Nigerian Deported from US Alleges Ghana Dumped Him in Togo
By: Abudu Olalekan
Imagine this. You’re a Nigerian guy, kicked out of the US after years building a life there. You land in Ghana, thinking that’s the end of the nightmare. But nope. Ghanaian officials load you up in the dead of night, drive you through some shady back route, and just… dump you in Togo. No warning. No papers. Stranded. That’s the wild story one deportee spilled to the BBC. And he’s not alone—five others got the same raw deal.
It started last month. This man, let’s call him anonymous for safety—he’s got reasons—flew in with a bunch of West Africans from Togo, Liberia, Gambia, you name it. Pulled straight from US detention centers. Ghana said they’d take ’em in, all pan-African solidarity and stuff. No cash involved, according to their Foreign Minister Samuel Okudzeto Ablakwa. But things went south quick.
They stuck the group in a military camp. Conditions? Brutal. “Deplorable,” he called it. No decent meds. Water that’d make you sick. Healthcare? Forget it. The deportees begged for better—anything. Days later, officials show up. “Hey, we’re moving you to a hotel,” they say. Sounds good, right? Relief washes over everyone.
But here’s the twist. Trucks roll out at night. No main border crossing. Instead, a sneaky path. He swears they bribed local police to look the other way. No heads-up to Togo’s government. Just poof—dropped off like yesterday’s trash. “They did not take us through the main border; they took us through the back door,” the man told reporters. “They paid the police there and dropped us in Togo.” Chilling.
Now, four of them—three Nigerians, one Liberian—are holed up in a cheap hotel in Lomé, Togo’s capital. Right across that invisible line. No IDs. No nothing. They’re scraping by, begging hotel staff to wire money from relatives overseas. “We’re struggling to survive in Togo without any documentation,” he said, voice cracking probably. “None of us has family in Togo. We’re just stuck in a hotel. Right now, we’re just trying to survive until our lawyers can help us with this situation.” Day by day. Heartbreaking.
Backtrack a sec. This guy’s life in the US? Solid. Owned a house. Kids living there still. Mortgage payments looming like a storm cloud. “How am I supposed to pay the mortgage? I don’t know how they’ll manage while I’m gone,” he lamented. “My kids can’t see me, and it’s just so stressful.” And get this—he’s an activist. Part of the Yoruba Self-Determination Movement, pushing for a breakaway state in southwest Nigeria. Returning home? Could mean arrest. Torture even. He claims he had US court protection against deportation. But the government’s mum on why they ignored it.
The whole group’s fighting back. Lawyers filed suits against the US and Ghana. Rights violations, they say. Big time. Ghana’s President John Mahama announced the deal proudly. But opposition MPs are fuming. Calls to halt it until parliament approves. And here’s the kicker: They’re prepping to take another 40 deportees. Empathy or headache? You decide.
Think about it. These folks thought Ghana was a safe landing spot. Pan-African brotherhood and all. Instead, secret transfers. Bribes alleged. Stranded in a foreign country with zero support. The man described the camp life again: “Life there was really hard, so we asked for a better place, better medication, better healthcare and better water.” Officials promised a hotel. Delivered a border dump.
When they hit the edge, confusion hit hard. “When we arrived, we asked what we were doing at the border, and they told us they wanted us to sign some paperwork so they could take us to a hotel,” he recalled. “But we didn’t sign anything.” Smart move. No paper trail for that mess.
Broader picture? This exposes cracks in deportation deals. US shipping people out. Ghana playing host, but not really. Togo left holding the bag. Families torn apart. Kids wondering where Dad went. Mortgages piling up. Activists in hiding. It’s not just policy—it’s human chaos.
The BBC broke this Wednesday. Deportee’s voice, raw and real, cuts through the official spin. Ghana insists it’s all goodwill. No bribes, they say. But the stories don’t match. Lawyers push on. Opposition yells for a pause. And these guys? Hanging in Lomé. Waiting. Surviving.
How does it end? Who knows. But one thing’s clear: Borders ain’t just lines on a map. They’re lives upended. One secret ride at a time.
