By: Karl Furlong

Attafuah pushes his way into traffic. My apartment’s sleepy side street quickly gives way to the bustle of La Bawaleshi Road, thelocal high street. In no time we are on the highway, heading north. Traffic is light, so the four-mile trip to the offices of the Business and Financial Times will take no more than half an hour. I’m lucky – we are going against traffic.

I’m in an Uber and on my way to my first day of work.

Back home I avoid Uber when possible. Now I find myself drawn to their app – the familiarity is enticing – with everything so new, there is relief in the ease of being able to at least arrange transport.

Stepping out of Attafuah’s car has placed me firmly into the dusty red streets of north Accra. I’m lost. Street addresses in Ghana are a relatively new concept, so most addresses are still either given as GPS coordinates, or local landmarks. Attafuah has dropped me exactly where I asked to be dropped, unfortunately, that’s not where I’m meant to be.

After a few confused text messages back and forth with my new manager, I’m on the phone chatting with one of the newsroom’s reporters who is asking me to wave my hand in the air as she thinks I’m close by. I am, a few minutes later I’m being whisked into the newspaper’s offices.

There is a strange disconnect between the paper’s purpose and its location. I will be writing on business and financial issues, but I am located on the outskirts of Accra: as far away from the financial decision makers of the country as is possible while still being physically located in the city.

The staff are friendly, and our early morning editorial meeting is enjoyable: reporters are pitching, editors are critiquing, opinions are flying around. After a hectic morning, I finally feel at ease. This is why I’ve come to Ghana.

My first day was a mix of confusion, excitement, and relief. After spending a week learning about Ghana it was nice to be able to get back to something familiar: writing.