NINETY-TWO

Traditionally, Sana’s exposés always aired Sunday nights at 8 p.m. Emma had invited Bruno to watch at her house along with Abena, who would be over for the usual Sunday dinner. At 8 p.m., with Kojo safely in bed, they gathered in front of the TV in anticipation of Sana Sana’s new blockbuster, “The Sakawa Story: Power, Corruption, and Deceit.” Bruno knew in advance about the big IGP reveal at the end, but he hadn’t let on to Emma or Abena.

There was far more to the feature than just video clips of people accepting money. It reintroduced the viewers to Sana’s work, which had an increasingly global perspective. His signature slogan, “Name, Shame, and Jail” was repeated often. The show went on to examine Sakawa from its early beginnings in Nigeria, where it was called “419” after a section in Nigeria’s criminal code. The origins dated to much earlier than most people realized—as far back as 1920. Now, the notorious old 419 scams with Nigerian “princes” were all but gone, replaced by more effective Internet scams. Over the decades, online fraud transformed itself from a clunky, unreliable tro-tro to a powerful Bentley.

Sana showed how many millions of dollars sakawa was now worth, and why it was too much of a good offer for politicians and corrupt law enforcement to refuse. The essential infrastructure for corruption in Ghanaian society was already well in place and primed to take sakawa on, like a highway with an available extra lane.

How and why does Internet fraud involve mallams, traditional priests, and the like? Because they are the people who can invest the Internet fraudster with the magical powers that will bring the money pouring in. The documentary showed a clip of Kweku Ponsu performing some of his sakawa rituals, including one in which he whirled around hundreds of times while dressed in ceremonial cloth and covered in white powder from head to toe.

Then to the heart of the feature where prominent members of society were exposed one after the other. The coup de grace was Bruno’s segment from the Mövenpick penthouse, where “Godfather” made his appearance. Although Bruno had not recognized him at the time, he now knew. Godfather was none other than James Akrofi, the IGP. Abena jumped out of her chair in shock. Emma, for her part, was speechless. Bruno, his face almost back to normal, smiled with secret pride. It was, after all, he who was responsible for the stunning footage to the world. But by agreement, neither Bruno nor Emma would reveal that to Abena. The less people knew, the better.

At the end of the movie, there was so much for the trio to discuss. They argued furiously with each other until they were exhausted.

“But you know one funny thing?” Abena added. “In the video, that guy—the fetish priest, what’s his name, Kweku Bonsu?”

“Ponsu,” Bruno said. “What about him?”

“I thought I had seen him before and now I remember where. He came to see Madam Josephine last week when I was at the house in the servants’ quarters.”

“Is that so?” Emma said. “He came to see her for what?”

“I don’t know,” Abena said. “She was angry and shouting at Ponsu about something, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.”

Emma said, “Oh,” and looked at Bruno. “But I had no idea that she knew Kweku Ponsu.”

“Neither had I,” he said.

“The question never even came up,” Emma murmured. “How did we miss that?”