Albanian Criminal Dorian Puka Flaunts Luxury Cars in UK Amid Deportation and Asylum Row

Deported Twice, Yet Still Here: The Case of Dorian Puka

Dorian Puka isn’t your average asylum seeker. At just 28, the Albanian national has been deported from the UK twice for burglary convictions. But instead of disappearing from public view, he’s grabbed headlines by re-entering the country, filing for asylum, and posting about his lavish lifestyle for everyone to see. While the Home Office confirms his current removal is blocked as his asylum case crawls through the courts, Puka is making sure everyone knows exactly where he is—and what he’s driving.

Puka’s social media showcases him at the wheel of a £300,000 Ferrari and cruising in an £80,000 Mercedes with a personalized DO24 AMG license plate. In one TikTok video, he records himself driving the flashy Mercedes towards Oxford, seemingly without a care in the world. It’s a brazen tell-off that’s both infuriating politicians and fueling the ongoing debate about abuse of the UK’s immigration system.

Luxury Cars and Legal Loopholes: Why Puka’s Case Has Sparked Outrage

This isn’t just about one man enjoying his freedom. Puka’s situation has become a lightning rod in the heated discussion around asylum claims, deportation efficiency, and the broader challenges facing the UK’s border system. Politicians like Nigel Farage have wasted no time calling out what they see as glaring weaknesses, accusing authorities of being made fools of by the very people they’re meant to keep out.

The delay in processing asylum applications has thrown a wrench in the works for border officials. Thanks to a combination of legal appeals and a backlog now stretching for years, even someone with multiple convictions and removals like Puka can remain legally protected for open-ended periods. The Home Office’s hands are tied—until his asylum case wraps up, deportation is off the table. Puka’s highly visible defiance only sharpens calls for urgent review and reform of policies, particularly the influence of the European Convention on Human Rights, which critics argue makes removals unnecessarily cumbersome.

Puka isn’t an isolated case. Take Blerim Ismalaj, also Albanian and deported after racking up burglary offenses. He returned, then evaded removal by fathering a British child, exploiting another legal loophole that gives him rights to remain. These stories echo through British tabloids and fuel public frustration as statistics reveal that Albania—a country with a relatively small migrant community in the UK—has a disproportionate number of its nationals behind bars.

For now, Dorian Puka waits for his asylum appeal, a legal limbo that could outlast public attention but not the damage to trust in the UK’s immigration controls. His Instagram-perfect lifestyle has become a symbol of the border enforcement mess, stoking public anger and spurring politicians to promise tougher rules, faster deportations, and a system that people can actually believe works.