SEVENTY-TWO
Meandering around the Internet, Gordon came across a Facebook page titled “Sakawa Boys.” Among the video shorts was one of a reputedly filthy-rich Internet fraudster standing on the second-floor balcony of the West Hills Mall outside Accra while showering elated shoppers below with hundreds of cedi bills. Eventually, the clamor turned into a dangerous stampede in which people got hurt. The comments below the clip ranged from, “This is shameful,” to “This is either totally fake or a publicity stunt.”
Gordon noticed an answer to the latter comment from someone called Susan Hadley. She wrote, “It could be real! I’ve encountered one of these ‘sakawa’ guys and they really do make that kind of cash. It’s not as easy a life as one might think, though.”
Gordon clicked on Susan Hadley’s name and sent her a private message. “I don’t know your location, but would you be willing to talk to me about sakawa? I’m in Accra but originally from the States. One of these guys duped me. I’m here to find him and I want to know everything about their world.”
Susan replied several hours later. “I’m in Accra as well. I have some experience with sakawa boys. Call me.”
She had left a phone number, and so he did. She told him she was in Ghana for a short vacation. “So, you were scammed by an Internet fraudster?” she asked him, cutting to the chase.
“I was,” Gordon said, “and now I’m learning to own it and face it head on.”
“I’d like to hear about it,” Susan said. “Want to meet for coffee?”
She suggested a time and place: that evening at a coffee and sandwiches place called Ci Gusta! in the Airport Residential area.
Gordon and Susan found an isolated table in Ci Gusta!’s farthest corner. The décor was bright and modern, the atmosphere cheerful. Outside on the patio sat a mixed crowd with a heavy presence of chain-smoking Lebanese.
Gordon ordered a pistachio ice cream while Susan had a raspberry froyo. He sized her up quickly as a burning-out blonde at the point where aging was about to usurp her attractiveness.
Once they were settled, she said, “So, I’m eager to hear your story.”
He told her, and she listened without a word till the very end.
“Quite a tale,” she said. “Unfortunately, not that uncommon.”
“So, what’s the ‘experience with sakawa boys’ you said you’ve had?” Gordon asked.
“Four years ago,” Susan began, “I came to Ghana for a two-year visiting professorship in physics at the University of Ghana. I met a political science student, and we got romantically involved with each other. Nii—that’s his name—was poor as a church mouse then. Fast forward a couple of years, I come back to Ghana in February this year and Nii has transformed himself. He has expensive clothes and he’s driving a fancy car and living in a near mansion. Unbelievable. I knew there was no way this could be legit money. When I first asked him about it, he was evasive, but after I badgered him almost to distraction, he admitted he was a fraud boy, or sakawa boy—whatever term you prefer.”
“What was his con game of preference?”
“He’s done a little of everything—the rom-cons, like yours, and so on, but the most lucrative for him are the gold scams. They make thousands of dollars, and with a strong dollar they reap a boatload in local currency.”
“You think I could meet this guy—Nii? You’re still in touch with him?”
“In a way,” she said cryptically. “Not like before. I felt uncomfortable about his lifestyle and livelihood.”
“Why didn’t you turn him in to the authorities?”
Susan fixed him with a look. “You’re kidding, right?”
Gordon turned sheepish. “Sorry, bad question. Anyway, can I meet this guy?”
“Depends what you’re looking for.”
“I’m hoping he might know who ripped me off.”
Susan was doubtful. “Given how many fraudsters there are in Ghana and their unwillingness to snitch on each other, I’d say the likelihood of your finding that out is small, but we could try.”
“What about how police and other government officials are in on the game?” Gordon asked. “Could he help me there?”
She pursed her lips. “Maybe, but we’d need to sweeten this up a lot.”
Gordon nodded. “I fully expected that. How much do you think he would want?”
“It’s hard to make Ghanaians name a price upfront, but I would say three-hundred fifty would be reasonable.”
Susan looked amused. “Dollars.”
“Of course. What was I thinking?”
“You have dollars with you?”
“I have some back at the hotel, yes.”
“If you’re short, you can give the rest in cedi equivalent. You want me to text Nii now?”
Susan did, and about ten minutes later, her phone rang.
“Hi, Nii,” she said, and Gordon was impressed by how instantly her voice switched to tones of honey. “How are you? I’m fine, thank you. I have a very dear friend from the States I’d like you to meet. He needs help, and I told him I know exactly the person.”