. A couple of elderly people hugging each other listen to street music.

anzhelika, 27, was born and raised in Omelnyk, and her bakery was born and raised there. The girl's parents are farmers. Her father, Oleh, after whom Anzhelika named the bakery, grew grain, and her daughter was always with him in the field.

Anzhelika's journey to baking bread began at a difficult time: at the beginning of a full-scale war, her father fell ill. Shortly before that, she came across the Berehynia project, a school where women learn about Ukrainian culture and traditions through sourdough and bread baking. Sourdough became a symbol of family ties and heritage for her: "I used to bake bread and take it to my father in the hospital. It was my little bridge to him," says Anzhelika. Anzhelika's father passed away. Now her bakery bears a name that means much more to her than a business – it's a way to keep in touch with her father and honor her family history.

But before the bakery appeared, it all started with home baking. "I was baking bread, and all my friends and acquaintances and friends of friends tasted it and said: "We want to buy it. Where can we buy your bread?" the founder recalls, "And I had a clear conviction that bread is not bought, it is only given. And that real bread is baked only in an oven."

Gradually, the idea began to gain momentum: a friend of Anzhelika's opened a restaurant called Boiova Halushka, which explored traditional Ukrainian cuisine and combined it with modern variations. Anzhelika's bread was added to the restaurant's menu, and that's how people got to know about it, and Anzhelika met other owners of city restaurants who were interested in her product. Then, after joining the grant program, she went through the Vzvazhna accelerator, received funding from E-robot, and simultaneously renovated the old premises in the village and assembled a team.

"For me, my bread is not just a product," says Anzhelika Olehivna, "It is a combination of basic products with time, patience, love, and prayer. For me, it is a connection with God, a way of speaking on the level of love. My fondest memories are connected with bread, family, and fields: I adored the harvest time, the reaping, when the harvest was being gathered. Every year we would go to the field to take a family photo. For me, bread conveys love."

At first, the bakery worked only with a few establishments in the city, supplying bread for menus, and it was impossible to buy it directly at home. Over time, they began to expand. Coffee shops set up bread shelves, stores made regular orders, and the product became more accessible to the townspeople. Olehivna bakes bread twice a week, on Tuesday and Friday, and delivers it to the city's shops and coffee shops.

"When I was studying at the institute, I often asked myself why grain, which is so difficult to grow and harvest, and how much labor is put into it, is then simply exported in huge volumes from our country, it has no value," says the bakery founder. Now we come to the supermarket to buy bread and we don't know who made it, or what the intention was. Most Ukrainians do not have the opportunity to taste their bread and their grain."

The bakery's workflow is organized to the minute and centimeter. Baking begins at 5:00 am, after which the bread is cooled and prepared for delivery. The truck leaves at 10:00 a.m., and between 10:00 a.m. and 12:00 p.m., the products are delivered around the city. You can taste the bread at Fammy, Parmesan, Rock kava, KUTOK, Papa's Pasta, and other establishments. In addition to daily deliveries, the bakery also fulfills special orders.

Anzhelika and I pass the Kremenchuk Museum of Local Lore; Olehivna will be making a loaf for its 50th anniversary.

Today, Anzhelika continues to live in the village, next to her family's farm, between the combines, tractors, and grain sheds. The bakery is also located here, in an old building where she and her husband renovated. Since the village is very close to Kremenchuk, explosions are sometimes heard there, and the fields around are littered with debris; machinery sometimes loses navigation. She plans to continue living in the village and dreams of owning her own mill.

***

In the evening, the townspeople go to the waterfront, take pictures against the purple sunset, and talk about their lives. Anzhelika sits down on a large stone "observation deck" to rest. Today she has been working all day in the bakery and is tired. Suddenly, a girl of about three years old runs up to her to say hello – she is walking with her mother. The young woman smiles and says: "Today is not a bread day! Can you wait until tomorrow?"