Teacher fled from war – returned to make sure Ukrainian children can play again

– Do they only eat bread?

Anastasiia Konovalova (33), one of Ukraine’s deputy ministers for education, is both interested in and puzzled by the food culture in Norwegian kindergartens.

– I mean, you all look healthy and fresh – but so much bread?

She peppers the group with questions as she is shown around Tinkern, a kindergarten in a former apartment building on Oslo’s west side. Why should the children sleep outdoors – or, in Tinkern’s case, in a sleeping house that suspiciously resembles a garage? Do boys and girls bathe together in this bathroom, naked? And again, do they really only eat bread?

The kindergarten staff assure her that they serve several hot meals throughout the week, and have toppings like cheese and meat on the slices of bread.

– Ok, so it’s more like a sandwich, she replies, relieved.

Learning from Norwegian kindergartens 

– It’s not like we want to copy the Norwegian system. That’s impossible, because we have a very different mentality. But we can meet you halfway, she says.

But there’s one thing she will not change:

– Every single kindergarten in Ukraine is like a restaurant. The level of the food is very high. The children get a hot meal every single day. I would never replace that with bread, she says.

The clock is approaching six as representatives from the Wergeland Centre and Kanvas sit down around the meeting table, passing around a bag of nuts.

Ukraine’s deputy minister is hungry for more information and throws more questions against the speakers, about everything from staffing ratios to the app MyKid. This is the first of three days in Norway: first in Oslo, and then on to Arendalsuka, Norways biggest political gathering. There, she will meet leaders from the largest parties in Norway. The goal is to secure continued support for Ukraine.

It is the European Wergeland Center that has invited Konovalova here. For several years, they have contributed to educational reforms in Ukraine through the Schools for Democracy program. For this, they receive support from the Nansen Program, a comprehensive support initiative amounting to over 250 billion NOK between 2023 and 2030.

It is not only the war effort that depends on foreign support – the same applies to schools and kindergartens. And time is of the essence.

Walking briskly to a nearby restaurant, Konovalova recounts the dramatic journey she has taken since the war broke out.

– I hadn’t planned to become deputy minister of education. Three years ago I was teaching a second-grade class, she says.

So how did she end up here?

The answer is that nothing changes a country, a people, or a person as much as war.

Fled on foot across the border 

She still finds the memories from the first days after Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022 difficult to talk about. Still, that’s where we begin.

The decision for Anastasiia Konovalova and the youngest of her two sons to flee was made at her in-laws’ summer house outside Odesa. Almost no one expected Russia to attack. When they finally did, many believed that the capital Kyiv would fall within days.

Konovalova’s husband drove her and her son Kyryl, then two years old, to the border. He had to drop them off and turn back before the border crossing. Men between the ages of 18 and 60 had to stay behind to be able to fight.

– It took us 18 hours to cross the border. We had to walk. I held my son in my arms, and it was snowing. It was absolutely terrible, she recalls.

The Moldovan authorities had at that time not yet managed to set up an apparatus to receive the masses of refugees. Instead, they were met by private individuals who drove up in their cars. Konovalova herself declined rides and shelter, fearing that some might have bad intentions.

– That night we slept in a church, she says.

Started a school in Romania 

As Moldova was overloaded with refugees, they continued by train to Romania’s capital, Bucharest. Everything she brought fit into a backpack.

She stepped off the train holding her son, who would not stop crying and screaming.

– As I got off the train, I saw that the entire platform was full of strollers that Romanian mothers had given away. I put my son in one of them. Then I cried. Because, you know – to go from a situation where you don’t believe people can be so evil, to where you don’t believe people can be so kind. It was a life-changing experience, she says.

They were among the first in what would become a long flow of refugees out of Ukraine. Soon, four teachers from Konovalova’s school arrived in Bucharest, together with 27 of their pupils, that traveled without parents. A Romanian private individual offered a villa where they could all stay until the pupils found shelter with relatives and parents.

Konovalova and her colleagues quickly began the work of starting a school for Ukrainian children in Bucharest. On the first day, 600 people showed up. They had eight teachers available. With help from the Romanian authorities and international organizations, the teaching gradually took shape. The pupils were taught in Ukrainian and followed the Ukrainian curriculum.

– We drop like flies 

As the months went by, most people realized that the war was not ending anytime soon, and the focus shifted to integrating Ukrainians. That was not Konovalova’s mission; she worked to ensure that as many as possible would return. When she was offered a job with UNICEF in Ukraine’s capital Kyiv, she accepted and moved back to her home country with her son.

It is a choice that still comes at a price today. A photo of a happy five-year-old pops up as she checks her phone. He is with his grandparents in Odesa, she says.

– Yesterday, three people died when floating mines drifted onto a beach where he usually goes. The choice to move back to Ukraine is to trade our safety for my desire to contribute, she says.

Just today, her son has been to a shelter three times.

We arrive at the pizza restaurant Villa Paradiso in Oslo. It’s full of people glowing after a long summer vacation. At the next table, a lively group of girlfriends toast with prosecco and beer.

Back to the question of how she during three years swapped her job as a principal and teacher at a school in Odesa with being a deputy minister. 

– I guess there’s not much competition for those jobs now, she says, laughing, before becoming serious.

– No, but it’s really true.

Cutting expenses and pushing through reforms in the middle of a war is not a grateful task among a war-weary population with low trust in the authorities.

Konovalova describes long workdays and high pressure. Adding to that, every night is interrupted by air raid sirens, which leads to high turnover among government employees.

– We usually say that deputy ministers drop like flies. Because it’s a very demanding job, she says, referring to the burnout that affects many.

Birth rates have dropped

One argument for reforming the education sector is to move closer to European standards, with a view toward future EU membership. That may be a long road for a country partly frozen in the Soviet-era mindset and fixation on paperwork.

The other, and more urgent, is a demographic crisis. Not only have nearly seven million people fled the country, and almost four million are internally displaced. Since the war started, birth rates have plummeted. In a few years, there will be 200,000 fewer Ukrainian children of kindergarten age – including those born outside the country.

– That’s about as many children as you have in kindergartens in Norway. So you can just imagine how many places will be left empty, she says.

The cost of building shelters is so high that Ukraine will now relax the laws to establish “flexible kindergartens” – in everything from libraries and people’s homes to workplaces, places with access to bomb shelters.

At the same time, many villages are being almost emptied of people, while people move into the cities. And are at the same time preparing for a baby boom when the war ends.

– The changes in society are happening incredibly fast. What you’ve done in Norway in ten years, we have to do in Ukraine in one year. Because we know that if we don’t do it, the whole system will collapse. When we have to make decisions quickly, it’s not easy for people to accept it, she says.

First underground kindergarten

Building kindergartens underground In regions near the front line, classrooms are already being built permanently underground. In a short time, the first underground kindergartens are expected.

According to UNICEF, more than 3,300 schools and kindergartens have been damaged or completely destroyed. 320,000 children have no access to kindergarten, and as many as 86 percent of children under six years old in regions near the front line have delays in developing social and emotional skills.

– Instead of going to kindergarten, children go to work with their parents and sit with a gadget – like an iPad or something. When they lack words, it’s not just because they’re behind in language development, but because their brains have not developed as they should, she says.

– So it’s a big problem. That’s why we’re prioritizing this reform, so that children can have access to competent teachers and play again, she says.

Konovalova downs two cappuccinos as she talks about the situation in Ukraine. The pizza—a simple margherita with tomato sauce and cheese—sits half-eaten on the table.

–  Finished? the young waiter asks. She nods.

The table is cleared and the bill settled before the group steps out into the sunny streets of Oslo. No one says it aloud, but it’s quite possible she’d simply had her fill of bread.

The school received 50 Ukrainian students – an idea changed everything.

Nataliia is teaching online for the fourth year