TWENTY-SIX

April 17

After church on Sunday, Nii joined a group of sakawa friends to hang out and work on their scams. They had a small place in the sprawling suburb of Dansoman. Except for an ancient, battered swivel chair with a wheel missing, and a desk with uneven legs, the room had no furniture, and the young men lay on the floor along with their phones, laptops, power banks, and a tangle of wires and connectors.

They chatted, joked around, and poked fun at each other even as they surfed and typed, trying to entrap potential victims. Bruno was here this time, staying close to Nii to learn sakawa fundamentals. One of Bruno’s first lessons was mastering the art of creating a fake person with the combination of a sham Facebook profile, a designated WhatsApp phone, and judicious use of fake webcam software on Skype. The profile pictures on Facebook, WhatsApp, and Skype all had to match, of course. The skill was in getting the mugu to believe what he or she was hearing, even if suspicious at the beginning. Most important was to be armed with the spiritual power bestowed by the traditional priest, in this case Ponsu, so that even the smartest oburoni would never be able to resist sending more and more money. That’s what started to happen with the white man, Mr. Gordon, before he traveled to Ghana. He thought he was conversing with a beautiful Ghanaian woman. Nii Kwei, with the spiritual powers invested in him, made Gordon believe he was seeing and hearing what he really wasn’t.

Nii instructed Bruno how to use Skype with ManyCam, which replaces a real webcam. ManyCam can use either an Internet image or a prerecorded video. Nii recommended the latter. Easily available in Ghana, they save the scammer the time and trouble searching the Internet. Professionals make these short videos that appear to show someone on webcam talking to you.

“So,” Nii continued, “I get plenty plenty videos I upload to ManyCam and I name the files so not to get confused.” He and his sakawa colleagues almost invariably used the accepted pidgin English of the streets when talking to each other. “When I call the man on Skype, what he go see is some fine woman smiling at him. I tell him say my computer microphone no dey work well, so make we type instead. And I tell him say because of Ghana network the image make slow compared to the typing. So, for example, if the mugu say something serious but the woman on the Skype is smiling, he go ask why she make smile when he dey tell her something serious.”

“Oh, okay,” Bruno said, nodding.

“Make you no spend plenty time on Skype”—Nii warned—“like maybe just some five minutes, then you cut the video and text the mugu tell him say the network is bad so you can’t do Skype or WhatsApp video. But you can still send him some pictures. If he want naked pictures too, we have to send them. Also, we get women who can answer the phone for us, or if not, then we don’t pick the call and later we text him to say the network is down.”

“But for that man Mr. Gordon, why you no put white girl for profile instead of Ghanaian one?” Bruno asked.

Nii shook his head. “Dat one be different kind target. This mugu no dey want white girl, you understand me? He like black woman, African woman. If you want to catch a dog, you bring meat, not grass. Wait, make I show you something.”

On his Samsung—the latest model—Nii pulled up a Facebook page called BWWM—Black Women, White Men. He scrolled. A white American man and his Ghanaian wife were decked out in kente outfits. All the couples were beautiful in some way, and their children even more so.

“This is how you can use Facebook,” Nii explained. “Look at the likes for this pic. Click on the men who have liked the pic and see if you go get one who is single and looking for a woman. That’s who you will try your hand, but first you go check his profile to see what kind of job he has. He should be someone who get plenty money. Then, you go message him—not as yourself, oo. I mean using the fake profile you made with the photo of a beautiful African woman. You take a screenshot of the same woman you use for the Skype. Then, you get to know him, and then after some small time pass, you start asking for money, and then more and more.”

“He won’t suspect?” Bruno said.

“If you have the spiritual powers,” Nii said, “he can never suspect. He will be somehow confused and just keep sending the cash.”

“So, like me, for example, can I get the powers?”

“Of course, but you have to work with Kweku Ponsu. To start, you will take two chickens to him—” Nii stopped talking and looked up as he heard male voices and the scuffle of boots. He put a finger to his lips to tell the others to shut up, ran low to the window, looked out, and then swung back. “Police!”

The boys scrambled to their feet, trying to put all their devices away. Too late.

The door exploded open and four police officers charged in yelling, their automatic weapons pointed. Thinking quickly and clearly, Nii dropped to the ground flat on his stomach, arms outstretched. A couple of his companions weren’t so lucky. The officers clubbed them down into submission.

“Get them all!” a harsh female voice ordered, a sound resembling a piece of metal dragged over rutted asphalt. Nii didn’t need to look up to see who she was. Detective Inspector Doris Damptey. She and Nii Kwei knew each other well. He relaxed, climbing down from his fight-or-flight state.

The officers cuffed the sakawa bunch and ordered them to sit up. The boys kept their gaze down—all except Nii Kwei.

“Heh!” Damptey yelled at them. “Look up! Foolish sakawa boys. Do you think we don’t know all about you people and your evil ways?”

Her legs were set far apart like pillars at the corners of her box frame. If a headmistress and Gaboon Viper got together, DI Doris Damptey would be the result: authoritarian, slow-moving, and venomous.

Nii smiled secretly. “We beg you, oo, madam,” he said with exaggerated penitence.

She sucked her teeth in disdain. “You say you beg me? Ah, stupid! We are going to take you to Dansoman station right now and then you will see how to really beg. Kwasea! This sakawa thing you are doing is bad.”

“We are sorry,” Nii said. “We won’t do it again.”

“Yes, because you will be in jail,” Damptey said, curling her lip.

“I beg you, madam.”

“Empty begging doesn’t do anything whilst we are all hungry,” Damptey said. The officers, silent, folded their arms and leaned against the wall.

Nii looked at his companions and back to Damptey. “Maybe I can help you chop small.”

“Five hundred,” she said.

“I only have three,” Nii Kwei lied. Damptey wouldn’t check.

“Okay, okay,” Damptey said impatiently. She signaled her officers to uncuff Nii first and then his mates. Nii counted out bills from his wallet and gave them to Damptey, whose greedy eyes had lit up.

The officers marched all but Nii outside, where a handful of press photographers was idly waiting. Tomorrow morning, the boys would be in the papers, demonstrating what a great job the Ghana police were doing to stamp out this growing menace to society.