I watched the heavy rain lash against the community health center’s windows in Saskatoon’s west end as Jason, a peer support worker, pointed to a growing wall of memorial photos. Each smiling face represented someone who never made it home after using what they thought was a regular street drug.
“Three more this week,” he said quietly. “We’re seeing carfentanil again, and it’s worse than before.”
The recent surge of overdoses in Saskatoon has triggered an urgent public health alert after carfentanil—an opioid 100 times more potent than fentanyl and 10,000 times stronger than morphine—was detected in the local drug supply. Originally developed as a large animal tranquilizer, even amounts smaller than a grain of salt can be fatal.
According to the Saskatchewan Coroners Service, suspected drug toxicity deaths in the province have reached alarming levels, with Saskatoon particularly hard-hit. The provincial government reports that emergency services responded to over 140 overdose calls in the city last month alone, a 35% increase from the same period last year.
“What makes this particularly dangerous is that people don’t know what they’re getting,” explains Dr. Larissa Mooney, addiction medicine specialist at the University of Saskatchewan. “Dealers are cutting carfentanil into other substances—heroin, cocaine, even counterfeit pills—and users have no way to detect it before consumption.”
Walking through Pleasant Hill with community outreach worker Denise Mcleod reveals the human toll behind these statistics. As we pass boarded storefronts and community gardens, she greets residents by name, handing out harm reduction supplies from her backpack.
“The stereotype that this only affects certain people is dangerous,” Mcleod tells me as we stop to talk with a group of young men. “We’re seeing overdoses across all demographics—teenagers experimenting at parties, people with chronic pain whose prescriptions were cut, professionals using stimulants. Carfentanil doesn’t discriminate.”
The Saskatoon Tribal Council’s health centre has expanded its hours in response to the crisis. Inside, staff member Evan Cardinal demonstrates how to use naloxone kits—the emergency medication that can temporarily reverse opioid overdoses.
“We’re distributing about 200 kits weekly now,” Cardinal says. “But with carfentanil, sometimes multiple doses are needed, and every second counts. That’s why we’re pushing for more supervised consumption sites.”
Public health officials have identified the current batch of contaminated drugs primarily in Saskatoon’s core neighborhoods, but warn that the supply chain extends throughout the city and surrounding communities.
Prairie Harm Reduction, which operates Saskatchewan’s only supervised consumption site, reports their staff have reversed 27 overdoses in the past month alone. Their executive director Jason Mercredi has been advocating for expanded hours and additional locations.
“The current model isn’t meeting the need,” Mercredi explained as we toured their facility. “We’re only funded to operate twelve hours a day, but people don’t stop using when we close.”
The organization’s data shows that no one has ever died from an overdose within a supervised consumption site in Canada, yet Saskatchewan continues to have one of the highest drug toxicity death rates in the country.
When I visited the Royal University Hospital emergency department, Dr. Leila Saleh described the strain on healthcare resources. “We’re seeing multiple carfentanil overdoses daily now, many requiring intensive care. Some patients need continuous naloxone infusions because the half-life of carfentanil is so long.”
The provincial Ministry of Health has distributed emergency alerts through cell phones and social media, warning people who use drugs to never use alone and to start with very small amounts. They’ve also expanded access to take-home naloxone kits through pharmacies and community organizations.
But for families who’ve lost loved ones, these measures feel insufficient. At a memorial gathering in Kiwanis Park, I met Cheryl Redwood, who lost her 22-year-old son Elijah to a carfentanil overdose last year.
“He was three months sober, working construction,” she said, showing me his photo. “One relapse with a contaminated supply took him from us. The system failed him at every turn.”
Redwood has since joined a growing coalition of families advocating for more comprehensive approaches, including safe supply programs that provide pharmaceutical-grade alternatives to toxic street drugs.
The Federation of Sovereign Indigenous Nations has called the situation a crisis requiring immediate action, noting that Indigenous communities are disproportionately affected. In a statement, they pointed to intergenerational trauma and limited access to culturally appropriate treatment as contributing factors.
Meanwhile, innovative responses are emerging from the community level. The Okihtcitawak Patrol Group, a volunteer street team, has increased their evening outreach shifts, carrying naloxone and checking on vulnerable people.
“We can’t wait for policy to catch up,” says patrol member Sarain Buffalo-Robe. “We’re finding people unconscious in alleys, parks, bathrooms. Minutes matter with carfentanil.”
Public health experts emphasize that addressing the toxic drug crisis requires multiple approaches. Dr. Peter Butt, addiction specialist with the Saskatchewan Health Authority, explains that while harm reduction measures are crucial for preventing immediate deaths, they must be paired with expanded treatment options.
“We need low-barrier access to evidence-based treatment, including opioid agonist therapies like methadone and Suboxone,” Dr. Butt says. “But waiting lists can be months long, and during that time, people remain at high risk.”
As I finished my reporting in Saskatoon, another memorial was being added to the wall at the community health center. Jason, the peer support worker, placed a photo of a woman in her thirties, smiling in graduation cap and gown.
“She was a nurse,” he said. “Had a bad injury, got hooked on pain meds, then street drugs when her prescription ended. One bad batch with carfentanil, and she’s gone.”
The health alert remains in effect as officials work to track the source of the contaminated supply. For now, community organizations continue distributing naloxone kits and spreading awareness about the unprecedented danger in Saskatoon’s drug supply—knowing that behind each statistic is someone’s child, parent, sibling, or friend.
