For Georgina Oba, 46, who now lives in Rancho Cordova, leaving an abusive marriage was never a simple decision.

Like many immigrant women building new lives in the United States, Oba’s world was bound to her American husband financially, socially, and legally when she moved to Texas from Nigeria in 2015. Reporting abuse brought fears that went far beyond the violence itself.

Black immigrant women have learned that leaving an abusive partner can mean risking everything: housing, economic security, immigration status, and sometimes even their connection to their community. 

Those risks often keep survivors silent.

Advocates who work with immigrant survivors say abusers frequently exploit those fears as a way to maintain control.

“Abusers can weaponize the immigration system by telling victims, ‘If you call the police, they’ll deport you, and you’ll never see your children again,’” says Cecilia Levin, legal director with the Alliance for Immigrant Survivors.

Even when those threats are legally false, they can be powerful. Many immigrant survivors are unfamiliar with specific U.S. legal protections available to them, such as the Violence Against Women Act, which allows victims to seek their own legal status, or the U visa, which can provide temporary legal status for survivors of certain crimes. Some also fear interacting with government agencies.

For Mariam Jalloh, 36, leaving meant rebuilding her life from the ground up.

When Jalloh left Sierra Leone for the United States in 2011, she believed she was stepping into a safer future. A year after she moved to the USA, she met an African man from a similar background. They married traditionally, and relocated to another state to build a life together.

But what began as a hopeful new chapter gradually turned into a controlling and abusive relationship.

For six years, Jalloh endured emotional and financial control. Eventually, he forced her and their children out of their home, including her son on the autism spectrum, leaving them with little support.

At that moment, she faced a difficult choice.

“After I left, he begged me to go back, and I said to myself, it’s either I go back or I make it,” Jalloh recalled. “And I didn’t want to go back.”

Today, Jalloh works as a domestic violence and homelessness advocate, using her own experience to help other survivors find safety, independence, and stability.

Her story reflects the challenges many African and immigrant women in the United States face, often navigating cultural expectations, immigration fears, and limited access to information about available resources and support.

The Invisible Numbers

Understanding the scope of domestic violence among Black immigrant women is difficult because the data does not exist.

Many nonprofits that serve survivors say they do not collect information about immigration or refugee status.

That means no official statistics track how many Black immigrant women in California have experienced domestic violence.

“We allow people to opt in to providing information about their identity,” says Beth Hassett, CEO and executive director of WEAVE. “Some people just aren’t comfortable sharing that.”

Even when race is reported, it may not distinguish between African Americans and immigrants from Africa or the Caribbean.

“If someone tells us they identify as Black, we don’t necessarily know their background,” Hassett says.

Organizations also avoid collecting immigration status to protect survivors’ privacy.

State and federal data systems rarely combine information about intimate partner violence with immigration or nativity status.

National research, however, offers a troubling benchmark.

Studies show that Black women in the United States experience some of the highest rates of intimate partner violence, with roughly 40% to more than 50% reporting abuse in their lifetimes.

Hassett explains that those numbers likely reflect the experiences of Black immigrant women as well, even though their stories aren’t reflected in official statistics.

Advocates say the lack of data leaves Black immigrant survivors largely invisible in domestic violence research and policy discussions. They say improved data collection, paired with safeguards to protect survivors’ privacy, could help governments and service providers better understand the scale of the problem and direct resources to communities that may be underserved.

Local law enforcement data gives a view of the wider scale of domestic violence in the region. Records from the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Office show 7,601 domestic violence incidents or calls for service between 2022 and 2024.

The data shows the majority of reported victims were women. In 2022, 2,683 incidents were reported. In 2023, 2,540 incidents were reported; in 2024, 2,378.

Across those three years, 6,074 victims were female, compared with 1,518 male victims.

The records also show hundreds of Black victims each year: 808 in 2022, 711 in 2023, 689 in 2024.

Hassett cautions that statistics likely undercount the true scale of domestic violence within immigrant communities. Language barriers, fear of deportation, and mistrust of law enforcement frequently discourage survivors from reporting abuse.

The sheriff’s office also confirmed that language preference is not tracked in its domestic violence data, making it hard to analyze how immigrant communities are affected.

Silence Born Of Fear, Cultural Barriers

For immigrant survivors, the fear of deportation can loom over every decision.

Advocates say abusers often manipulate immigration status as a mode of control, threatening to withdraw sponsorship, hide documents, or report their partner to immigration authorities. This can be devastating for women whose legal status depends on their spouse.

But advocates point out that U.S. law provides protections for immigrant survivors.

Under provisions in the Violence Against Women Act, victims of domestic violence can apply for legal status independent of their abusive spouse. Survivors of certain crimes may also qualify for U visas, which provide temporary legal status and a path to permanent residency.

Navigating those protections can be complicated.

Carol Bernard of ASISTA Immigration Assistance says frequent policy changes and long immigration backlogs often create confusion, especially under the current federal administration.

“By the time advocates explain one policy change to survivors, another change is already happening,” Bernard says.

That uncertainty can make survivors reluctant to come forward even when help is available.

For many Black immigrant women, cultural expectations add another layer of difficulty.

In some communities, divorce carries stigma. Women who report abuse may face pressure to reconcile or keep family matters private.

“Black immigrants are often invisible in both spaces,” says Greta Gardner, chief legal officer at UJIMA. “Their experiences are affected by racism, immigration status, and gender-based violence all at the same time.”

Advocates say that the intersection of challenges often leaves Black immigrant women underserved by mainstream domestic violence services and broader immigrant support systems.

Chrishania Robinson, director of training and technical assistance at UJIMA, says fear within immigrant communities also has changed how organizations operate.

“Even our programming has shifted online because people are afraid to meet in person,” Robinson says.

For Jalloh, culture played a major role in her experience.

“In our culture, divorce is a no-no,” says Jalloh, who identifies as Fulani. “They expect you to stay and work things out, no matter what.”

Family members sometimes pressure women to remain in marriages even when there is abuse.

“They believe if you separate, the family will break apart,” she says.

Oba says she faced similar expectations.

“My family back home advised me to stay and pray,” she says. “I did that, but nothing changed.”

Without relatives nearby in the United States, she felt trapped.

“I didn’t have anyone here,” she says.

Eventually, enrolling at a community college helped her connect with a friend who introduced her to a support organization. With their help, she left the relationship and continued her education on a scholarship. She is in business in Rancho Cordova and lives with a caring partner.

Prosecutors emphasize that immigration status does not prevent victims from seeking justice. “Immigration status does not play any role in whether we file a case,” says Sonia Martinez Satchell of the Sacramento County District Attorney’s Office.

Satchell also describes resources victims can access through the DA’s office.

“Any victim of domestic violence will be contacted by a victim advocate in our office,” Satchell says. “They help victims go through the criminal justice process and sign up for services available to them.”

Advocacy And Hope

Since leaving her abusive marriage, Jalloh has become an advocate for other survivors, participating in policy events and training programs created to increase awareness about domestic violence.

In 2023, she traveled to Sacramento to attend California Policy Advocacy Day, organized by the California Partnership to End Domestic Violence. Jalloh attended as a representative of Rainbow Services, joining advocates and survivors who met with lawmakers to discuss domestic violence policy and resources for survivors.

Her experiences in shelters also informed her perspective.

“When you go through the shelter system and meet other families, you start to understand what people are facing,” she says.

Now she hopes her story can help other immigrant women recognize they are not alone.

“I know we can’t help everybody,” she says. “But even if we help one or two people, it matters.”

For many survivors, advocates say, simply knowing help exists can be the first step toward safety.

For Jalloh, survival has become a mission.

“I was alone for a long time,” she says. “But now I want other women to know they are not alone.”

Resources For Survivors

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, help is available. The following organizations in the Sacramento area provide confidential support, emergency shelter, legal assistance, and counseling, including services for immigrant and refugee survivors.

WEAVE: 24-hour crisis line: 916-920-2952

My Sister’s House:  Multilingual 24-hour helpline: 916-428-3271

Sacramento Regional Family Justice Center:  916-875-4673

Opening Doors Inc.:  916-492-2591

Catholic Charities of Sacramento: 916-313-7604

UJIMA: 1-844-77-UJIMA

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233), text START to 88788: Available 24 hours a day in more than 200 languages and can connect callers to local support services.

If you are in immediate danger, call 9-1-1.