Sometimes, the unexpected happens when daily routine is disrupted for no clear reason. That was my experience one morning in February 2025. I had gone to bed late, as I often do when something lingers on my mind. That night, I was thinking about two movies I had watched on consecutive days, both compelling but vastly different.

The first, Aurora’s Sunrise, tells the story of the Armenian Genocide, a term hotly contested by both Armenia and Turkey. The film, shown at the Italian Cultural Institute during the European Film Festival, follows a young woman whose life is shattered by World War I. Enslaved and exiled, she eventually makes it to Hollywood, where she tells her nation’s story and lives the American dream.

The second movie was an unusual but engaging mix of romance and sci-fi action, woven with quotes from T.S. Eliot and Jean-Paul Sartre. Eliot’s words, "Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go," struck me as inspiring. Sartre’s quote, "If you are lonely when you are alone, you are in bad company," felt like a harsh but honest reflection of human nature, forcing people to examine one’s inner selves.

I have been an avid reader of Sartre since my mid-twenties, when I submitted an article to The Sun newspaper (local), not to be confused with the British tabloid of the same name. Looking back, I realise the Ethiopian version not only borrowed the name but also imitated the layout and design. Yet, in a country with few English-language publications, it served a purpose. For expats seeking local news, it was never seen as a mere copycat.

With my mind flooded by contrasting ideas from the movies, my reading, and YouTube documentaries, I found myself in a state of information overload. One of the film’s characters said, “Too much truth puts sadness in your heart and madness in your mind.” It was an intense remark from a dying father to his daughter, but it held some truth.

I was restless, caught up in thoughts about history, the future, and the world we live in. Still, it was time for bed, just four hours of sleep before waking up, taking my usual cold shower, getting dressed, and heading into the day. This morning was no different. I jumped into the bathroom, emerged refreshed, and stood before my mirror, following my routine to the smallest detail.

My son was already up, preparing for university. I did not notice the surprised look on his face, something I would later understand.

I finished my morning ritual and headed down the stairs to the parking lot. Then came the surprise. As I stepped outside, everything was pitch dark. At 6:30 a.m., my usual departure time, the neighbourhood should have been alive with movement, yet silence filled the air. Doubt crept in. I checked the time, 5:30 a.m.

Arriving at work an hour early felt unnecessary, so I returned home. When I told my son, his expression said, “Ah, that explains it.” He knew I was rarely an early riser, often dashing out at the last possible moment, while he preferred a calm, unhurried start. As always, he remained reserved, uninterested in questioning my unusual behaviour.

I sat on the couch and sipped a glass of milk. Half an hour later, with an empty glass and growing boredom, I left again at 6:00 a.m., a good thirty minutes before my usual time. I planned to treat myself to breakfast near work and linger over a cup of coffee.

Outside, it was still dark. I had to use my car’s floodlights to see. I wondered if the saying “It gets darkest just before dawn” was literally true. It felt very much like night. By the time I reached Bole, it was a quarter to seven, leaving me plenty of time for breakfast.

My first choice was Bilos at Snap Plaza, my go-to spot for morning coffee and a croissant, my favourite French pastry, though it added to my weight. But the parking in front of the cafe had been turned into a bike lane. I circled twice, driving towards Ambassador Hotel and back, struggling to find a spot. Other cafes like Delmela had dedicated parking and even served customers in their cars. Mamo Kacha at CMC, another popular eatery, had managed to relocate its parking to the back after losing its original space to a public walkway. Bilos, with its limited space, did not have that option.

I had no luck next door at Illy Coffee, so I drove to the Friendship Building and scanned the area. Roadside parking was no longer allowed, so I tried the side streets lined with cafes and restaurants.

At the first place, a young guard stood at the entrance, wrapped in a towel and holding a stick, the weapon of choice for informal security in some places. His startled look as I pulled in told me everything. With a grimace and sleepy eyes, he waved me away, muttering that they were not open.