All West African Deportees to Ghana Have Returned Home, Say Officials

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(ALEXANDRIA, LOUISIANA, UNITED STATES) Ghanaian authorities confirmed that the latest group of West African nationals flown by the United States 🇺🇸 to Accra under the U.S. policy of third-country deportations did not remain in Ghana. Instead, the group of 14 people — 13 Nigerians and one Gambian — who departed a detention hub in Alexandria, Louisiana, were sent onward to their home countries. The move, announced on September 15, 2025, followed a U.S. removal operation on September 5, 2025, that used a U.S. military cargo plane to land the group in Ghana despite none being Ghanaian. Officials in Accra say the acceptance of the flight was a humanitarian step, not a long-term commitment.

Ghana’s Foreign Minister, Samuel Okudzeto Ablakwa, framed the acceptance as a short-term response driven by “Pan-African” solidarity after other West African nations reportedly declined to accept non-nationals. He said Ghana acted because the arrivals were fellow West Africans and needed a safe waypoint, not because Ghana had agreed to serve as a holding ground for non-Ghanaian deportees. Confirming onward travel arrangements — including bus transport for Nigerians — he stressed the group “have since left for their home countries,” addressing growing public concern about whether Accra would become a staging site for larger transfers.

The episode highlights the expanding use of third-country deportations, a practice the U.S. has widened since 2024 and accelerated in 2025. Under this approach, people with removal orders — including asylum-seekers — are flown to countries where they hold no citizenship and often have no family ties. According to analysis by VisaVerge.com, officials have included Ghana, Eswatini, Rwanda, and South Sudan among possible destinations, with Uganda also discussed. Critics say the practice bypasses normal consular coordination, risks refoulement, and strips people of the chance to present safety claims before being flown to a country they did not expect.

In this case, multiple sources said the 14 West African nationals were not told their destination in advance and only learned they were headed to Ghana several hours into the flight. Some reported being restrained in transit. These details align with a broader pattern that human rights lawyers describe: people are picked up with little warning, transferred at night, and flown out before family or counsel can intervene. Legal advocates argue that limited notice narrows access to protection under the UN Convention Against Torture, closes off appeal opportunities, and tears families apart without meaningful review.

Ghanaian authorities have denied allegations of poor detention conditions in Accra. They have not, however, offered full details about the group’s reception, processing, or onward travel beyond confirming departure arrangements. That lack of detail reflects the broader opacity surrounding third-country deportations. Nigeria’s government has expressed surprise and anger, saying it was not informed beforehand by the United States or Ghana. Nigerian officials also reiterated that Nigeria accepts only its own nationals through standard channels, not non-Nigerians or mixed manifest flights to third countries, and says it expects the same respect from partner governments.

The U.S. Department of Homeland Security has defended third-country deportations as a lawful tool to carry out immigration enforcement and reduce backlogs. The department argues that timely removals are needed to uphold court orders and maintain system integrity. At the same time, filings and internal statements cited by advocates suggest the policy is designed to enable mass removals regardless of individual circumstances, including cases with credible fear claims. For official information on DHS enforcement operations, readers can consult the U.S. Department of Homeland Security.

Despite government support for the policy, its legal footing is under active challenge. A federal judge on April 18, 2025, issued a preliminary injunction that required written notice before any third-country removal and a chance to seek relief under the Convention Against Torture. That injunction did not last. On June 23, 2025, the Supreme Court granted a stay, keeping the policy in place while litigation continues. As a result, the United States has carried on with third-country deportations into September 2025, even as courts and Congress hear forceful objections from lawyers, nonprofit groups, and lawmakers who worry about due process.

Human rights groups and immigration attorneys argue the removals break international law, pointing to the principle of non-refoulement, which forbids sending a person to a place where they may face torture or persecution. They also say key procedural safeguards are missing. Reports describe detainees denied basic notice, cut off from counsel, and confused about their destinations until mid-flight. For those who fled violence, political repression, or trafficking, the fear is that a third-country transfer can become a backdoor route to return them to danger. Lawyers warn that even a temporary stay in a third country can create risks if authorities then push people into rushed onward travel.

ICE detention figures have climbed in 2025, with reports of increased non-criminal detentions. Lawyers say this growth pairs with faster transfers and flights that complicate representation in immigration court. The practice of staging charter flights from facilities near Alexandria — a longstanding departure point in the interior — makes it harder for families to keep track of loved ones. In the September 5, 2025 flight, Ghana became the unexpected landing place, even though no one aboard was Ghanaian. From Accra, Ghana’s government arranged onward travel, and by September 15, 2025, confirmed that the 14 had left for their home countries.

For Ghana, the episode underscores a delicate balance. Officials want to help fellow West Africans and avoid a humanitarian crisis on the tarmac. They also want to avoid signaling that Ghana is ready to host larger numbers of non-Ghanaian deportees indefinitely. The foreign minister’s public stance — “purely on humanitarian principle” — shows the tightrope. It speaks to regional kinship yet stops short of any broader promise. Ghana’s message to partners appears to be: we can help in a pinch, but do not assume we will accept repeat flights or serve as a permanent buffer for other nations’ removal policies.

Nigeria’s reaction highlights the diplomatic fallout. Abuja has made it clear that it expects direct notice and coordination for any movement involving its citizens. Nigeria has also signaled that flights bearing mixed nationalities to a third country are not acceptable grounds for transferring Nigerians without prior agreement. For the United States, that stance complicates logistics. It suggests that any plan to place West African nationals on flights to third countries will trigger regional blowback unless there is strong bilateral communication and a clear path to return people to their own countries fairly and safely.

Policy Context and Legal Tensions

The third-country deportations approach expanded under President Trump and has continued amid disputes over legality and ethics. The government’s argument is straightforward: when someone has a final removal order, officials must execute it. If a home country refuses travel documents or delays acceptance, third-country transfers may be used to carry out the order. Opponents counter that this turns safe-haven countries into stopover zones for forced returns and strips people of a realistic chance to claim asylum or protection under the Convention Against Torture. They also stress that written notice and access to counsel are not formalities — they are essential rights.

Pressure is building on several fronts. In U.S. courts, lawyers point to cases where people were flown without any advance notice to lawyers or family, making it almost impossible to file emergency motions. In West Africa, governments say the policy shows little respect for sovereignty if they are not told in advance or asked to agree. Human rights groups warn that transfers to countries with limited capacity can lead to poor conditions, confusion for returnees, and risks of refoulement if people are quickly sent on without screening. As September 2025 unfolds, the courts have allowed the policy to continue, but the legal battle is far from over.

Ghana’s response also hints at regional diplomacy dynamics. Accepting a single flight under “humanitarian principle” can build goodwill with neighbors and avoid a crisis at the airport. Yet repeated arrivals might strain services, fuel political backlash, and test Ghana’s border and consular systems. The government’s firm note that the 14 have already left suggests a desire to close the chapter quickly. It also aligns with public signals that Ghana does not plan to serve as a standing platform for non-Ghanaian deportees arriving from outside Africa.

The case raises hard questions about consent and capacity. Was there a clear agreement ahead of time? Who pays for onward travel? What happens if someone fears harm in their home country and asks for protection in the third country after landing? Ghana’s statements do not answer those questions. Nigeria’s public frustration suggests that at least some of the usual diplomatic steps were skipped or compressed. For the people on board, the lack of clear communication translated to fear, disorientation, and a scramble to understand what would happen next.

The legal stakes are just as high. With the injunction stayed in June, U.S. agencies have a green light to proceed while lawsuits continue. That puts lawyers and advocates in reactive mode. Without written notice and time to prepare, last-minute filings to stop removal become harder. For people with potential claims under the Convention Against Torture, the window to speak up narrows. In practice, that means some may lose a chance to tell an immigration judge why they fear harm, simply because the plane took off before they could meet a lawyer.

Regional and Human Impact

The September 5, 2025 flight from Alexandria is part of a larger pattern that affects families, employers, and communities on both sides of the Atlantic. For West African nationals in U.S. detention, the message is unsettling: you may be sent not only to your home country but also to a third country you have never visited. Families in the United States struggle to keep track of loved ones when flights depart with little notice. Employers who rely on workers stuck in prolonged proceedings face uncertainty. In West Africa, local officials must manage sudden arrivals, even when the travelers are not their nationals.

There are practical hurdles at every stage. Detainees often cannot reach counsel in time. Family members may only learn about a transfer after the person has crossed an ocean. When people land in a third country, they may not have documents, funds, or contacts to navigate onward travel. Ghana’s announcement that it arranged buses for Nigerians shows an effort to provide immediate transit. But in many cases, onward movement depends on ad hoc steps, not a stable, published protocol. That ad hoc approach increases the risk that people fall through the cracks.

Advocates warn that those risks are not theoretical. They include detention in unsafe conditions, extortion, or abuse by smugglers if people must cross borders without support. They also include refoulement — being sent where they fear harm — if there is no chance to seek protection. The policy’s opacity compounds the harm. If people do not know where they are going, they cannot gather evidence, notify counsel, or prepare to ask for help upon arrival. For a person who fled political violence, this kind of sudden transfer can feel like a trapdoor opening beneath their feet.

Ghana’s limited involvement to date reflects a narrow window of acceptance, not a broad policy shift. Officials have publicly framed the September 2025 case as a one-off measure driven by compassion for fellow West Africans. They have not said they will repeat it. That matters for the United States, which is reportedly looking to widen third-country options as other governments push back. The more countries decline, the more each third-country flight becomes a flashpoint — a high-stakes test of regional solidarity, legal boundaries, and diplomatic patience.

Nigeria’s stance will carry weight across the region. As Africa’s most populous nation, Nigeria’s refusal to endorse third-country arrivals without prior agreement signals that cooperation has limits. If Abuja insists on direct returns only, and on proper notice, other governments may follow. That would constrain third-country deportations in West Africa and force the United States to negotiate clearer bilateral terms or pivot to different regions. Either way, the current friction suggests there is little appetite for becoming a transit point for non-nationals arriving under another country’s enforcement agenda.

The numbers attached to these flights matter because they reflect policy direction. ICE detention figures rose from 39,238 to 41,169 in early 2025, with a noted rise in non-criminal detentions. Advocates say that increase pairs with a push to move people out faster, often through charter flights. The 14 people on the September plane are a small number, but the symbolism is large. A single flight can set a precedent that opens the door to more, unless legal or political limits intervene. Human rights groups are ramping up pressure on both the U.S. and any receiving country to stop the practice.

For individuals in detention, the steps to protect themselves are narrow but important. Lawyers advise people to keep copies of identity documents, maintain updated contact information for family and counsel, and assert any fear claims clearly and repeatedly to the officer in charge. While the courts have stayed the injunction, due process rights still exist on paper. The challenge is timing. When flights leave quickly, rights are hard to use. That is the heart of the legal fight: whether the government can carry out third-country deportations with such speed that basic protections lose practical meaning.

Diplomatically, Ghana’s careful messaging hints at the future. By stressing humanitarian motives and confirming quick onward travel, Accra signaled that it does not aim to build a pipeline for non-Ghanaian deportees. That approach may help Ghana avoid being drawn into other nations’ political battles over migration. It also leaves unanswered what would happen if a larger plane arrived, or if someone on the manifest asked for asylum at Kotoka International Airport. For now, officials are signaling caution, and that may help keep the issue from escalating within Ghana.

For the United States, the legal horizon remains cloudy. The Supreme Court’s stay allows the government to press forward while the underlying case proceeds. That means more third-country deportations could follow unless a later ruling or congressional action draws a line. In the meantime, critics point to international standards and the duty to avoid refoulement. They also question whether the gains — quicker removals and lower backlogs — are worth the diplomatic and human costs, especially when people on the flights include asylum-seekers who never received a fair chance to explain their fear.

The events of early September 2025 do offer a near-term lesson: third-country removals can be carried out, but they are messy. They trigger diplomatic protests, raise legal alarms, and generate public backlash. They require receiving governments to improvise transport and short-term care. And for the people on board, they often create confusion and fear. Ghana’s decision to move the group out quickly and confirm their onward journey shows a way to limit fallout. But it does not resolve the deeper questions that now surround the policy.

Observers across West Africa and the United States will watch what comes next. If more flights land in Accra, public patience may fade. If neighboring countries refuse to accept onward transfers, Ghana could face pressure to host people longer than it wishes. If another court ruling restores notice and Convention Against Torture screenings before removal, transfer timelines may slow. And if U.S. agencies continue to prioritize quick removals, families and lawyers will likely see more cases where people vanish into overnight flights and resurface halfway across the world.

For now, the facts are clear. On September 5, 2025, a U.S. military cargo plane flew 14 West African nationals from Alexandria to Ghana under the third-country deportations policy. On September 15, 2025, Ghana confirmed they “have since left for their home countries,” with arrangements such as buses for Nigerians. None were Ghanaian. Ghana framed its role as humanitarian and short-term. Nigeria expressed shock and insisted on better coordination. The U.S. government defended the policy as necessary for enforcement. Legal challenges continue, and so does the debate over rights, safety, and state-to-state respect.

As pressure grows, governments face three intertwined tests: legal duty, practical capacity, and moral responsibility. Legal duty asks whether people get real notice and a chance to raise fear claims. Practical capacity asks whether agencies and partner countries can manage arrivals without chaos. Moral responsibility asks whether moving a person to a third country without warning aligns with the values both sides claim to uphold. Each flight forces an answer, not in theory, but on the runway, with real people and real consequences.

According to VisaVerge.com, the September flight to Ghana is the most publicized instance involving non-Ghanaian West Africans in 2025. The site also notes that Ghana has not shared a comprehensive tally of prior transfers. That lack of clarity will likely fuel more questions from lawmakers, courts, and civil society. If third-country deportations expand, pressure will mount for detailed data, formal agreements, and transparent safeguards. If they do not, the September case may be remembered as a sharp warning shot — a sign of what can happen when enforcement outpaces consent and communication.

In the end, the movement of people across borders is not just about planes and paperwork. It is about who gets a chance to speak before being sent away, who gets told the truth about where they are going, and who takes responsibility when things go wrong. The September operation shows how thin that margin can be. With litigation active and diplomacy strained, the fate of future flights — and the people on them — will depend on decisions made in courtrooms, cabinet rooms, and airports, one urgent hour at a time.