A growing number of Nigerians living in the United States are withdrawing from public life, abandoning jobs, avoiding travel and, in some cases, quietly returning home, as President Donald Trump’s intensified immigration enforcement campaign spreads fear across immigrant communities.
Interviews with Nigerians in several US cities by PUNCH, suggest that Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids have disrupted daily life, particularly for undocumented migrants and those with unresolved visa status. House-to-house enforcement actions, coupled with a series of fatal encounters involving federal immigration officers, have heightened anxiety and prompted difficult calculations about whether remaining in the US is worth the risk.
“People are staying indoors. Some have simply stopped going to work,” a Nigerian trader based in the north-east US, who asked to be identified only as a senior immigrant. “Others are finding ways to survive online, selling food or trading goods from their homes.”
Trump relaunched an aggressive immigration agenda immediately after his January 2025 inauguration, ordering ICE to prioritise rapid arrests and removals of undocumented migrants. While previous administrations relied more heavily on targeted operations and court-based removals, the current approach has emphasised visible enforcement, including neighbourhood raids that critics say blur the line between immigration control and criminal policing.
According to ICE data and media reports, about 70,000 people have been detained since the latest crackdown began, with more than 540,000 deported. The human cost has become a focal point of opposition. At least 32 people died in ICE custody in 2025, making it the deadliest year in more than two decades. In the opening weeks of 2026, UK newspaper The Guardian reported at least eight additional deaths linked to ICE interactions.
Two recent fatal shootings in Minneapolis, those of Renée Good on January 7 and Alex Pretti on January 24, have reverberated far beyond the city. Both were killed during federal enforcement operations, with medical examiners ruling the deaths homicides caused by gunshot wounds. The incidents have intensified scrutiny of ICE tactics and deepened fear among immigrant communities nationwide.
For Nigerians, the pressure is acute. Many arrived in the US on temporary visas that later expired, while others are caught in lengthy backlogs for asylum, work authorisation or permanent residency. The enforcement surge has upended fragile coping strategies.
“My shop assistant stopped coming to work in December,” the senior immigrant said. “ICE came to our area, and later to hers in New Jersey. Since then, she’s had constant anxiety.”
She described families abandoning factory jobs and turning to informal, home-based businesses. “One family now cooks food at home and people order online and pick it up quietly. Another survives on contributions from relatives. This is where people are.”
Social media has amplified these anxieties. A viral Instagram video shows a Nigerian woman in tears, describing the killing of Pretti , an intensive care nurse at the Minneapolis VA Medical Center, and accusing ICE of indiscriminate violence. “They don’t care whether you are a citizen or not,” she said. “If you want immigrants to leave America, just say so.”
Community leaders say the fear is real, but options are limited. Mrs Chris Ademiluyi, president of the Nigerian community in Maryland, said many affected migrants were choosing to go into hiding rather than return to Nigeria.
“Nigeria is not any better economically or security-wise,” she said. “People are scared here, but they are also scared of what awaits them at home. So they disappear, they don’t talk, they don’t come out.”
The dilemma has also played out in churches and community forums. Shola Adeoye, lead pastor of Lighthouse/Rejuvenation Church in Rosenberg, Texas, warned in a Facebook post that Nigerians were leaving the US out of fear. “It’s not wise to bury yourself before death,” he wrote, urging people not to panic. The post triggered heated debate, with some arguing that voluntary departure was preferable to the trauma of forced deportation.
“Whoever leaves involuntarily by ICE may never want to return,” wrote one commenter. “The trauma will be too much.”
Beyond enforcement, policy changes have narrowed legal pathways for Nigerians. The Nigerian Center, a non-profit immigration and cultural organisation based in Washington DC, says requests for help have surged since late 2025.
“The problem is multi-layered,” said Gbenga Ogunjimi, the organisation’s executive director. “Nigeria was designated a Country of Particular Concern, and then moved to a partial visa ban. Most visa categories and non-immigrant visas were suspended.”
The consequences extend beyond travel. According to Ogunjimi, the restrictions also affect Nigerians already in the US by limiting their ability to apply for citizenship, green cards, work permits and asylum. “Many people didn’t realise that staying here would suddenly close off those options,” he said.
The Nigerian Center has responded by issuing policy briefs and advising migrants on how to navigate the new legal terrain. In some cases, it has urged people not to rush into leaving.
“We’ve seen people considering self-deportation when their situation isn’t actually that bad,” Ogunjimi said. “Someone who overstayed a visitor visa by a short period may still qualify for a waiver. Leaving immediately could make things worse.”
Still, uncertainty is driving decisions. “We are seeing self-deportation,” he added. “People come in asking: if I leave now, can I ever come back? We explain the law, but the fear is pushing many to weigh options they never imagined.”
For now, there are no reliable figures on how many Nigerians have already returned home. What is clear is that the enforcement campaign has altered behaviour, hollowing out workplaces and pushing economic activity into the shadows.
As Trump doubles down on his immigration stance, the Nigerian experience illustrates a broader reality of the crackdown: beyond the headline numbers of arrests and removals, fear itself has become a powerful instrument of policy, reshaping lives long before any deportation order is issued.
