KINSHASA, Democratic Republic of Congo — None of them expected to end up in Kinshasa. On April 17, U.S. authorities deported 15 people to the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, a poor country scarred by years of conflict.
The group — men and women from Colombia, Ecuador and Peru — is the first to arrive under a secretive migration agreement made with the Trump administration. NPR interviewed five members of the group; they are not being named because they said doing so could expose them to danger in their home countries.
“They took us, they put us on a plane, and they chained us by our hands and feet,” one Colombian man said, sitting on a plastic chair at a shabby hotel near Kinshasa’s airport. He and others said they did not learn their destination until they were on the plane.
All told NPR they feared for their safety if returned home, but they preferred that risk to staying in Congo, which they described as dangerous and impoverished. Several said U.S. authorities removed them despite ongoing court cases over their right to remain. Some had no money or passports. The International Organization for Migration (IOM) is helping the group, and some remain in contact with lawyers in the U.S.
Their hotel provides regular meals, but water cuts out for days, rodents move through rooms and mosquitoes are everywhere. They are technically free to leave, but security personnel have urged them to stay inside, effectively isolating them in a country where they have no ties and do not speak the official language, French. Two deportees said they had not received yellow fever vaccinations before being expelled; yellow fever and malaria are endemic in Congo.
“I know that Congo has an armed conflict, with a yellow fever outbreak,” an Ecuadorian man said, explaining why he did not want to remain.
Much of eastern Congo, roughly 1,000 miles from Kinshasa, has been plagued by violence for decades, a legacy of regional wars in the 1990s and early 2000s. Since late 2021, the Rwanda-backed M23 rebel group has captured large areas and runs parallel administrations in parts of the east. There is also armed conflict closer to Kinshasa, roughly 70–100 miles northeast of the city. Kinshasa itself is a megacity of more than 15 million people where most residents struggle to get by.
“Outside is another world,” one Colombian woman said, noting that none of the group spoke French.
Few details about the U.S.-Congo migration deal have been made public, though more deportees from the U.S. are expected. Congo is one of several African nations that have accepted third-country deportees under deals brokered by the Trump administration; others include Uganda, Rwanda, South Sudan and Eswatini.
Congo’s government said on April 17 that migrants would stay only temporarily and that the U.S. would cover costs. But it remains unclear how many people will be sent, what their status will be while in Congo, or how long they will stay. The deportees NPR spoke with said they have been offered no credible alternatives other than returning to their home countries. The U.S. State Department declined to comment on the details of diplomatic communications with other governments.
AfghanEvac, a nonprofit that helps resettle Afghan evacuees, said the Trump administration is considering sending as many as 1,100 Afghans to Congo, many of whom helped U.S. forces in Afghanistan; President Trump told reporters last week he was not aware of that plan.
The arrival of the Latin Americans, and the prospect of Afghans arriving, has been controversial in Congo. Protesters burned tires and marched in Kinshasa, denouncing plans to host what they called “Afghan mercenaries,” following an earlier sit-in outside the U.S. embassy. Many Congolese regard the deal as tone-deaf: roughly one million Congolese live as refugees in neighboring countries, and conflict has displaced nearly seven million people inside Congo. Opposition politician Delly Sessanga challenged President Félix Tshisekedi, asking why Congo should be turned into “a dumping ground for U.S. immigration and security policies.”
For the deportees at the hotel, confusion and fear persist. One Ecuadorian compared the forced expulsions to human trafficking. “I’m here in a place where I can’t do anything,” he said. “I want to return to my country.”
“We don’t know what will happen to us,” a Colombian woman said.
For now, they remain in limbo — thousands of miles from home, in a country they do not know, far from welcome, and uncertain about what comes next.