Meet Africa’s Greatest Con Artist: The Ghanaian Who Swindled the World of Over $200m

Long before inboxes were flooded with tales of stranded princes and frozen inheritances, one man perfected the art of advance-fee fraud on a global scale. His name was John Ackah Blay-Miezah, a Ghanaian con artist whose audacity, charm and imagination fuelled one of the most astonishing financial scams of the twentieth century.

At the height of his deception, Blay-Miezah convinced thousands of investors, senior lawyers, diplomats and even heads of state that he controlled a hidden fortune running into billions of dollars. None of it existed. Yet the lie worked for decades.

Blay-Miezah was born John Kolorah Blay in 1941 in a small village in Ghana’s Western Region. Raised without electricity or running water, he earned pocket money selling kerosene after school, a hustle that earned him the nickname “Kerosene Boy”. Even then, those who knew him recall a boy with an extraordinary gift for persuasion.

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By his teenage years, he was already inventing myths about himself, claiming spiritual powers and prophetic insight. After travelling to the United States in 1959, he told people he had won a scholarship to the University of Pennsylvania, following the academic path of Kwame Nkrumah. In reality, he was working menial jobs in Philadelphia, including waiting tables at the exclusive Union League Club.

He soon reinvented himself entirely, stealing the identity of a former roommate and emerging as “Dr John Ackah Blay-Miezah”, complete with fake degrees from Wharton and invented credentials in international relations. The title stuck, and so did the illusion.

In the early 1970s, Blay-Miezah unveiled the story that would make him infamous: the Oman Ghana Trust Fund. According to his carefully crafted narrative, Ghana’s first president, Kwame Nkrumah, had secretly stashed billions of dollars and vast quantities of gold in European vaults. Before his death, Nkrumah had allegedly entrusted control of this fortune to Blay-Miezah.

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The claim defied logic. At the time of Nkrumah’s overthrow, Blay-Miezah would barely have been an adult. But logic mattered less than delivery. Investors were promised spectacular returns, sometimes ten or twenty times their initial contribution, if they helped unlock the “fund”. Thousands believed him.

What set Blay-Miezah apart was his ability to manufacture legitimacy. By 1974, Ghana’s military government had issued him a diplomatic passport, allowing him to travel freely and shield himself from scrutiny. He moved through Europe, the Caribbean and North America in Rolls-Royces, stayed in luxury hotels, smoked cigars, wore tailored suits and surrounded himself with aides.

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He staged meetings like theatre productions, complete with incense, classical music and dramatic delays. When investors demanded results, he offered reassurance, never refunds. Many followed him from country to country, convinced the payout was imminent.

One American lawyer later admitted that the longer he waited, the harder it became to walk away. “I lost touch with reality,” he said.

Blay-Miezah’s credibility was reinforced by astonishing endorsements. John Mitchell, former US Attorney-General under Richard Nixon, became involved as a legal adviser and personally reassured anxious investors. Even Ghanaian leader Jerry Rawlings reportedly pursued the mythical fortune abroad.

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One of the few public officials who remained unconvinced was US ambassador to Ghana Shirley Temple Black, who documented her scepticism in diplomatic cables.

Over two decades, Blay-Miezah and his associates swindled victims across the United States, Europe and Asia. Conservative estimates put losses at over $200m, though some investigators believe the figure approached $1bn. In Philadelphia alone, hundreds of people lost tens of millions of dollars.

The victims were not naïve dreamers. They included accountants, businessmen, insurance agents and law-enforcement officers, many of whom invested repeatedly despite mounting doubts.

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Blay-Miezah was arrested several times on fraud-related charges but repeatedly escaped serious consequences. It was not until 1989, when 60 Minutes broadcast an exposé describing him as “the ultimate con man”, that the illusion finally collapsed. By then, he was under house arrest in Accra.

The investigation revealed a devastating truth: despite decades of promises, not a single investor had ever been paid.

Blay-Miezah died in 1992, still insisting the fortune was real. Even after his death, some followers continued trying to unlock the nonexistent fund.

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Decades before email fraud became a global nuisance, John Ackah Blay-Miezah pioneered its psychological blueprint. He understood greed, authority, delay and hope, and weaponised all four with devastating precision.

His story, later chronicled in Yepoka Yeebo’s Anansi’s Gold, remains one of the clearest examples of how charisma and perceived legitimacy can override reason. Like Anansi, the West African trickster spirit after whom the book is named, Blay-Miezah did not merely tell lies. He created a world people wanted to believe in.

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And once they stepped into it, walking away became almost impossible.