Us deportee's odyssey: from ice to eswatini prison, then home
Pheap Rom, a Cambodian man deported by the United States, endured a circuitous and unsettling journey that culminated in nearly a year of incarceration in Eswatini – a nation he initially mistook for another American detention facility. His story casts a stark light on the escalating practice of third-country deportations and the often-opaque processes involved.
A plea deal, a deportation order, and a misplaced destination
Rom, who arrived in the US as a refugee at the age of three, served a 15-year sentence for four counts of attempted murder after pleading guilty. Upon release, he anticipated deportation to Cambodia, a prospect he stated he accepted. What he didn't expect was a detour to Eswatini, a small landlocked nation nestled between South Africa and Mozambique. “Even if you were a convicted felon, at the end of the day we still deserve due process,” Rom stated, highlighting the fundamental right at stake.
He isn't alone. Since 2025, the US has deported fifteen individuals to Eswatini, including the initial group of five in July and ten more, including Rom, in October. All were placed in the Matsapha correctional complex, a maximum-security prison. The US government labels these individuals as “dangerous criminals,” a designation disputed by their lawyers, who maintain they had already completed their sentences within the American justice system.
But what truly separates Rom's experience from the standard deportation narrative is the sheer disorientation of it all. “I thought it was another immigration detention centre in Louisiana when I first read the name,” he admitted, underscoring the lack of preparation and communication surrounding his transfer.
Detention conditions and diminishing mental health
The conditions within the Eswatini prison were reportedly grim. Detainees were provided with a meager weekly ration of toilet paper and soap. Initially, clothing was shared due to limited resources, and access to the outside world was severely restricted. “It was making them go crazy,” Rom recounted, describing the deterioration of mental health among the detainees. One man reportedly began a 30-day hunger strike. Only after considerable time were detainees granted access to mobile phones and more time outside their cells, a small concession in a system that felt deeply unjust.
The financial implications are also noteworthy. Eswatini has received $5.1 million from the US government to accept up to 160 deportees, raising questions about the ethical considerations of outsourcing detention to nations with potentially questionable human rights records.
A system under scrutiny
Rom's eventual deportation to Cambodia in March offers a rare glimpse into the US’s third-country deportation program, increasingly utilized under the Trump administration. The process, he says, lacked transparency and legal recourse. “I had no opportunity to speak to a lawyer after learning I would be sent to Eswatini and my repeated attempts to object were fruitless,” he said. His final words from US immigration officials? “Pack your shit and get the fuck out.” The image of these men, shackled and crammed into the back of a jet for 21 hours, underscores the dehumanizing aspects of this policy.
While Cambodian and Jamaican governments have stated they would have readily accepted their nationals directly from the US, the questionable legality and ethical implications of this practice remain. The US Department of Homeland Security has yet to respond to inquiries regarding Rom’s case, leaving many questions unanswered and highlighting the urgent need for greater oversight and accountability in the nation's deportation policies. The journey of Pheap Rom serves as a chilling reminder of the human cost of these policies, a cost far exceeding the legal justifications often offered.