Kafui interviews Cpt Asiwome Dzakuma

Above the Clouds: A Conversation with Captain Asiwome Dzakuma

He was born in the Netherlands to Ghanaian parents, brought back to Ghana at nine months old, and grew up in Kumasi going to the airport just to watch planes land and take off. He did his A levels in geography, government, and agricultural science — not physics, not mathematics — and people openly mocked him when he said he was going to be a pilot. He worked security at a Marriott hotel in Tennessee, 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. on weekends, saving money to fund his flight training. He flew single-engine Cessnas around the US skies alone for the first time after his instructor got out of the plane and said go. He has survived engine fires, hydraulic failures, lightning strikes, near-fatal approaches in turbulent weather, and a bird strike where colleagues beat the dead bird convinced it was spiritually sent. He now flies the Boeing 787 Dreamliner for United Airlines — one of the world's three legacy carriers — on routes from Washington to Accra, Cape Town, Lagos, Tokyo, London, Amsterdam, and beyond. He has logged over 13,000 flight hours. He came home to organize a town hall meeting in the rain about general aviation. Thirty students from Peki Secondary School showed up in full.

The Boeing 787 Dreamliner

The 787 is a long-haul, long-range aircraft, one of the most modern commercial jets flying today. Its price sits between $200 million and $300 million per aircraft. Captain Dzakuma is a first officer on it at United — not because of lack of experience, but because of how the American legacy airline system works. At carriers like United, American, and Delta, progression is entirely seniority-based. You join the company, you go through the regional carriers as a co-pilot, you build time, you bid upward. Experienced captains from other parts of the world who join United must start again at the bottom of the seniority ladder. Some of his colleagues are brigadier generals and major generals who flew in the US Air Force for decades but sit as first officers because they joined United after someone else.

He has been on the Dreamliner since August 2023. Training took about two months — theoretical classroom work, systems learning, procedures, then the simulator. The simulator is so accurate that the main difference between it and the real aircraft is mental. Some simulators cost more than the actual jets they replicate.

The Dreamliner's approach speed is slower than a 737 Max, which initially surprised him. Coming in to land the aircraft is doing around 140 knots — roughly 170 to 180 kilometers per hour. It can cruise up to 43,000 feet. On the Washington to Accra route it typically operates at around 41,000 feet. On double-augmented flights — routes of 14 to 15 hours like Washington to Cape Town — there are four pilots, two resting in the crew rest area at all times while two fly, each pair getting roughly seven hours of rest.

Arise and Fly: The General Aviation Campaign

The day before this interview, Strategic Aviation Services — the organization he co-founded — held what they are calling the Arise and Fly town hall. The goal was to introduce the concept of general aviation to policy makers, students, and the public and open a discussion about what Ghana is missing and what it could build.

General aviation is defined as all aviation activity that is neither commercial airline nor military. It covers recreation, agriculture, tourism, air taxi, medical evacuation, aerial surveillance, extension services, and more. It is enormous in countries that have embraced it. In Texas alone the economic impact of general aviation exceeds the total GDP of Ghana. East Africa — particularly Kenya and Tanzania — is harnessing it aggressively. Tourists fly small planes to Zanzibar. Agricultural land is sprayed by aircraft in a fraction of the time it takes a team with backpacks. Extension officers land in communities and all the farmers come to listen.

In Ghana, general aviation is almost non-existent. The civil aviation regulations for decades prohibited single-engine commercial operations, meaning a Cessna Caravan could not legally operate commercially in Ghana. That has recently changed but the regulatory framework still needs comprehensive revision. There are no designated uncontrolled airspaces below certain altitudes where small aircraft can operate on visual flight rules without talking to air traffic control. There is no system of grass strips or simple paved airstrips across the country's districts.

His vision in ten years: one district, one airstrip. At minimum. He wants Ghana to incorporate airstrips into its national development planning just as roads are planned, because once general aviation is available, communities connect, tourism opens, agriculture improves, medical emergencies become survivable.

The Volta Regional House of Chiefs has come on board and is working with Strategic Aviation Services to explore how the Volta Region can develop general aviation to harness its potential.

The rain was heavy the evening of the town hall. A good number of people still came.

How a Plane Flies and What Pilots Actually Do

On takeoff: when cleared by the tower, the exchange is brief and formal. The controller says your callsign and clears you. You read it back to confirm you heard and it is recorded. Everything is recorded. Then the non-flying pilot says set thrust and the flying pilot advances the power levers. You are now responsible for that aircraft and everything in it. You accelerate through a series of defined speeds. V1 is the decision speed — at or beyond V1 you do not abort. You take the aircraft up and deal with whatever problem exists in the air. Before V1 only three things justify a rejected takeoff: engine failure, engine fire, or the aircraft becoming uncontrollable. A high-speed reject is dramatic — the brakes heat up from triple-digit speeds, fire trucks must come to cool them.

At rotation speed you pull back and the aircraft lifts. You feel it. It is a learned feel. He says that in his mind at that moment, he is just saying rise. Just get up.

On landing: the gear comes down hydraulically and locks in place. The noise passengers hear on approach is the gear deploying. The Dreamliner can do auto-land — the aircraft lands itself — and it is smoother than most manual landings. But pilots must monitor constantly and can manually take over if the system is not conforming. Takeoff cannot be automated. You must manually fly the plane off the ground every time.

Cruising at 41,000 feet you mostly see sky. The routes are programmed — airways in the sky that aircraft follow, just like roads. Flying into a cloud becomes routine with training. Instrument rating — the ability to navigate, monitor, and fly using instruments alone without visual reference — is mandatory for commercial pilots. You learn to trust the instruments completely.

Near Misses and the Engine Fire

His most frightening moment came early in his career flying for City Link. They were operating an aircraft that had a maintenance extension — a major C-check had been deferred and it was due to go back to France. A French engineer had already said he could not fix the current issue without tools he did not have. Despite this, they flew.

Coming back from Kumasi there was a bird strike. The bird went into the cowling. Technicians pulled it out. Then his colleagues beat the dead bird. One said Yasimano. They were all certain the bird had been spiritually sent. He says if he were more superstitious he would have quit his job.

Then on the next leg, flying out of Kumasi, the inter-turbine temperature gauge started climbing — something overheating in the engine. The captain was flying. Dzakuma suggested pulling the power levers back. Still rising. Then the flight attendant came forward: smoke in the cabin. They decided to shut down the engine. Two engines on this aircraft, so one shuts down and you continue on the remaining one — aircraft are designed for this. As he was beginning the shutdown procedure the fire bells went off. He says training takes over completely: you fall to the level of your training. He discharged the first fire agent bottle into the engine. Still showed fire. Discharged the second. Fire stopped. They declared an emergency, continued to Accra on single engine, and landed safely. He still shakes his head thinking about it.

The close shave that almost ended him was earlier still — in 2004, flying from Kumasi to Accra in weather conditions that were deteriorating. They could not get the weather report at Accra until they were already past the decision point. When they finally made contact, the weather was expected to deteriorate precisely around their planned arrival. The South African captain insisted on continuing rather than returning to Kumasi where there was no fuel depot for jets. They flew the long instrument approach through the terrain, bouncing violently in turbulence, Dzakuma calling out speed warnings and altitude calls while his mind registered that his own life was also in jeopardy. They landed hard. He looked over at the South African captain. The man's white face had gone red. When they got down, he learned that the aircraft was being watched by people at the airport — including his mentor Captain Richard Agu who had been standing there watching on approach and called him immediately afterward asking who that was coming in through the weather like that.

The lesson: co-pilots must be assertive. A first officer cannot sit quietly and die alongside a captain making a bad decision. He has stood up to captains multiple times, refused instructions, insisted on different calls. United respects this. Authority gradient — the gap between captain authority and first officer deference — is steep in West Africa. It is flat in the US. Both carry the same responsibility.

The Announcement on the Dreamliner

His father always tracked his trips. When are you flying? Where are you going? His stepmother had always said when am I going to fly with you? She had asked since his early Ghana flying days. He knew they had booked flights to Ghana on a route he could request. He checked his 90-day landing requirement — he was coming up for a required landing — and sent a request to the United landing desk in Chicago to be assigned to that specific flight. He told them he was in his hotel room in Lagos. He was in Washington making his way to the airport.

He briefed the manager on his plan. The manager read the announcement text and said she was already emotional and wondered if he would be able to read it. He showed it to the captain he was flying with — a friend — who told him make sure to allow time to cry. He briefed selected flight attendants to take photographs of his parents at the moment of the announcement. They missed the moment. Something about being choking with emotion.

His stepmother recognized his voice immediately when he began. She said to his father that sounds like someone. His father, who had been told he was in Lagos, had one reaction when his name was mentioned in the announcement.

The passengers applauded loudly. He went back and embraced them. He did not cry on the aircraft. What broke him was later, back in his hotel room, when friends who had been with him through the years called and he received them. Those were people who knew the full journey. That was what made him cry.

He gave a shout-out in the announcement to his mother, who died in 2018. She had come to Ghana to bury her brother, was crossing a road when a driver stopped for her, and a trotro came from behind, hit the stopped car, and the impact hit her. She fell into a gutter. Three days in a coma. Then gone. He had just gone back to the US when it happened. She had never wanted him to fly, said it was too dangerous for an only son. She never stopped asking him not to.

How He Became a Pilot

Born in the Netherlands, back in Ghana at nine months, raised in Kumasi. His first memory of wanting to fly was at six or seven years old, going to the airport to receive or see off his uncle's husband and being unable to stop thinking about the planes.

He was an art student at Bishop Herman College — geography, government, agricultural science. He wanted badly to go to Kumasi Technical Institute to study automotive engineering and was good with his hands. His mother said no. He ended up at Bishop Herman instead, one year late because he had to repeat Common Entrance — he was placed at a different school the first time and his uncle insisted he must get into one of the top schools. He spent a demoralizing year watching his peers move ahead of him.

He left for the US in January 1997. He wanted to join the military for flight training. He enrolled at Eastern Illinois University in the ROTC program and went to Fort Knox for advanced camp. The route to an officer's commission and a flight slot required US citizenship. He was a green card holder. The window for getting into military flight school was closing — you had to commission by 27 and a half. He waited too long. He got a completion certificate and eligibility for direct commission once citizenship came through, but the age window closed before his citizenship was processed.

He found a flying club at Chanute Air Force Base. Cheaper by the hour than civilian flight schools. He got his father to co-sign a loan. He enrolled in the master's program at Middle Tennessee State University in aerospace science, airport and airline management, doing his flight ratings alongside the degree. He worked weekends as a loss prevention officer at a Marriott, 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. — the job gave him an office, allowed him to do homework during rounds, and he worked enough to cover his costs.

He was doing his instrument rating when September 11 happened. He had already soloed and was flying by himself around the US. The calls came in from Ghana checking where he was — foreign pilots had hijacked the planes, and people who knew he was training were worried. An auntie called and told him New York taxi drivers made more money than pilots. She was not wrong about the commuter airlines at the time. He shook. Then he pushed through.

He got his commercial pilot's license in 2002, became a certified flight instructor and instrument flight instructor, and returned to Ghana to set up a flight school for CTK. His first students are now captains: Patrick Frier at Africa World, others. He then flew for Antrak on the ATR 42 and later the ATR 72. He flew for Flight 540 on the ATR 72. He went to Nigeria for Afrjets and then to Mali for two and a half years flying the national airline's MD-80 on West and Central African routes. He flew in Indonesia for Garuda — based in Bali, flying the ATR 72-600 with freshly trained Indonesian pilots — and described it as one of the greatest experiences of his career. He spent a year in India with Jet Airways. Back in the US he flew regionals on the Embraer 175 for US routes and then joined United on the Boeing 737 before transitioning to the Dreamliner.

At one point in Ghana people vowed to keep him out of the Ghanaian airspace because he insisted on standards. At Flight 540 they called him no monkey business. He checked dispatches. He checked paperwork. He refused to let operators push him into non-standard procedures. His lecturer at Middle Tennessee told him before he left: let them fire you with your license rather than without it. That sat deep. It still guides everything.

What Passengers Do Not Know

The language of all aviation internationally is English. A Chinese pilot flying from Hong Kong to Beijing communicates in English. Some French territories prefer French on local frequencies but English is the universal language of the sky.

Turbulence is caused by air masses — convective activity, hot air rising, cloud formation. Rain clouds cause the most turbulence. Modern meteorology allows pilots and dispatchers to see it coming and route around it. Delays and cancellations are safety decisions, not operational failures. Passengers who get irate about delays do not know what the pilots are preventing.

On the Accra-Kumasi route, Ghanaian passengers interrogate flight attendants about whether the captain is on the right heading. They are judged entirely by their landings. Kumasi passengers in particular will not let you forget a bad one. Pilots sometimes try to grease soft landings to please passengers even when a firm touchdown is more correct — and a too-soft touchdown on a short runway nearly sent a Malawian captain off the end of the Kumasi strip until Dzakuma pulled the idle gate fast enough to engage reverse thrust. He says that reinforced the lesson: if a captain is making a mistake, do not sit and die with them.

Ghanaian airports tax airline crew. He leaves Washington and pays nothing. He leaves Accra and pays $120 in taxes before boarding as crew. Ghana is one of the few countries that does this. They have tried to build a pilots association to challenge it but junior pilots are afraid of being victimized by senior ones and will not speak up. The authority gradient exists in the aircraft and exists in professional life.

General Aviation and What Ghana Is Missing

Nkrumah started a flying school in Ghana and commissioned Jerry Rawlings to help establish it. It was shut down for political and security reasons. Over sixty years of lost trajectory. Airstrips Nkrumah built across Ghana are now under grass.

The Kumasi airport terminal looks good to passengers. For pilots the runway is the airport and the Kumasi runway cannot accommodate a fully loaded Boeing 737. A 737 needs approximately 7,000 feet of runway. Kumasi's runway is too short to allow that aircraft to depart with full fuel and full passengers for any meaningful route. Rather than extend or replace it, money went into terminals. The right answer decades ago was a new airport somewhere else, with communities growing around it the way they do around every airport in the world.

Accra International is not a 24-hour airport. Three weeks before this interview, on a United flight he was on as jumpseater, a medical emergency required diversion. Accra had closed at 11 p.m. They diverted to Lagos. A medical emergency on a flight from the US to Ghana could not be handled in Ghana because the country's main airport does not operate around the clock.

Accra's airport sits visible from the air, directly next to the seat of government and the main military installation. Nowhere in his experience flying across the world has he seen such an arrangement maintained. The conversation about a new airport near Prampram has been ongoing since Nkrumah's time.

He sees V8 trucks on Ghanaian roads every day that are individually more expensive than the general aviation aircraft that could serve an entire district. The aircraft that could run air taxi services between Accra and Kumasi for half what the airlines charge — because they carry no airline overhead, no flight attendants, no overflight fees at scale — are being priced out of existence by regulations written for commercial airlines.

General aviation directly touches 14 of the UN's 17 Sustainable Development Goals. No other single industry can say that.

His Aviation Philosophy

Passion precedes everything. Without it you will not survive the dues-paying years when you work for months without pay, when operators take your money into voicemail, when companies promise you jobs and then ghost you, when you cannot afford to eat but the logbook keeps growing.

Standards are not negotiable. You follow the procedures because people died to write them. When operators in this part of the world try to cut corners — and they do try — you say no. The license is your life and your career. If they fire you with your license you get another job. If something goes wrong because you compromised, you are gone in every sense.

Teamwork. Nothing in aviation is done alone. Two pilots. Three pilots. Four pilots. Dispatchers checking weather. Engineers signing off. Flight attendants monitoring the cabin. The culture of deference to authority that keeps junior pilots quiet while senior ones make dangerous decisions is a safety failure, not professional respect.