Love him or loathe him, in the dizzying reaches of the High Arctic, he’s the guy who gets things done – one ear to the phone, one hand on the wheel, a head full of plans and pockets stuffed with money. By Brent Reaney

I’m in search of Aziz Kheraj, a.k.a. Ozzie, the man who basically owns Resolute Bay, Nunavut, including this strange hotel where I’m staying. I keep hoping he’ll pop out from around the next corner, his thinning dark hair a-flying, his green Rangers hoodie filthy and stained, his sweatpants tucked into his socks. Strangely, Kheraj can seem everywhere and nowhere. Often, exactly when you need him, he’ll magically appear, showing you how to use the coffeemaker or scurrying to fix a broken internet connection. But other times, he’s just out of reach, and the halls are full of guests muttering, “Where’s Ozzie? Have you seen Ozzie? I’m looking for Ozzie.”

I work my way around the maze that is Kheraj’s South Camp Inn. With doors that don’t lock and rooms without numbers, the place thrusts its mainly white-collar clientele into a commune-like environment. The inn can feel uncomfortable at first, with guests unsure what’s public and what’s private. In one room sits a weight set; in another, a defunct popcorn maker. A third sports taxidermied Arctic animals and the neatly parceled supplies of adventurers preparing to trek to the North Pole.

But once you realize nothing’s actually off limits – that even Kheraj’s living room, just off the inn’s dining hall, is a perfectly fine place to sit down and watch the hockey game – the South Camp becomes weirdly welcoming. There’s no booze here, but all-you-can-slurp homemade soup is available round-the-clock, and there’s cake for those craving a midnight snack. The place is like Kheraj himself, inviting but odd. At the end of a hallway lined with Northern art, in the aforementioned living room, I find the little man himself, surrounded by guests. Amid an explosion of papers, perched on a couch that seems to double as his office, he’s holding court.

Tonight’s audience is a bunch Arctic VIPs flown up by the Canadian military to witness a patrol on Ellesmere Island. Their attention is on Kheraj – the vessel or anchor of any conversation, depending on his mood. A man asks how he wound up in barren Resolute. He responds immediately: “They promised me a woman behind every tree.” Then he pauses for effect and finishes with, “I haven’t been able to call them liars yet.” The guests smile and chuckle and seems satisfied, and I imagine Kheraj here tomorrow night, dishing out the same cheeky answers to a different batch of visitors.

But then the outside door opens, and a small group of Inuit elders waddle in. The host’s demeanor switches. He stands, respectfully stooped, and offers coffee and tea before escorting the elders down the hallway to visit his Inuk mother-in-law.

It’s not until the following day that I’m able to sit down with Kheraj. Over a plate of fried chicken he tells me he’s from Tanzania, and came to Canada in 1974 as a 20-year-old with $50 to his name. After kicking around fruitlessly in the big cities, he came North for a job as a mechanic. He landed in Resolute and stayed. In the early ’80s he got together with his current partner, Kleesuk Idlout. When the two met, she was with the town’s mayor – a position Kheraj himself went on to hold.

Successful businessmen are often said to control “half the town.” And for Kheraj, who lords over this village of barely 200 people, it’s probably true. He’s got fingers in everything, with companies that do construction, run heavy equipment, handle the town’s water and sewer, operate the hotel and provide expediting for mining companies. Like many small-town moguls, his success has earned him enemies. It’s also brought accusations of conflict-of-interest and corrupt business dealings, none of which have officially been proven.

Whatever people may think of Kheraj, though, they seem to depend on him. When he’s not picking up a load of scientists from the airport or ferrying supplies to a cruise ship anchored in the bay, Kheraj is on the phone. His basic black cordless is regularly attached to his ear: He answers half a dozen calls during our chat. Along with fielding customer queries, he acts as a sort of High Arctic information hub, dispensing everything from community news to construction details for his new hotel. Yesterday, after a disturbed man jumped to his death from a plane in western Nunavut, Kheraj knew the details well before the media.

Though he appears proud of the unique space he’s carved out in Resolute, he’s less than starstruck by the neurosurgeons, ambassadors and dignitaries who pass through his hotel. “We had Richard Branson here a couple of months ago,” he says flatly of the Virgin billionaire. “To me, everybody’s the same. Today, we have the premier here. She’s just another person. When they’re here, unless they’re here in an official capacity, everybody’s the same. There’s no difference.”

Kheraj feels that way about Resolute, too – that it’s just another place. He says even travelling to the far northern tip of Ellesmere Island – Canada’s northernmost landmass – never impressed him, not even the first time. I tell him I feel Nunavut’s environment is hard to deal with. “I don’t find that,” he says, almost scolding me. “We have snow here, we have wind, we have this and that. You just deal with it. You dress warmly and if it’s going to be really bad, you take extra clothes. And if you think you’re going to walk, then don’t go. It’s common sense.”

Not quite evasive, Kheraj is clearly used to people wanting to know more – about Resolute, about his life, about what makes him tick. He doesn’t mind journalists, but rarely gives interviews. In casual conversation he smiles and laughs easily. But when the topic turns serious, he deflects. I try to break through, to find out why he’s stayed so long in such an unforgiving place. Instead, I’m fed more coffee-shop philosophy. “I take it as it comes,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

Still, he’s conscious of his role in helping southerners experience the North, and during a moment of straight-talk he says, “What do I do? I’m the maestro in the orchestra.” Soon, new guests shuffle into the room, asking questions, and the phone rings, and Kheraj races off.