Cape Verde advertises itself as a peaceful island paradise. What they don’t say is that at the Sal Airport, Nigerians can be singled out, locked up, harassed, and deported without a shred of due process.
When I boarded a flight to Cape Verde on April 13, I was expecting two weeks of rest and sunshine. I’m a Nigerian software engineer based in Lagos, and I’d planned a vacation with four friends: Lily, Abimbola, David, and Jesutomi.
We were going to explore the islands Sal, Praia, São Vicente and just breathe. We booked our flights and hotels. We had return tickets, internal flights between islands, over $3,000 cash and multiple dollar cards in collective spending money, and no intention of overstaying a single day.
But we never got past the airport. The moment we landed at Amílcar Cabral International Airport in Sal, immigration officer Antonio Lima pulled all five of us aside. He didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t inspect our documents. He just herded us away from the rest of the passengers.
Within two minutes of arriving, we were being escorted, not to customs, but to the boarding gate we had just walked through. We were told to get back on the plane. I asked why.
Antonio Lima, whose breath reeked of alcohol, refused to answer. When I told him we had valid visas and bookings, he grabbed my arm. Things escalated fast. Armed police officers showed up. Abimbola was slammed to the ground. We were told we were going to be “sent back,” but no one would say why.
We hadn’t been processed. We hadn’t spoken to any proper immigration officials. We were treated like criminals before even being admitted into the country.
Then they took us to a small, windowless room inside the airport. That was our detention center. No phone calls. No food for hours. No access to our bags. I take medication for a medical condition, but they confiscated it along with everything else.
We stayed locked up in that room for the next three days.They brought us food that was nearly inedible. We couldn’t bathe. We slept on the cold floor with the lights on 24/7. A cleaner had to let us use the bathroom when she could, but we had no idea what was going on. They gave us no legal documents. No charges.
No reason for our detention. They refused to explain anything in English. We kept asking: “Why are we here?” The guards just shrugged. On Monday, an officer told me my lawyer was waiting for me at the police station. That was a lie. When I arrived, there was no lawyer. Just the same border officers, a translator, and the immigration chief, Erica Ferreira.
They asked me to give a statement. I agreed, thinking I’d finally be able to explain who we were and why we had come. But it wasn’t a statement—they wanted a confession. They tried to get me to say that Lily, one of my friends, was a human trafficker.
I was shocked. I refused. I told them the truth: I work as a senior engineer with international clients. I’ve travelled to 10 countries. I don’t need to traffic anyone. We were on vacation, nothing more. I showed them our bookings, return flights, and bank balances. Still, they held us. By Wednesday, after three days in detention, they returned our phones. It was the first time we were able to contact our families. That afternoon, we were taken to the tarmac and forced onto a plane bound for Senegal. No court hearing. No right of appeal.
Just gone. At the last minute, they handed us a letter. It claimed our documents were “incomplete or invalid.”
That was false. We had everything, passports, return tickets, hotel confirmations, proof of funds. If they wanted to deny us entry, they could’ve done it legally. Instead, they detained us in secret and tried to build a lie. I believe the only reason we were targeted was because we are Nigerians.We weren’t loud. We weren’t aggressive. We followed every rule. But from the moment we arrived, we were treated like suspects. We were locked up, starved, lied to, and threatened without any explanation or legal process.
What Cape Verde did was not immigration policy. It was humiliation. And it was clear from the start that they thought no one would care.
But I’m telling my story because this shouldn’t happen to anyone, anywhere. Not for the crime of holding a Nigerian passport.This was not just a ruined vacation. It was a violation of my rights and I want the world to know.
.Adaware is a software engineer with seven years of professional experience. He is passionate about travel and remains committed to overcoming
the challenges he has faced as a Nigerian citizen navigating international borders
