As the sun rises over the Volta River at Ada, the water turns gold, casting a serene ambience.
Two men in a narrow canoe glide across the glassy surface, their silhouettes sharp against the morning light.
The reflection creates a mirrored image, boat above, boat below, suspended in amber calm.
They are not posing for a photograph; they’re chasing their daily bread, casting nets in a quiet choreography that is repeated every dawn.
But in that soft amber light, labour becomes art — the paddles dip in rhythm, the nets unfold as delicate patterns, and the men’s movements blend with the river’s flow.
This unseen shift begins in darkness, powered by instinct and necessity, without headlines or official hours.
The fishermen know the river’s rhythms — where it deepens, where it bends and how the fish move when the water is still calm and dark at dawn.
The strategy here is timing.
By the time most households are waking up to the cock’s crow and the sound of alarm clocks, these men are already negotiating tide, current and chance.
For the photographer, this is the golden hour — a perfect time to press the shutter as light and life align, transforming routine labour into something cinematic.
The scene is sensory: the sound of paddles dipping, the smell of fresh fish, the feel of morning dew.
By mid-morning, the light hardens, the river loses its gold and the canoes return to the banks where success is measured not in applause but in catches.
The dawn shift ends quietly but the work doesn’t.
Across Ghana, this 5 a.m. economy thrives long before office doors open — from fishermen on the Volta River, farmers in fields and traders arranging produce under lantern light to hawkers on the streets.
The country’s first transactions are not digital; they are physical. Labour exchanged for survival.
Before the sun rises again, the 5 a.m. economy will already be preparing to move.
Source:
www.graphic.com.gh
