When February 2022 arrived, Alla Kureninova-Bujoreanu was thousands of kilometres away from her hometown of Sumy, Ukraine — her phone filling with messages from family members back home. Messages from her parents and two sisters described air-raid alerts, explosions, and nights spent in shelters as armed operations spread across the country. Broadcasts carried footage indicating that fighting had moved into the neighbourhood where she spent her childhood. Day after day, she monitored incoming messages, waiting to learn whether her relatives had survived.
After spending more than four years apart, Kureninova-Bujoreanu is now living alongside her parents, two sisters, their husbands, and two young grandchildren, all settled together in the United States. Having put down roots in Salem after years of moving between places, the family tracks a pending federal decision on whether Ukraine's Temporary Protected Status will be extended — an outcome tied directly to their ability to maintain stable footing in the community.
Under that federal arrangement, people who qualify because their home countries are caught in armed conflict or face other extraordinary circumstances can stay in the United States and take up lawful employment. As of the documentation on record, the protection period tied to Ukraine's TPS status runs through Oct. 19. Kureninova-Bujoreanu described the matter as one she takes personally, noting that her parents are among those who depend on that temporary protection to remain in the country with her, and she said that speaking openly about her family's situation is one way to help people grasp what is at stake for Ukrainians who left their homes and are working to build new lives in the United States.
Her departure from Ukraine came in 2012, the year she completed her studies at Sumy University, at which point Kureninova-Bujoreanu was 35. A summer position at Natural Beauty Greenhouse drew her to South Dakota, with the original plan calling for roughly six months before she would head back to finish her MBA. She put down roots in that place rather than moving on, and her life there eventually drew her toward Mihail Bujoreanu, a man who had grown up in Moldova, whom she later wed. Their son Daniel, who turns 11 this year, was born after the two wed.
Time apart from her two sisters — Nataliia Klotchko, who is now 37, and Zoia Kovalenko, now 28 — was among the consequences of the prolonged absence. Face-to-face contact with her parents had been absent from Kureninova-Bujoreanu's life since her departure from Ukraine, with the two visits they had made to her standing as the only exceptions. A trip back to her homeland — the first in ten years — had been taking shape in her mind during the period leading up to the military offensive.
While family members sought refuge from the violence in Sumy — a city near the Russian border with a population comparable to Sioux Falls — Kureninova-Bujoreanu kept up with her job while staying in close contact by phone for any word on their safety. For roughly three weeks, her sisters and their children lived without reliable power, access to running water, or any open shops nearby, until they were able to leave for Moldova. Funds transferred from the United States by Kureninova-Bujoreanu went toward offsetting the costs of transportation. A volunteer network equipped with drone-based spotters provided her family with guidance on navigating around troop positions and checkpoints along the way.
Reaching out to members of Congress — among them U.S. Rep. Dusty Johnson and Sens. John Thune and Mike Rounds — Kureninova-Bujoreanu brought her concerns directly to federal legislators. Her family's path to the United States ran through appeals directed at both senators. Under the federal Uniting for Ukraine initiative, Ukrainians who had fled the conflict gained a route into the country through sponsorship by U.S.-based supporters.
Two years into that decade-long separation, the arrival of her sisters and their children in Sioux Falls brought the women face to face again for the first time. Both women had left partners behind in Ukraine — husbands who stayed on to earn income and keep their households going from a distance. Larysa and Alexi, the children's parents, were among those who chose to remain at first. Men in the family arrived in South Dakota first, establishing a foothold before women, children, and eventually the eldest members of the household completed the journey.
Her father's arrival that September — in 2022 — expanded the household she was managing from three occupants to eleven. In Salem, a house already occupied by relatives took in the broader family, giving each sister and her household somewhere to regroup while they looked for a permanent place to put down roots. Her parents relocated to share the home where Kureninova-Bujoreanu was living.
Those family members had built their own lives and professional paths in Ukraine before the separation. Nataliia had practised law and Zoia held graduate business training before their respective marriages, just as the men each woman married had built careers spanning legal and financial work. Positions for both women took shape in Salem — Nataliia behind the counter at a coffee shop, Zoia at the helm of a daycare classroom as its lead teacher. The women's husbands travel daily to Sioux Falls for maintenance work at Smithfield, while their mother holds a cleaning position at a nearby bar and grill.
People in Salem stepped in to help those rebuilding their lives from the ground up. Neighbours pulled together a prayer walk and a fundraising drive during the conflict's opening months, threading blue-and-yellow ribbons — the colours of Ukraine's flag — through bicycle spokes and across stroller frames, and collecting close to $3,000 for the family. Once news of her sisters' approved travel arrangements spread through the area, donations began arriving on Kureninova-Bujoreanu's doorstep. People brought an assortment of household goods and children's items — clothing, car seats, pushchairs, bicycles, toys, food, and furniture — with many choosing not to give their names.
Bus routes were rerouted by the district to fit the students' needs, while educators and other staff worked alongside them to bridge communication gaps tied to language differences. Area businesses offered positions to family members, helping them establish a foothold, while Kureninova-Bujoreanu noted that the town — one many assume holds hostile views toward immigrants — had instead rallied around them. Even so, the family's thoughts remain fixed on the situation in Ukraine.
Keeping a close watch on news from the region, Kureninova-Bujoreanu maintains regular contact with the friends and family members who have stayed behind. Losses within the household have mounted over time. The family home belonging to Kureninova-Bujoreanu's parents in Ukraine was reduced to rubble during 2023. Mounted on the wall, the canvas her father transported to South Dakota — a painted rendering of the house where his mother once resided — stands as a record of what the family has lost to the conflict.
The TPS filing window has introduced a fresh layer of instability for a household that had already been navigating years of disruption. Under the Immigration and Nationality Act, a six-month extension takes effect automatically whenever the Homeland Security secretary has not acted on a designation renewal at least 60 days ahead of its expiration date. That provision would keep Ukraine's protected status on the books until April 19, 2027. As of the most recent federal immigration records, Oct. 19 stands as the listed deadline, with paperwork confirming any extension yet to be filed.
Securing a more durable arrangement has taken priority for the family over an open-ended dependence on stopgap protections. Sponsorship of employment-based permanent residency is under way through both sisters' workplaces, while Kureninova-Bujoreanu has taken on the green card paperwork for her parents.
The pull of familiar streets, long-standing friendships, and everyday routines left behind sits with Kureninova-Bujoreanu's parents. Communication obstacles make everyday activities harder to navigate, and depending on their daughter for financial support sits uncomfortably with them. A return to Ukraine remains their stated intention, contingent on conditions there becoming safe enough to allow it.
Her sisters have described South Dakota as a place where Kureninova-Bujoreanu has genuinely put down roots. The children of both women are being raised there while each pursues a path toward lasting immigration standing. Kureninova-Bujoreanu noted that the process unfolded across far more steps and conditions than she had expected, even for someone who set out to meet every requirement from the start.
Her family's departure from Ukraine, she has said, was driven by circumstances beyond professional prospects or career paths. Displacement through armed conflict brought them there, and she noted that fellow Ukrainians have asked why anyone would speak with outsiders at all. She acknowledged that her actions alone would not alter the course of the conflict, yet described her contribution as a way of keeping the dialogue alive and doing what remained within her power.
