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This story was produced in partnership with the Global Reporting Centre at the University of British Columbia's School of Journalism, Writing and Media.
“My name is Salim Elhadi. I am 43 years old, Sudanese, and I lived in Omdurman, Sudan, before I fled the country in 2023. I cannot return to Sudan.”
On May 29, 2024, Elhadi (a pseudonym) reached Vancouverite Mark Jacobs by phone, telling his story from a crowded arrivals area in Istanbul Airport, where he was caught in a maddening limbo.
Eleven days earlier, Elhadi had embarked on what he assumed would be an uneventful journey from his temporary base in the United Arab Emirates to Cuba, where he hoped to make a new home. As far as he was concerned, he had everything in order and ready to present to authorities — tickets, visa, money and hotel reservations in Havana.
He boarded his Turkish Airlines flight in Abu Dhabi without a problem. But when it touched down in Istanbul Airport on a scheduled transit stop, everything ground to a halt for Elhadi.
After he presented all his documents for flying the next leg to Cuba, he was refused boarding. Then began five months held inside the airport without food, luggage and access to legal counsel. He was deprived, as well, of any clear explanation for why he’d been stopped in his tracks, or how to solve things. To make matters more frustrating, there was a growing impression that somehow his predicament was tied to faceless officials in faraway Washington, D.C.
Jacobs recognized Elhadi’s name when he called. He had been expecting to hear from him. A retired lawyer, Jacobs happened to be a friend of Elhadi’s sister, Nada Yusuf (another pseudonym). They met in Darfur, where they were both working for the United Nations World Food Programme years earlier. When Yusuf mentioned her brother’s holdup at Istanbul, Jacobs offered his help.
But making good on his promise wasn’t easy. For weeks on end, Jacobs worked behind the scenes to help Elhadi any way he could — daily calls, hiring lawyers, wiring money — but his efforts could not cut through the complex web of bureaucracy that held Elhadi captive.
“I’m a lawyer, and I can't make sense of any of this,” says Jacobs with exasperation. He marvels at Elhadi’s calm tenacity while in such surreal, pressure-packed circumstances. “It’s really just a testament to his intellect, and his persistence, and his desperation.”
What emerges from Elhadi’s ordeal reveals a disturbing possibility: that U.S. immigration policy exerts influence over international travel routes — even routes with no connection to the United States — subjecting travellers like Elhadi to arbitrary captivity, racial profiling and human rights violations.
An RSF intelligence target
Elhadi is one of more than two million displaced people who have fled Sudan since the conflict between the Sudanese Armed Forces, or SAF, and the Rapid Support Forces, or RSF, erupted in April 2023. Another 10 million have been uprooted internally, according to the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre, making Sudan the world’s largest internal displacement crisis.
As a former surveillance employee of the SAF’s Ministry of Defence, Elhadi says that in the lead-up to the war he became a target of special interest to the RSF — the paramilitary group that emerged from the Janjaweed militias in the early 2000s. Both sides are accused of widespread atrocities; however, the breakdown in negotiations to integrate the RSF into the SAF — a key condition following the 2021 military coup — ultimately sparked open conflict in Sudan’s capital, Khartoum.
Elhadi’s home was Omdurman, which sits opposite Khartoum on the banks of the Nile River. Elhadi, a tech guy, was working as part of a team installing street surveillance cameras across Sudan’s major cities. It’s a relatively entry-level position on the scale of Ministry of Defence jobs, but when an intelligence officer from the RSF took notice of him and began coercing Elhadi to spy on the SAF, Elhadi felt nervous.
When the war broke out, threats against him escalated and Elhadi — like millions of others — became displaced. He made the treacherous journey through Sudan and south to Ethiopia, where he applied for a one-year emergency visa for the United Arab Emirates, reaching Abu Dhabi in October 2023.
The UAE has been supplying weapons, ammunition and medical equipment to the RSF since the war broke out. Elhadi knew it wasn’t his safest option, but it felt “more safe,” he said, than Khartoum and the burden of ongoing threats. He saw it as a stepping-stone to whatever came next. He quickly began looking at his options. There weren’t many — having a Sudanese passport isn’t easy.
From Abu Dhabi, a person from Sudan is able to travel to a very small handful of places with relative ease, including some African countries, Malaysia and a cluster of Caribbean islands such as Dominica, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, and Cuba.
Elhadi says his priority was getting “as far away from Africa and the Middle East as possible.” He says he spent months looking on Google and YouTube at options in Asia and South America. Cuba stood out to him because of its affordability — you can live for around $200 per month — and a friend who visited Havana enjoyed the city and its friendly people. He made a booking.
Elhadi’s journey to date
Elhadi travels to Ad-Damazin to visit his family, before doubling back to Al Qadarif to cross into Ethiopia via the Gallabat crossing. He went this way because of how precarious it would have been travelling directly south from Khartoum, where the war originated and was escalating.
From Metema, he travelled to Addis Ababa. Elhadi is one of more than two million people who fled Sudan since the conflict erupted in April 2023 between the Sudanese Armed Forces and the Rapid Support Forces. Another 10 million have been internally displaced, making Sudan the largest internal displacement crisis in the world.
From Addis Ababa, Elhadi receives an emergency visa to the United Arab Emirates. In October, he arrives in Abu Dhabi.
Aware that the UAE is a close ally of the RSF, Elhadi says his priority was getting “as far away from Africa and the Middle East as possible.” He says he spent months looking on Google and YouTube at options in Asia and South America. Elhadi decided on Cuba for its affordability and the relatively easy access to obtain a tourist e-visa (few countries look kindly at a Sudanese passport). His plan was to seek asylum there — the queue wouldn’t be too long, he thought. Elhadi booked a return flight to Havana and a hotel, and made sure he had a few hundred dollars in his bank account — all things he knew he might be asked at immigration.
A new global travel hub
In the early hours of the morning on May 18, Elhadi’s flight to Havana began boarding at Istanbul Airport departures. He lined up, half asleep, and slowly made his way towards the two men checking passports and visas. He held up his documents.
According to Elhadi, the man on the gate, from Gözen Security, told him he couldn’t fly because he didn’t have a travel history. Elhadi had a new passport, issued in 2022, with a visa for Cuba, and stamps from the UAE and Ethiopia. “I said, ‘My passport is a new passport,’” Elhadi repeated in frustration. He was sent to an office where another Gözen Security guard told him his papers were fine, but that he should “go back to Africa,” he said.
Elhadi knew Turkish Airlines had specific requirements for travellers to Cuba. That’s why he booked an onward ticket to Rwanda, where his sister lives, and a hotel reservation for the duration of his stay. He says his plan was to eventually seek asylum in Cuba.
“At that moment, my brain stopped thinking about anything. I don’t know what I have to do.” He called his sister, Yusuf, who spoke to Jacobs.
For several days, Elhadi roamed the airport while Jacobs and Yusuf pressed Turkish Airlines for answers. Each time, the airline pointed the finger to Gözen Security — a private company licensed under regulations set by the Turkish government. They provide security services for all airlines operating at Istanbul Airport and are responsible for all passenger screening, baggage checks and overall airport security. It was Gözen Security who pulled Elhadi from the flight to Havana.
The Tyee reached out to Turkish Airlines and Gözen Security, but neither responded in time for publication.
When Jacobs persuaded the Cuban Consulate in Istanbul to write a letter to Turkish Airlines confirming Elhadi’s visa as authentic, he thought it would end the saga. “But they started to ignore him then,” said Yusuf. “They started to ignore our emails.”
After several days, Elhadi was moved to a restricted area in arrivals, he said. It was a room closed to the rest of the airport, with no access to food. For two months, Elhadi says, he lived on coffee and biscuits smuggled in by a corrupt janitor from departures who charged three dollars a packet. “I would go to the bathroom in the middle of the night so I could wash from the sink in privacy,” he said. There were no beds, no showers, and he still had no luggage. He shared the space with people from Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Yemen, Cameroon, Syria and Sudan, he says.
When he was caught sharing his phone, Gözen Security confiscated it, allowing him access once a week for one hour. Weeks later, they attempted to deport him back to the UAE, where he has no legal status or right of entry. Jacobs hired Elhadi a lawyer, who helped him apply for international protection, forcing Turkey to consider him for refugee status.
“There's kind of a fairness or equity issue in this situation,” reflected Jacobs. “Unlike the 4.2 million Syrians who fled into Turkey, [Elhadi] didn't flee into Turkey — he had no intention of being in Turkey.”
With his application for international protection filed, Turkish immigration moved Elhadi to another restricted area in the transit zone — still not technically within Turkey’s borders, but he was finally being offered food, mostly cold sandwiches, and had access to a TV.
A 2021 report by the Human Rights Association, or IHD, in Istanbul highlights experiences similar to Elhadi’s, faced by Cameroonians, Moroccans and Tunisians held in Istanbul Airport’s transit zone, which they likened to a state of detention. Their accounts reveal a stark reality marked by continuous harsh conditions: 24-hour bright lights, cold food and a lack of beds and shower facilities.
According to the IHD, this detention-like practice, combined with the conditions that are concreted in Elhadi and others’ stories, amounts to serious human rights violations including the right to freedom and security, the right to travel and settlement, and the right to nutrition, health and humane living.
‘Under orders by the United States’
When Elhadi received an automated email from Turkish Airlines stating, “Certain countries, such as the US, UK, and Israel, have very strict rules concerning visa and passport procedures,” he felt confused — he wasn’t travelling to any of those countries. The statement continued: “Visa and passport controls of our passengers who are travelling to these countries are carried out by the company Gözen Security.”
Elhadi received another email — an unprompted refund for 600 euros from Turkish Airlines “due to flight irregularity,” the email reads.
According to Elhadi’s lawyer, whom The Tyee has agreed to keep anonymous for their own protection, “Gözen Security would be happy for Elhadi to go anywhere,” but they are “under orders by the United States not to let people who look like migrants reach American destinations.”
The Tyee also spoke to Duygu İnegöllü, a human rights and immigration lawyer in Turkey, who reported that police at Istanbul Airport told her that her clients cannot travel to the Americas due to special orders from the United States. “[Turkish police] are saying that they have a kind of agreement or something,” said İnegöllü. “They are trying to be more controlling over people who want to go to the Americas.” She’s been trying to find written proof, she added.
Since the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks, the U.S. has — in varying ways — obsessed over its southwest border with Mexico, from the creation of the Department of Homeland Security in 2003, to Trump’s 2016 election promise of building a “big, beautiful wall” between the U.S. and Mexico, to Biden’s recent sweep of border policies barring migrants who unlawfully cross the southern border from receiving asylum.
Data obtained from U.S. Customs and Border Protection, or CBP, shows a drastic uptick in the number of encounters from “other” people attempting to use Mexico as an entry point to the U.S. in recent years. Between 2021 and 2023, encounters from “others” increased nearly 10-fold from 17,500 to 172,500. The CBP told The Tyee that “others” in their citizenship category consists of nationalities outside the most numerous nationalities listed, which includes people from the Americas, Ukraine, Turkey, Russia, Romania, Philippines, Myanmar, India, China and Canada. The CBP was unable to tell The Tyee what specific countries are included in the “other” category, but confirmed that African countries would be included.
It’s not cheap for the U.S. to deport unauthorized nationals from beyond the Americas. Since the Trump administration, anyone being deported by Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE, other than Mexican citizens, who are deported over the land border, must be flown home within 90 days, requiring co-ordination with the person’s host government for a repatriation flight. This isn’t easy for countries like Sudan faced with geopolitical chaos. A 2019 report by the Department of Homeland Security states, “Some detainees, such as Palestinians, and others became stateless when countries such as the former Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, Ethiopia, and Sudan fragmented.” The same report states that ICE spends US$132.59 per day to detain a single person, 31 per cent of which are eventually released into the U.S. because of a lack of co-operation with the host government.
In 2022, the White House signed the Los Angeles Declaration on Migration and Protection — a multilateral agreement among the Americas to create “safer and more orderly migration.” The regional approach reflects a strategic effort by the Americas to tackle “irregular” migration collectively, potentially limiting external migration access through intensified border management and co-operation among the signatory countries.
Meanwhile, Turkey has been positioning itself as a major travel hub, connecting Europe with the Middle East, Africa and Asia. In 2018, Turkey opened its new “Grand Airport" in Istanbul. A senior executive told the Daily Sabah (a Turkish news outlet criticized for pro-government bias) that the expansion positions the airport to become the largest civil aviation hub in the world. “Istanbul Airport is breaking records in European aviation,” said CEO Selahattin Bilgen. “About 80 per cent of our passengers are international, and half of these are [transit] passengers.” A transit passenger is someone, like Elhadi, who lands in Istanbul simply to transfer to another flight elsewhere.
According to FlightConnections, nearly 90 per cent of flights to and from Istanbul Airport are operated by Turkish Airlines, which is 49 per cent state owned, giving the Turkish government significant power over who travels to and through the country.
The Tyee looked at journeys from 16 of Africa’s busiest airports and found that Istanbul Airport was the most common transit airport for flights to Havana, the only option which doesn’t require a laborious and costly visa.
Schengen countries are notoriously difficult for Africans to travel to, or through. The three countries with the highest Schengen visa rejection rates are all African countries — Guinea-Bissau, Senegal and Nigeria — which had over 50 per cent of applications rejected. In November 2022, Coco Em, a Kenyan DJ, went viral on Twitter after EgyptAir refused her travel to Cape Verde via Amsterdam, forcing her to miss her own set at Festival Terra Sagrada. In a tweet, she says that airport staff expressed their worry that she would stay in Amsterdam. “They feel that when (not if) I am deported from Amsterdam they will have to cover the cost of my return and they want to avoid taking this loss by making me buy a second return flight on their airline.” Similar to Elhadi, the artist already had a return flight with another airline.
Flight paths from 16 of the busiest airports in Africa to Havana
In September, Turkish Airlines made international headlines amid a corruption scandal involving New York Mayor Eric Adams. Reports revealed that Adams received years of free or heavily discounted flights, hotel stays and foreign campaign contributions in exchange for political favours to the Turkish government.
Also this year, Reuters reported that Russia had accused the United States of pressuring Turkish Airlines to deny flights to Russians heading to Mexico. “The reason, I think, is easy to guess,” said Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Sergei Ryabkov to the TASS state news agency. "It lies in the pressure that is exerted on the authorities of this country by Washington." According to Reuters, two undisclosed industry sources backed up the claim, but Ryabkov didn’t provide evidence for the accusation.
The Tyee reached out to the U.S. State Department, the U.S. Department of Justice and the U.S. Department of Homeland Security, none of which offered to comment.
In a Russian-speaking Telegram group with nearly 3,000 members “for people removed from a flight and affected by Turkish Airlines, without explanation of the reasons,” several people stranded at Istanbul Airport reported that Turkish Airlines denied their flights to South American countries without explanation.
‘It was like a freezer’
After two months in the transit zone, Elhadi and the other asylum seekers were moved to yet another part of the airport — the worst yet.
“Last month, I spent it inside jail in the airport.” Elhadi took long pauses as he described the hardest part of his story.
He said all of the asylum seekers were in their cells alone with only five minutes to leave and stretch their legs. “Even jail is better because you can call your family and you have two to three hours outside at least,” he said.
It was so cold, says Elhadi, that his bones started to hurt. “It was like a freezer,” he said. Elhadi spent all day under a blanket and said he started to feel “crazy.” He still didn’t have his luggage for a change of clothes, and now he had no way to wash — “the water was freezing cold,” he said.
The outside world, including Elhadi’s sister, his lawyer and Jacobs, wasn’t aware of the severity of Elhadi’s time at Istanbul Airport. They were busy trying to find a country for Elhadi to travel to with a possibility of securing a work visa and building a future. But that wasn’t quick or easy. After hearing how afraid her brother sounded on a phone call she received (she says she could hear men in the background telling him what to say), she applied for a one-month tourist visa to Ethiopia — where he’d fled one year earlier.
After receiving the visa, Elhadi traded his right to seek asylum for a ticket to Addis Ababa. He has only a few more weeks to enjoy freedom before his 60-day visa expires. “Still I’m not believing I’m out,” sighed Elhadi, who is enjoying basic hotel facilities — hot water, TV, internet. He’s still waiting for his luggage, and is struggling with what his next move will be.
Jacobs said Elhadi’s saga provided a glimpse of a bureaucratic maze that extends across oceans and can trap law-abiding migrants for shadowy reasons.
“Elhadi is a symbol of the many millions of people for whom the world is just way bigger and more powerful than they are, and capricious with their life,” said Jacobs. “And not capricious about dumbass things, but capricious about whether they get to live or not.”
Read more: Rights + Justice, Politics
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