There’s a small break room on each floor, with a drinks vending machine, coffee machine, kettle and microwave, just like I had back at home. There isn’t a canteen, but apparently everyone either snacks or goes out to eat. The streets are a mass of fast-food outlets, just like any busy city centre. Andy shows me briefly onto each floor of our suite, but they’re all much the same and I’m not likely to have to visit them often.

It's almost four by the time I make it back to my office and check my email again. The short rest really did help, but I’m still not quite on normal time and feel as if it is just after lunch. Still, Katie should be at her desk by now, so time to check in and make sure she is getting along without any issues.

“That’s not your bloody office, is it?” she yells as we start the Teams call. 

“Yes, it is. Until tomorrow, I have the entire floor to myself. Not a bad view, but I fear it might be distracting,” I tell her, not exactly showing off. I swing the camera around so she can see it is a corner office and that the view is amazing.

“What’s it like?”

“Hard to describe yet. Some things seem really familiar, but others are so different that they feel almost alien. Too much talk about safety and security today. I’m sure it will get less stressful.”

“Is it really that bad?” she asks.

“Probably not, but it is odd to see security guards in uniform everywhere. Just a little jarring for an island boy like me.”

“I’m sure you will be well looked-after.”

“Yes. I just have to get accustomed to having things done for me. Being driven around isn’t so bad, as I don’t do that myself anyway, but having someone jump out and open my door is a step too far.”

“I’m sure others have told you to just let people do their jobs?”

“Yes, Katie, they have. All the time. I will get used to it; I just need time. Once we’re properly at work, it will become a lot easier.”

“Well, everything is fine here. I’ll keep you posted if anything comes up. You might get an email from Derek tomorrow. He apparently has a small problem that he needs your input on.”

“Sometimes I think I should get two salaries. One from the programming team.”

“Piss off, they pay you too much already.”

“And, on that note, it’s time to go and find my driver and go home,” I tell her as I stick my tongue out at her.”

“Bastard…” she mutters as she hangs up the call.

I don’t really have anyone to report to, but I stop on Marie’s floor and stick my head into her office to let her know that I’m done for the day. Others seem to be packing up and getting ready to leave, so I don’t feel out of place.

“Go ahead,” she tells me with just a glance. “I need to do another couple of hours to catch up with starting late. There’s only Joseph on call for driving this evening, so tell him to come back and wait for me?”

“I will. I’ll probably see you later at dinner.”

Back down in the garage, Joseph tries to insist that I wait by the door while he gets the car, but I’m determined to do some things for myself. I just follow along, one step behind him and he can’t really do anything about it. It’s less than fifty metres anyway.

“Marie needs you to come back and wait for her after you drop me off,” I tell him as I make myself comfortable in the back. He merely nods in acceptance as we wait a moment for the security gate to open and release us onto the street.

Rush-hour chaos is in full force. The road is cars and motorcycles as far as the eye can see, bumper to bumper and wheel to wheel. Still, everything is moving, however slowly and after about fifteen minutes we make it onto the elevated expressway and pick up speed.

It's pretty boring in the back on my own, and I feel the need to make at least an attempt at polite conversation. “Do you have a family, Joseph?” I ask.

“My parents and my sister live in Nakuru, but I have no wife or children,” he replies easily enough.

“Nakuru? That’s a couple of hours north?”

“Usually more than that, depending on which road you take. The highway goes along the top of the rift, but I prefer to go down into the valley. It takes a little longer, but the scenery is nicer.”

“Perhaps I will get to see some of these places, if I can find the time.”

“Yes,” Joseph agrees. “You should try and visit at least some of the nearer national parks and see a lion.”

“Isn’t that what everybody does?” I ask.

“Well, yes, but they are worth seeing. If you want to dream, then think about seeing a leopard instead. Or maybe you would prefer elephants. There is an orphanage for them in Nairobi National Park.”

Leopards? Elephants? Orphans implies little: that sounds intriguing.

“I should have asked earlier, but do you need anything for home?” Joseph asks when he realizes we are getting very close to turning off the highway.

“I will want some groceries, but perhaps we can make time tomorrow to go to a supermarket at some point. I do not want to eat at the restaurant all the time, I’ll get fat.”

“I will remind you when we leave at the end of the day, then,” Joseph tells me then concentrates on turning into the gate to the compound, a flash of the lights alerting the now different guard. I’d barely noticed that it was quickly getting dark, the transition from day to night happening extraordinarily fast at these equatorial latitudes.

When Joseph lets me out of the car, he has one last thing to tell me. “It will be Martin driving you tomorrow morning, I do not start until noon.” He indicates an older man sitting in their… I want to call it a tea-shed, but that sounds too British, even if they do appear to have tea. Martin stands and comes out to say hello and shake my hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Martin, I tell him. Please call me Will.”

“Karibu – welcome – Will. Just after eight o’clock if you wish to be at the office before nine.”

“I will be here,” I tell him. “For now, though, good evening to both of you.”

Both of the men wish me a good night and I head off to my apartment. Thankfully, there is water in the fridge. I’m conscious of the fact that I haven’t had enough to drink on my first day in the heat and high altitude. I’ve the beginnings of a headache and need to remember to buy plenty of soft drinks tomorrow to stock the fridge up. Luckily, I’ve never been one to drink much tea or coffee, as I fear this would probably only dehydrate me even more. I have, repeatedly, been warned to not drink the tap water.

“Don’t even brush your teeth with it,” one friend had reliably informed me. “You’ll still get sick at some point, no matter how careful you are, but don’t encourage the germs by giving them a helping hand.”

I use some of the cold water to take my anti-malaria medication. I’ve never had to take any regular medication in my life and know that I need to start with a firm routine and try to stick to it. If I struggle, I’ll just have to set a daily alarm on my phone.

Once again, I find myself feeling as if it is still the middle of the afternoon, but I really do need to get myself adjusted to the different time zone quickly. I take half an hour or so to send off a few messages – mostly just to let Mum and Grandpa know that I’m here and safe, including a couple of photos of my new accommodation. I’d already sent off photos of the view from my office, but I’m feeling too drawn out to speak to either of them today.

As it’s approaching seven by the time I’ve finished, I take a quick shower and think about some dinner. The inside of the shower cubicle is finished in slightly rough natural stone that gives excellent grip but feels a little strange under foot. Still, the water is both free-flowing and marvellously hot with a mineral quality to it that I’m not accustomed to at all.

Refreshed, I dress in just a pair of shorts and a loose cotton casual shirt, as it still feels like it is warm outside despite the darkness. I remember to spray some insect repellent and head out onto the catwalk, remembering to leave one of the inside lights turned on for when I return.

Marie is at the bottom of our flight of steps when I get to the top. “Are you off to eat?” she asks when I get down to her level.

“Yes, but I need to take on some fluids first,” I reply. “I’m feeling a little dehydrated and need to get into a better routine.”

“It’s all about discipline. Go and get a beer – Tusker is the local favourite – and I’ll join you for some food in a little while if you like.”

“Yes please. I don’t fancy eating alone.”

It isn’t quite as warm outside as I thought it would be, but that only serves to make it pleasant for shirt-sleeves. I had planned to sit outside, but now I think that being under cover might be better. There are a handful of other white-skinned people in the bar and a similar number of Africans. I’m not sure who they all are, so I head into a corner and find a table for myself. Sure, we’re almost certain to be working together, but I’ve never been the one to break the ice.

The barman is quickly at my shoulder, placing a small wooden bowl with roasted peanuts on my table and asking me what I want to drink.

When he returns with my beer he asks me for my apartment number – nine – and leaves me to drink in peace.

The beer is ice-cold and the glass has apparently just come out of the freezer, drawing instant beads of condensation to the outside and making the beer-mat a necessity. I’ve never thought of myself as much of a beer drinker, but I’ve a suspicion that I could really get used to this. It’s a much more refined taste that I think that I expected from a local brew and very refreshing. Maybe it’s the local climate.

“My usual, Amos,” Marie calls as she walks past the bar towards me. “And you can get out of that corner and come and meet some of your colleagues,” she tells me as she holds out a hand to force me to stand.

As I reach out my hand to allow her to pull me up, I manage a weak smile that she notices and returns, along with a slight squeeze of the hand. “You need to meet them all sometime, so why not sooner, rather than tomorrow or the day after?”

I manage to nod in agreement, grabbing my glass and allowing myself to be led across the room to the three occupied tables. Marie makes introductions and I try my best to catch names and job descriptions without much success. I’m introduced in turn as “Will, the IT guy.”

“I have heard of you, even in the Stockholm office,” one of my colleagues tells me with a subtle Scandinavian accent to his otherwise perfect English. It’s likely that the blond hair and startlingly blue eyes are a bit of a clue as well. “The company really have brought out the big guns – that’s the right phrase, isn’t it?”

“It’s the right phrase, if you think I am one of the ‘Big Guns’,” I suggest.

“You’re the Will who writes the software manuals?” one of the women asks. She’s in her mid-thirties and apparently works in client acquisitions and is based in New York, despite having a very British accent, even if it has a hint of what is suspect is a west African undertone.

“It seems to have become one of my jobs,” I agree. “I trained as a programmer, but now I only do that for pleasure. Being in the same building as the biggest programming team does help.”

“Pleasure?” Anders asks. “I’m not sure how coding can be pleasurable? I took a course at university and hated it.”

“I write games in my free time,” I tell them. “Not for any real reward, although they do sell a few copies, but because I really enjoy the process.”

“And you do this on your own?” Anders asks.

“I did. Now I stream my sessions on Twitch and have people who like to help. Actually, the person helping me with the music and sound effects is from Stockholm.”

“There are many musicians in Stockholm,” Anders agrees. “It is a city full of artists.”

“He’s a good friend, although we have never met in person. “He’s about your age. His name’s Erik Engel and he is based in the west of the city.”

“Small world,” Anders suggests with a shake of the head. “Brown hair, brown eyes, a goatee beard, tattoos and a wooden ear-ring in his left ear only? Plays the keyboard?”

“Seriously?” I manage. “Yes, that’s a pretty good description.”

“We were at university together. I haven’t spoken to him in about three years. You’ll have to mention me when you next speak to him.”

“I will, but it won’t be until the weekend. I’ve a pretty good idea that I will have too little time to code until then, at least.”

Dinner is every bit as good as lunch had been earlier. For at least the first few days I’m determined to stick to the dishes that I know, but I’m also happy to ask about anything that looks unusual that the others are having.

So many places now have familiar cuisines for people in the west. Maybe not so true for the Isle of Man, but Britain is a melting pot with restaurants and take-aways from dozens if not hundreds of different countries and regions. East Africa isn’t on that list, or at least it isn’t well represented outside of London.

Both Marie and Anders make good suggestions, but I stick to a vegetarian pasta dish that has a lot more garlic and spice in the red sauce than I might have expected.

I could happily stay for a long evening and chat away, but I’m the only new arrival and the only one of us still on a different time zone. I really do know that I have to adjust quickly, so I’m off to my bed when everyone else makes a move.