LANSING, Mich. — Five suitcases are scattered around Samuel Kangethe's living room in his home in West Lansing, a neighborhood lined with tall trees and big front yards in Michigan's capital. Clothes mixed with finance and accounting books, and somewhere in the chaos are his Air Jordan sneakers.
"I just want to take the clothes that I need," Kangethe says. "I don't know, it's just too much."
Too much trying to pack 16 years of his life into a handful of suitcases, and deciding what to pack, and what to leave behind.
Kangethe is leaving the U.S., the country where he earned graduate degrees through a student visa, where he worked as an accountant for a beer distribution company and for the State of Michigan, where he fell in love with his wife Latavia and where he became a dad of three: 13-year-old Dwight, 11-year-old Hailey, and 5-year-old Ella.
"For me it has been an absolute privilege to be in this country, like (an) absolute privilege," Kangethe says.
But Kangethe has decided to go back to his home country of Kenya because he's afraid of being picked up by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and being sent to an immigration detention center in some other state or even a prison overseas.
He has no criminal record in the U.S., and says he has committed no crimes. But he nonetheless faces removal proceedings after an immigration official ruled his previous marriage fraudulent in 2014. Kangethe says he presented evidence to fight the claims.
But that court case was pushed back during the COVID-19 pandemic, and eventually dropped from the immigration court docket. His new court hearing was set for January 2026. But, because an immigration judge has not ruled on his case, Kangethe has been left in a legal limbo and is considered deportable.
NPR first reported on Kangethe's case last month, and is documenting his journey as he returns home.
"Deportation is the worst thing that would come out of this case," Kangethe says. "How about if I take myself out as a show of good faith?"
The 'safest' option
Kangethe moves slowly around the house, as he sips coffee he brewed earlier.
He jokes he's still "recovering" from his wife's surprise farewell party. Dozens of friends showed up, and the confetti scattered across his backyard tells the story.
"She got me super emotional because you don't think of this stuff until something happens to you," Kangethe says, adding that the event showed him "who can step up for me or who have you influenced or how far have you touched peoples' lives."
He wishes he didn't have to leave the U.S.
But he sees it as a way to show he's taking accountability for his situation.
"This is the safest option that I had on the table for me," Kangethe says. "So you can imagine, this is the safest but also it's the decision that is probably going to hurt me the most. It's hurting me and I feel that it's because of me that the kids are going to be hurting, too."
He worries how his family will manage without him. They'll now have one income to get by on. They're partly relying on a fundraiser set up by friends on GoFundMe to help pay the mortgage as well as groceries and school-related expenses.
He says U.S. deportation policies create the very problem they're meant to solve —forcing families left behind in the U.S. into government dependency.
"You deport this guy, it's fine, it's just one person who left but then, what did he leave behind that we have to take care of as a country," Kangethe says. "You are taking me, and now you are taking my responsibilities."
An uncertain new life
The next day, Kanhethe arrives at the Detroit Metro Airport in a red pickup truck. A group of friends have come with him to help him carry all of his bags and send him off.
Lawrence Hiti, a friend from Kenya who also lives in Lansing, joined Kangethe at the airport.
"It's sad because he's a long (time) friend, but you have to accept it," Hiti says while taking photos with his phone of Kangethe at the airport's curbside. "It's his decision — I think he made the best decision for himself."
Kangethe says his family stayed back home — it was too hard on them.
"The reason they didn't come to the airport with me it's because it was ugly. It was ugly leaving the house," Kangethe says. "I felt like I had to run from them because there weren't enough 'byes', there weren't enough hugs."
His 5-year-old daughter Ella begged him to stay.
His sister Elizabeth flew in from Kenya to help him pack and navigate the journey back home.
She says she has mixed feelings — sad about him leaving his family, but also looking forward to showing him around the country he's been away from for nearly two decades.
"It was a bit heartbreaking when we were saying the goodbyes and everything, the kids were all heartbroken," Elizabeth says. "So I would really, really hope that he managed to come back and see them."
That won't be easy. Kangethe has no idea when-or if-he can return. He might face a 10-year ban. His case hangs in limbo without a judge's decision.
But his sister says she hopes in the meantime that Kangethe is able to adapt to Kenyan culture, since he's lived in the U.S. for so long.
"I'm really praying that he will be able to come and absorb everything and adapt into the new environment because things are totally different," Elizabeth says. "But I'm here to guide him."
Kangethe is ready.
As he walks to the airport gate he makes one last video call with his loved ones.
But the time has come.
Kangethe walks through the doors of Gate A60.
An uncertain new life awaits in Kenya, while his family in the U.S. also anxiously waits for the next time they'll see each other.
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