Site Presented By
Sunday, Nov 8, 2009
In which the hapless author falls under the syntactically challenged spell of the legendary Nigerian e-mail scam.
Aug 7, 2001 | Born in Africa over a decade ago, a renaissance in short fiction writing is spreading across the globe via the Internet, breathing new life into the always troubled romance between art and crime. Like the incessant e-mail come-ons for breast and penis enlargement, "advance fee" or "419" fraud scheme messages, which have been coming out of West Africa in one form or another since the 1980s, show up daily in in boxes around the world. There have been TV news features and magazine and newspaper articles about the scam, and even a novel based on 419 fraud. Law enforcement agencies from Canada to Australia and Europe have special details assigned to the 419 problem and there's a 419 Coalition Web site that serves as an online Grand Central Station for 419 information, along with numerous other sites on the Web devoted to the subject. In 1999, Howard Jeter, the U.S. State Department's deputy assistant secretary for African affairs, claimed that "Americans lose $2 billion annually to white collar crime syndicates based in Nigeria." Yet the literary merit of the letters themselves is rarely discussed.
I've received a half-dozen or more of the missives some weeks, offering to give me as much as a third (but never less than 15 to 20 percent) of, say, $60 million if I'll just allow the use of my bank account for storage of the fortune, or let the funds be invested in my company or in some other way assist in liberating the humongous amount of cash from the shaky, unstable situation in which it's being held. One writer assured me that "for your assistance, sir, the family [of former Nigerian head of state General Sani Abacha] has decided to bless you with one third of the above stated sum," which in that case would have been nearly $8 million. It's an absurd amount, but when dropped into a narrative right at the outset it does focus one's attention; it's seductive, especially to those of us who are greedy. I, the letters usually inform me, am the very last hope for bringing the money to the land of the free.
Some poor souls do fall for the scam, but we'll get to that in a moment. The truth is I've fallen for them, too -- not for the scam part, but for the writing, the plots (fragmented as they are), the characters, the earnest, alluring evocations of dark deeds and urgent needs, Lebanese mistresses, governments spun out of control, people abruptly "sacked" for "official misdemeanors" and all manner of other imaginative details all delivered in a prose style that is as awkward and archaic as it is enchanting. It's some of the most entertaining short fiction around these days. Even the U.S. Secret Service, which would very much like to put the kibosh on the 419 writers workshop, concedes that the letters "are often very creative and innovative."
Most of the messages seem to come from Nigeria (419 refers to the section of the Nigerian penal code that covers fraud), though one came in the other day from Sierra Leone and another from Côte d'Ivoire. The return addresses are effectively untraceable Web-based e-mail accounts with extensions like yahoo.com or hotmail.com or, in at least one case, the strangely familiar-sounding salon.com. The senders have names such as "Barrister Momoh Sanni Momoh" or "Colonel Timi Phillips" or "Dr. Bisi Odum, Notary Public" or -- the first one I've received from a female -- the jazzy-sounding "Susan Lateef," who claims to be doing business from within the peaceful walls of La Paix Hotel in Abidjan.
There is an almost poetic sweetness (swaddled in lavishly stilted prose excavated from an 18th century protocol handbook) in how the letters begin. "It is with a heart full of hope ..." reads one. "Compliments of the season. Grace and peace and love from this part of the Atlantic to you" is how another starts. "Goodday to you, I would here crave your distinguished indulgence" begins a third." And still another opens, "It is with my profound dignity that I write you."
My favorite is perhaps this one (the phrasing is less lyrical than the others, but its deep sense of purpose and utmost sincerity can't be matched):
It is with deep sense of purpose and utmost sincerity that I write this letter to you knowing full well how you will feel as regards to receiving a mail from somebody you have not met or seen before. There is no need to fear, I got your address from a business directory which lends credence to my humble belief. I also assure you of my honesty and trustworthiness.You've no sooner started to read one of these slyly poignant pleas before you're bathing in the warmth of the author's lofty intentions, a soothing hot tub bubbling over with reassurance, honesty and trustworthiness.
