At a federal courthouse in San Diego, Assim Alkhawaja waited nervously outside an immigration office, unsure whether he would walk out freely or be taken back into detention. The 53-year-old coffee entrepreneur has a valid work permit, a pending asylum case and no criminal convictions. Yet his life has been transformed by an ICE arrest, eight days behind bars and a bulky GPS monitor attached to his ankle.

Nearly every week, Alkhawaja must report to immigration officials or prepare for visits connected to his monitoring requirements. Each appointment brings the same anxiety, because others in similar circumstances have reportedly been detained without warning during routine check-ins. Questions about where he lives and works have become part of his new routine. For Alkhawaja, the uncertainty surrounding every meeting has become almost as difficult as the legal battle itself.

Before his arrest, Alkhawaja was focused on building a future in Southern California. He owns Sands Coffee Roasters, a small family-operated business that began with a coffee cart and later expanded toward a permanent storefront. He imports specialty beans and sells drinks including Turkish coffee and flavored lattes. Alkhawaja also holds a doctorate from the University of San Francisco and hoped his education and business would strengthen his future.

Everything changed in February when Alkhawaja was working as a rideshare driver to earn additional money. He was dropping off passengers at Camp Pendleton, the sprawling military base in San Diego County, when guards asked to see his identification. After showing his driver’s license and work permit, he said ICE agents arrived and questioned him about his immigration case before telling him that he was being taken into custody.

Alkhawaja said he initially believed there had been some kind of mistake. Instead, he was handcuffed and transported to an immigration office before being offered money to leave the United States voluntarily. He refused. Later, he was transferred to the Otay Mesa detention center, where he spent more than a week uncertain about when he might be released or whether he could be moved somewhere else in the country.

Inside the facility, Alkhawaja said he experienced a world that felt deliberately dehumanizing. His personal belongings were taken, and he was given clothing identifying him as a detainee. He shared space with other frightened people who also did not know what would happen next. Alkhawaja described poor conditions, unpleasant drinking water and a system where basic comforts appeared to come with additional costs.

His case also highlights a complicated part of the American immigration system. Alkhawaja has authorization to work while his asylum application remains pending, but that permission does not necessarily provide the same legal status as permanent residency or citizenship. His attorney argued that people in this position can follow the rules, apply for asylum properly and still find themselves vulnerable to arrest, detention and removal proceedings.

The Department of Homeland Security pointed to an arrest involving Alkhawaja more than two decades ago, describing it as part of his history. However, his attorney said he has no criminal convictions and argued that the old incident should not prevent him from pursuing asylum. Alkhawaja has maintained that he was never convicted of wrongdoing and believes the decades-old episode is now being used to justify his detention.

After relatives and supporters helped secure his release, Alkhawaja returned to his family and his coffee business, but he did not return to his previous life. The GPS device remains attached to his ankle, while the threat of deportation hangs over everything he does. Even ordinary activities, including running his business or visiting immigration offices, are now accompanied by constant concern about what might happen next.

Despite the fear, Alkhawaja says the support he has received from customers, activists and strangers has given him hope. Donations were collected to help with legal and business expenses, while local residents have visited his shop simply to show solidarity. His goal remains remarkably simple: to win his asylum case, continue building his coffee business and finally live normally. For now, however, that future remains in the hands of the immigration system.