In a 1,000 sq. ft. storage room on the outskirts of Kyiv, a large dog darts between towering boxes as a petite woman from Saskatchewan checks items off a clipboard.
The woman, Lana Niland, used to work as a professional dancer in the Ukrainian capital. Today, she leads Ukrainian Patriot, a non-governmental organization she founded to deliver aid to some of the country’s hottest conflict zones.
This time of year, the warehouse is filled not only with food, medical supplies and sleeping bags, but also self-heating cans and white polyethylene slabs for trench insulation.
“Anything … that [can] be recycled for people who can use it in these dire situations, we’ll take it,” said Niland.
Niland is estimated to be one of several dozen Canadians who have chosen to remain in Ukraine during a full-scale war — to build, organize and provide humanitarian assistance.
Though not ethnically Ukrainian, Niland grew up in Saskatoon immersed in Ukrainian culture through dance.
“I fell in love with the music and the costumes,” she said.
She moved to Ukraine in 2003 when she was 18 to join a professional dance ensemble. Ukraine’s Orange Revolution, a year later, and the country’s continuous struggle for freedom since then, have inspired her to stay.
“I was dancing and in the middle of history, and I thought, why am I going back to Canada? So I stayed.”
Ukrainian Patriot
Niland says Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 was the moment she realized the country had become home.
“I was not ready to evacuate,” she said.
“This is a different kind of war,” she added. “This is an invasion of a country into another independent, secure nation for greed and for ego. Ukraine is the underdog.”
Like many Ukrainians, Niland’s business activities — which had included a publishing venture and dance footwear business — were put on hold as the country pivoted to a war-time footing.
Niland, who rarely sits still, says she quickly knew she needed to find a way to contribute. “I [had to] do something because I was going stir crazy.”
Just days after the invasion, she founded Ukrainian Patriot, a non-governmental organization registered in Canada, the U.S., and Ukraine. The organization accepts goods and donations from individuals, grants and corporate sponsors; it uses the money it receives to procure aid for soldiers, medics and civilians.
Currently, Ukrainian Patriot’s main focus is on frontline fighters. “If we don’t support defenders, then we don’t have a country to call home,” Niland said.
The organization, now led by Niland and supported by seven team leads, has grown rapidly since its chaotic beginnings. On her first trip to the heavily contested Donetsk region in May 2022, Niland felt overwhelmed working alongside medics and volunteers.
“How do I do this? I’m not the head of an NGO. I’m a dancer,” she says she remembers recalling.
“There was not a single night … that I did not cry myself to sleep. It was overpowering — this idea that I am not good enough … and I don’t want to disappoint anybody.”
But seeing other civilians ready to fight also inspired her.
“How do you say ‘no, I cannot’ to a lawyer, a bus driver, or a kindergarten teacher who has said, ‘I will defend my country?’
“What we were doing was the least we could do.”
A business ombudsman
Other Canadians are working to keep Ukraine functioning far from the frontlines.
Roman Waschuk, who was Canada’s ambassador to Ukraine from 2014 to 2019, is today Ukraine’s Business Ombudsman. The position is a relatively new one, created in 2015 with the formation of the Business Ombudsman Council, an independent office responsible for helping businesses resolve disputes with the government.
Waschuk is a natural fit for the role.
Born in Toronto to Ukrainian immigrant parents, Waschuk grew up speaking English, French and Ukrainian, and had a long diplomatic career before assuming the role of ombudsman in January 2022 — just a month before Russia’s invasion.
Even amidst war, he remains focused on reducing friction for Ukrainian businesses. “I felt an obligation to try to be helpful in whatever way I could,” he said.
The country’s GDP contracted nearly 30 per cent in 2022 — one of the sharpest declines in Europe in modern history.
By 2024-2025, the economy had begun stabilizing, with about 85 per cent of businesses operating at least partially, up from just 57 per cent in the early months of the invasion.
But for businesses that are still operating, conditions remain precarious, and production and profitability often remain below pre-war levels.
Waschuk’s office helps businesses address administrative barriers, investigate complaints and advocate for regulatory reforms.
“We don’t just look at the individual complaints, but what the flow of complaints tells us about systemic problems,” said Waschuk.
One key challenge, he says, is Ukraine’s strict administrative laws, which permit officials to act only if explicitly permitted by law.
“In Canada, everything that is not forbidden is permitted,” he said. “In Ukraine, only what is specifically written down is allowed.”
He attributes this to Ukraine’s nearly 70-year legacy as a Soviet Union member, where rigid compliance was prioritized over problem-solving.
But Waschuk also sees ways Ukraine’s business culture has advantages over western ones. Individuals are often willing to take risks or bend the rules to keep things running.
“Frankly, the sort of standards [Canada tends to] apply are a form of Canadian risk aversion,” he said. “Our country would shut down in the face of the everyday devastation happening in Ukraine.
Bomb shelter classrooms
Another sector in dire need of help is Ukraine’s education system. The war is estimated to have damaged around 4,000 schools, which will cost about C$10 billion to rebuild.
This is a need Winnipegger Patricia Maruschak is doing her part to meet.
In October 2022, Maruschak moved from Winnipeg to Kyiv to take on the role of Ukraine country director for Finn Church Aid, Finland’s largest international development aid organization.
Within Ukraine, the organization is focused on helping students get back to school by rehabilitating damaged schools and converting unsafe basements into bomb shelters. (While the country is at war, children are not permitted to attend classes unless they have access to a shelter.)
Some of Kharkiv’s seven major subterranean schools now serve children who had been learning only by Zoom in cramped apartments during the war, often disrupted by power outages or air-raid sirens.
“We have supplied [subterranean schools] with equipment, and our psychologists have been embedded in the metro schools for the past two years,” said Maruschak.
Beyond education, schools provide children with a sense of routine, says Maruschak. “[Schools are] about security, they’re about community, they’re about — in many cases — access to food, water and hygiene.”
Schools in Ukraine also foster a sense of Ukrainian identity and prepare the next generation for the country’s future, she says.
“This is a country that’s fighting for its very existence,” Maruschak said. “They’re teaching that through the education system … What is democracy? What is the right to exist? What is sovereignty?”
Maruschak, who worked in international development for more than 25 years across Africa, Asia and Ukraine, was drawn to this role because it connected her humanitarian experience with her Ukrainian-Canadian roots.
“I grew up in the Ukrainian-Canadian community, went to a Ukrainian Orthodox Church, did Ukrainian dancing, youth groups,” said Maruschak. “My husband [said]… if you don’t try this, I think you might regret it.”
Maruschak’s husband and two sons, aged 21 and 23, have stayed in Winnipeg while she’s been in Ukraine. While they have stayed in regular contact, she acknowledges the sacrifices her family has made as her one-year assignment has turned into a multi-year one.
“I’ve missed a lot,” she said. “It was my third Thanksgiving by myself. I haven’t had Easter with anybody, or even my birthday with any family for three years.”
‘This is home’
Maruschak considers living in Ukraine to be a calculated risk. Daily life mixes ordinary routines with extraordinary circumstances.
“I woke up to explosions at two o’clock in the morning … went to a conference that day that was held in a parking garage slash shelter … that night, I went to the opera theatre and saw The Sound of Music in Ukrainian.
“That was all in the same day.”
She says these risks are not a deterrent to staying.
“[Kyiv] is a very nice place to live, if you don’t mind being bombed occasionally,” she said.
Waschuk, by contrast, plans to return home to Toronto at the end of this year, when he’ll have completed his four-year term as ombudsman.
“[My time in Ukraine] has taught me that Canada is a country with many first-world problems,” he said. “It does make you feel more grateful for the upsides of a place like Canada.”
Niland returns to Canada once a year, but she no longer considers it home. “This is home,” she said.
“But it’s nice to be able to unplug from here, because this becomes overwhelming, constant and unforgiving.”
She hopes to gain Ukrainian citizenship soon because she “can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
Maruschak says Ukrainians are not just “resilient,” as many like to say; they are surviving and adapting to extreme conditions.
“[People are] like, ‘Oh, we don’t have to worry about them, they’re resilient’,” she said. “Stop saying that they’re ‘resilient.’ People are surviving, because either you give up or you move on.
“What would you do?”
