Thanks to the Microsoft deal, SOFTtribe slowly began winning contracts, first a small piece of a national identification card contract, and this year, a large contract to manage the government's payroll system. Still, Chinery-Hesse longed for something grander, the kind of software that wouldn't require government approvals or corporate pitches. He began thinking about cell phones. They are everywhere in Ghana. Fifty-foot steel cell phone towers dot even the most remote parts of the country, and cell phones are used by even the poorest people. What if he used the ubiquitous text message to send money? He recruited Bonin, by then considered one of the top Microsoft developers in Africa, and the pair began working furiously on a money transfer protocol.
Chinery-Hesse announced his plans onstage at the TEDGlobal conference last year in Arusha, Tanzania. The event, an offshoot of the annual TED conference in Monterey, California, had been inspired by a Bono speech, but it became an unlikely flash point in the debate over capitalism in Africa; a number of speakers strongly denounced Western aid. Chinery-Hesse couldn't have been happier. "People in America'�are not depending on some strange philanthropist from far away," he said, smiling and gesturing wildly from behind the podium. "Africa won't need help from anybody." Before he left Tanzania, he had rounded up about a million dollars in angel investment.
And so began a mad dash to create a new company, the mode that Chinery-Hesse relishes most. I hear him pitch BSL two dozen times while I am in Ghana -- to friends, to potential business partners, and to strangers. One day, while we are driving through the city's outskirts, he points to a couple of shirtless young men who are carrying sticks with something looking vaguely meatlike stretched across them. "Dried possum," he says, with a broad grin. "We can export that." A few minutes later, in yet another outbreak of enthusiasm, Chinery-Hesse says: "We're taking all of these peasants and putting them on the Web. That guy making plates is going to be so rich, he's going to be buying software from me."
It's hard to talk about Chinery-Hesse's efforts to bring Ghana into the global economy without considering the country's last brush with globalization: the slave trade. The gold routes that brought Europeans to the country in the 15th century -- and gave Ghana its colonial name, Gold Coast -- paved the way for the trade in human captives that began in the early 1500s and continued for 350 years. The Europeans' coastal forts were converted into large prisons, and today, they are the country's chief tourist attractions.
Chinery-Hesse told me I had to see the slave castles to understand his country, and on a Sunday morning, he gives his driver the day off and drives us to the oldest castle, several hours west of Accra. With the Atlantic Ocean to our left and vast fields of scrub to our right, we pass fishing villages and roadside stands where vendors sell bread, fruit, and fried octopus. "Do you see all this opportunity?" he asks. "Ghana is the size of England with one-third the population -- and there's gold in the ground." A little bit later, as we pass a hillside town with perhaps a hundred small mud houses, Chinery-Hesse calls my attention to the irregular projections emanating from rooftops. "Look at that," he marvels. "TV antennas on bamboo poles." Even fishing villages house hordes of potential consumers.
The castle is both magnificent and terrifying: brilliant, whitewashed ramparts obscure small, windowless cells. During the height of the slave trade, hundreds of people were packed into each of these dark rooms, which still evoke a sense of desperation and oppression. There are stains and gouges on the walls, and a smell of mold lingers in the dank air. It's impossible not to feel overcome with emotion upon reaching the last holding cell, the Door of No Return, which led to the slave ships -- and, for those who survived the harsh crossing, to slavery in the Americas.
While I tour the castle, Chinery-Hesse sits in the parking lot and talks on his cell phone. His senior managers are back at the office putting the finishing touches on a PowerPoint presentation for investors, and he needs to touch base. The efforts will pay off in June, when the company raises several million dollars more, enough to begin distributing scratch cards and launch the website this fall. "Herman is trying to create a whole new industry," says Awuah-Darko. "That will take time, and that will cost him lots of money, but he's ahead of the game."
On the drive back, Chinery-Hesse passes the time by pointing out every possible sign of wealth: a shiny Audi sedan, pineapples at the side of the road, a cell phone tower peeking from behind a green hill. It is, of course, yet another pitch for his money transfer system. But more than anything, it reveals a faith in the future of Ghana and a sense of wonder at its vast potential. He tells me that he is finally on the verge of converting all this possibility into something real. He imagines luxury hotels on this now-empty coastline and well-compensated farmers exporting their products at market prices. "I just love the scenery out here," he says, momentarily letting go of the steering wheel to admire the lush surroundings. "We're not on holiday. This is where we live."
Max Chafkin is an Inc.staff writer.
