KINSHASA — In mid-April, 15 people from Colombia, Ecuador and Peru were deported from the United States to Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, under a little-publicized migration deal arranged by the Trump administration. None of them expected to be sent to Congo and several said they only learned their destination after boarding the flight. Some described being shackled by hands and feet while transported.
NPR spoke with five members of the group, who asked not to be named for safety reasons. All said they had faced threats if they returned to their home countries, and some were still pursuing legal cases in U.S. courts when they were expelled. Despite the dangers at home, they said they preferred returning to Latin America over remaining in Congo, a country they do not know and whose official language, French, most of them do not speak.
The deportees are staying in a run-down hotel near the airport, where they receive regular meals but cope with frequent multi-day water outages and rooms infested with rodents and mosquitoes. Security staff discourage them from going out, leaving the group effectively isolated in a megacity of more than 15 million people where they have no family or social ties. Several said they had not been vaccinated against yellow fever before deportation; yellow fever and malaria are endemic in Congo.
Much of eastern Congo has been plagued by long-running violence linked to regional wars in the 1990s and early 2000s, and renewed insurgencies continue to displace and endanger civilians. Armed groups, including the Rwanda-backed M23, control territory in the east and run parallel administrations in some areas. Fighting also occurs nearer to Kinshasa, and everyday life for many residents remains precarious.
Congo is not the only African country that agreed to accept third-country deportees under recent U.S. immigration policies. Uganda, Rwanda, South Sudan and Eswatini, among others, have made similar arrangements. Congolese officials said the migrants would stay temporarily and that the U.S. would cover the costs, but many practical details remain unclear: how many people will be sent overall, what services or legal status they will receive, and how long they will remain.
The Trump administration has reportedly considered plans to send up to 1,100 Afghans to Congo as well, many of whom assisted U.S. forces in Afghanistan; the White House indicated President Trump had not been briefed on that proposal. The possibility of Afghan arrivals and the visible presence of Latin American deportees have sparked protests in Kinshasa. Demonstrators carried banners denouncing what they called the importation of foreign fighters, and opposition leaders criticized the government for accepting people while millions of Congolese are themselves displaced or living as refugees abroad.
Humanitarian groups and international agencies have become involved. The International Organization for Migration is assisting the deported group, and some deportees remain in contact with lawyers in the United States. Many lack money and passports, and several described the experience as resembling forced expulsion or trafficking.
The deportees report fear and uncertainty. They say they were offered no credible alternatives in Congo other than eventual return to their home countries, even as conditions there may threaten their safety. One woman described the complex legal limbo in which they now find themselves and the sense that no one can say what will happen next.
For the moment, the group remains far from home, isolated in a city and country they did not choose, uncertain how long they will stay or whether they will be able to leave safely. The case highlights broader questions about opaque migration agreements, the responsibilities of receiving governments, and the fate of vulnerable people moved across continents as part of international immigration policy.