### Introduction
Under the second Trump administration’s hardline immigration crackdown, a little-known and highly controversial policy has pushed hundreds of deportees from across the globe into African nations, secured through a toxic mix of U.S. visa bans, financial incentives and diplomatic coercion. Two former senior U.S. State Department officials have confirmed to Agence France-Presse (AFP) that the initiative, conceived by anti-immigration advisor Stephen Miller and the White House Homeland Security Council, strongarms African governments into accepting third-country deportees — individuals who have no connection to the nations they are sent to, and often face abuse, indefinite detention and legal limbo after arrival. The White House declined to respond to specific allegations, while the State Department confirmed that enforcing the administration’s immigration priorities remains a core commitment, focused on curbing unauthorized migration and strengthening U.S. border security.
### The Mechanics of Coercion: Carrots and Sticks for African Nations
The first wave of third-country deportations under the Trump administration focused on Central and South America, but Africa quickly emerged as the second major destination. Washington uses two key levers to pressure African governments: punitive restrictions, including full or partial travel bans targeting majority-African nation lists, and financial payoffs for cooperation. According to Democratic U.S. Senators and non-governmental organizations, two-thirds of the 39 countries hit by Trump administration travel bans are African, and nearly half of all nations that have signed secret deportation deals with Washington are located on the continent.
Human Rights Watch documentation shows Eswatini, Africa’s last absolute monarchy ruled by King Mswati III, agreed to accept 160 deportees in exchange for $5.1 million in U.S. funding. Rwanda has reportedly sealed a similar $7.5 million aid agreement to take 250 deportees. For nations that refuse to comply, consequences are swift and severe. Burkina Faso’s junta, which has adopted a hostile stance toward Western influence, rejected the U.S. push to accept expelled migrants, with Foreign Affairs Minister Karamoko Jean-Marie Traore calling the pressure “blackmail” and affirming the nation “is a place of dignity… not a place of expulsion.” Shortly after the refusal, Washington halted visa processing in Ouagadougou and imposed a full travel ban on the country. When Nigeria declined to accept Venezuelan deportees in 2023, visa restrictions were quickly implemented in response. For cooperative nations, rewards are immediate: after Ghana agreed to take West African deportees, the U.S. reversed existing visa restrictions and lifted a 15% tariff on Ghanaian cocoa and agricultural exports.
### The Human Cost: Deportees Trapped in a ‘Legal Black Hole’
For the deportees caught up in the policy, the outcome is almost universally grim. Lawyers across the U.S. describe the system as creating a “legal black hole,” where detainees are transferred to nations with no ties to them, held without charge, and stripped of basic human rights. Many of those sent to Africa already held legal protections against deportation to their countries of origin under the U.N. Convention Against Torture (CAT), which bars sending individuals back to places where they face risk of torture. The Trump administration has argued these protections only bar deportation to a individual’s home country, allowing transfer to any third nation — a legal interpretation that has been widely condemned by human rights advocates.
Pheap Rom, a 43-year-old Cambodian national who completed a 15-year U.S. prison sentence for attempted murder, told AFP he could not understand why he was expelled to Africa instead of his home country. He was detained for months in Eswatini’s most notorious maximum-security prison, a facility long known as a tool for political repression under King Mswati, where pro-democracy activists and government critics are routinely held. For two months, Rom said he and other deportees were allowed only 15 minutes of outdoor time per day and just one phone call per week. “We went through misery,” he recalled.
The case of 23-year-old Khalid, an East African man who fled torture in his home country and was granted deportation protection by a U.S. immigration judge in 2024, illustrates the policy’s disregard for existing legal safeguards. After crossing the Mexican border, a judge welcomed him to the U.S. and granted him formal protection from forced return. But in January 2025, Khalid was deported without documentation to Equatorial Guinea, a nation routinely criticized for systemic human rights abuses. The Equatorial Guinean government refused to allow him to stay, so he was put on a flight back to his home country — but border officials there turned him away for lack of valid travel documents. Stuck back in Equatorial Guinea, he has no ability to apply for asylum, as the country does not have a formal asylum system, per the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees. “They don’t know if we’re alive or not and they don’t seem to care,” Khalid said of the U.S. officials who oversaw his deportation.
Even long-term U.S. residents with deep roots in the country have been targeted. Roberto Mosquera, a Cuban-born plumber who moved to Florida as a child and was an open supporter of Donald Trump, served time in his youth for a gang-related shooting, but rebuilt his life after release: he married, raised four daughters, and became an outspoken critic of gang violence. After he was detained for a routine check-in with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), his family was falsely told he had been deported to Cuba, which rarely accepts deported Cuban nationals. He was eventually revealed to be held without charge in the same Eswatini prison as Rom, where he has remained for a year. After a recent video call, family friends said he had lost significant weight and hair, held in harsh conditions alongside political prisoners. The Department of Homeland Security even publicly mislabeled him a “murderer” to justify his expulsion.
Deportees sent to other African nations face similarly grim outcomes. Those sent to Ghana were held in secret at a remote military base without charge; some were dumped across the border in Togo without any documentation. A bisexual Gambian deportee was sent back to Gambia, where homosexuality is criminalized, forcing him into hiding. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, deportees are held in hotels near Kinshasa airport, where multiple people have fallen ill, and the International Organization for Migration (IOM) pressures detainees to sign up for “voluntary” repatriation to their home countries. “They’ve got us cornered because they tell us: ‘If you don’t accept the repatriation programme, you’ll be stuck in a mess here in Congo,’” said Gabriela, a 30-year-old Colombian deportee who spoke to AFP in Kinshasa. The IOM has denied any wrongdoing, saying its assistance is strictly voluntary and based on full informed consent.
### Secrecy and Impunity Amid Ongoing Policy Expansion
The entire third-country deportation program is shrouded in secrecy, with no public accounting of how many people have been sent to Africa, which countries have accepted them, or what conditions they face. An investigation by Senate Democrats found that at least nine African governments have agreed to take deportees as part of 25 global agreements, while nonprofit tallies put the number at 14 out of 34 countries with confirmed or alleged deals. The Senate report does not even include Sierra Leone, which accepted its first group of deportees in May 2025, or the Central African Republic, which received Iranian and other deportees in June 2025.
Human rights lawyers warn the policy amounts to “chain refoulement,” a violation of international law that occurs when one country transfers a person to another nation to facilitate their onward deportation to a place where they face harm. “These governments are receiving money from the U.S. for the purpose of processing individuals who are deported there, just to be deported back to their countries — it’s chain refoulement and that is illegal,” said U.S. immigration lawyer Meredyth Yoon. One former State Department official described the administration’s approach as deliberate indifference: “Once they’re out of U.S. hands, you can do with them whatever you want. Hands washed. That’s how the administration approached it.”
Despite growing legal pushback and widespread international criticism, the Trump administration has shown no sign of rolling back the policy. Kilmar Abrego Garcia, a Salvadoran immigrant who became the public face of the administration’s wrongful deportation scandals after being mistakenly sent to El Salvador, remains at risk of expulsion to Uganda, Eswatini, Ghana or Liberia even after a U.S. judge dismissed all criminal charges against him in May 2025. When a judge ruled that the deportation of a woman to the DRC was illegal because the Congolese government could not provide her required medical care, U.S. officials claimed bringing her back to the U.S. was too dangerous due to the Ebola outbreak in the region, leaving her stranded. One former State Department source summed up the policy’s core ideology simply: “There was no real guiding philosophy, it was just xenophobia.”
As recently as May 2025, a new deportation flight landed in Accra, Ghana. An AFP reporter attempted to access the heavily guarded hotel where deportees were reportedly being held, but was turned away. Staff confirmed the hotel was fully booked, but added there would be plenty of vacancies in two days — a signal that the deportees would be moved out to make room, continuing the cycle of secret transfers and forgotten people.
