The Reality of Deportation

In many ways, the story of Oumar Diallo is not unique.

He fled his home country of Mauritania in Northwest Africa in the ’90s – escaping threats of racism and slavery, which was criminalized in the region until 2007.

He then sought asylum in the United States and – even after being denied asylum for three years after arriving, regularly followed up on appointments and check-ins with the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement in hopes of gaining citizenship status.

The story of Diallo is not unique except for one fact: after nearly 20 years in America, he was deported.

Under President Donald Trump's first-term immigration policies, ICE no longer allowed immigrants who had been denied asylum to stay in the United States even if, like Diallo, they attended their appointments and received work permits.

So, in 2018 when Diallo arrived for one of his  appointments, he was faced with the life-altering news of his deportation.

"One day they were like, 'You're not going back home, you're going to stay here,'" Diallo said, speaking in French over a WhatsApp call from Senegal.

Last June, the Biden administration announced the “Parole in Place” program that would extend work permits and allow undocumented spouses of U.S. citizens to apply for lawful permanent residence without having to leave the country. Yet, following the reelection of President Trump, these plans offer no solace.

Although Biden’s “Parole in Place” policy would not have helped cases like Diallo’s, others like Regina Cano, a family physician from Cincinnati, said this proposal was a long-overdue protection that would have allowed her undocumented husband to remain in the country.

"I will never forget his call from Ciudad Juarez over 10 years ago that he was never coming home," Cano said.

Ciudad Juarez is a city in Mexico just South of El Paso, Texas where Cano’s husband was located at the time. When the couple first married in 2011, her husband went to Mexico for an immigration visa interview that the two hoped would result in a change in his immigration status.

Except, he never returned.

Despite being married for over 13 years, the couple has been separated for almost a decade. Cano, now 38-years-old, travels between Mexico and Cincinnati to be with her husband and two sons. She has been working withAmerican Families United to advocate for legislative action that would protect individuals without permanent status.

President Trump recently drafted a list of 43 countries with potential travel bands in March of 2025, including countries like Somalia, South Sudan, Sierra Leone, Mauritania and more.

A major influx of asylum seekers from Mauritania, West Africa came to Ohio in recent years to escape racism and persecution in their home country. This newly growing immigrant population has faced a plethora of ongoing problems since, such as a lack of resources and language accommodations.

Deportations of Mauritanians have continued to rise  — with a minimum of 50 people reported in 2021 and more than half of that number coming from Ohio.

These deportations followed a policy made underneath the Trump administration's first term that classified every undocumented immigrant as a priority for deportation, regardless of their time spent in the country. This legislation deviated from previous enforcement policies that instead prioritized criminals and those deemed a national security threat. Many endured inhumane conditions during their removal and upon their arrival back to their homeland.

Diallo, now 57-years-old, said after his detention in 2018, he was then deported to Mauritania. There he was imprisoned for two months before a friend bribed police to get him out. He has been residing in Senegal, under poor health, ever since.

"I've been living in the same location, same address and I never had any issue with the police," Diallo said. "The first time I had handcuffs put on me was when the immigration officer held me to send me back to Mauritania."

Cano said, currently, the only way to keep citizen and noncitizen couples together is through a petition – a type of form applicants can fill out with immigration lawyers as a last resort. When theirs was denied, her husband was placed under a under a permanent bar in Mexico for a visa appointment.

Demba Ndiath, a family friend of Diallo and a Mauritanian American, has helped new immigrants in Columbus resettle by acting as a translator and filling out work permit applications.

Ndiath said he tries to financially support Diallo overseas, alongside seeking ways to raise awareness about the importance of Temporary Protective Status being granted to Mauritanians — as it has been for those in countries like Haiti, Nepal and Sudan.

"I went through the immigration process, I saw the struggle," Ndiath said. "Until legal protection from the government says people from Mauritania can't be deported for a certain amount of time, it's not going to be easy for them."

The life Diallo built in America for over 20 years remains on hold as he spends each day now in Senegal, wondering when he’ll return home – and he’s not alone. Many refugees, asylum seekers,  green card and visa holders are unsure of what could come next out of new immigration policies.

As for now, their lives are merely a waiting game.