Al Jazera drones on in the background with news of Israel and Gaza blowing up. The rhythmic hissing and chugging of an overworked coffee machine lays hidden somewhere in the depths of the lounge. The hundred or so well-loved armchairs sit at obtuse angles yet somehow neatly hug low wooden tables scattered with silver milk jugs shimmering in the morning light. It’s a dimly lit room but one can still make out the bar in the corner; a well maintained pantry filled with a myriad of native coffee beans and spirits for all occasions. This oasis evidently offers respite 24/7.

There’s only one armchair free and it’s not yet 10am, the cavernous space already filled with students, businessmen and women, and local humanitarians pouring over books and documents. The internet is down so I return to pen and paper, relegating my digital attire to the occasional voice note. The EF nib on my 2k still excels to this day, deep red Diamine gliding like melted butter.

Somehow the coffee lounge at The Axum has managed to retain its original features. Heavy wooden cross beams support the ornate ceiling, plastered filigree tracing the outer edges in a creamy white. The walls glow in smoky browns and subdued reds, painted and papered with artwork positioned at acceptable intervals that look adequately fit for purpose. On the terrace, a sea of umbrellas and aging foliage shade clientele from east Africa’s aggressive sun. They too cannot access their emails, instead sipping coffee and staring contently at their surroundings.

A new armchair opens up in a better position so I move sharpish, sliding into the slightly less-aged chair in a darker corner of the room. I’m now within reaching distance of the bar and, therefore, coffee. I pick up a dinner menu and glance at my watch – a long time to go, so I settle in and start eaves dropping on a conversation across the table.

A ping from across the room breaks the morning lull as someone, somehow manages to receive an email before the network crashes again. They swear loudly and enquire if anyone in the room has a Sat phone; a unanimous groan settles the answer firmly and I return to my notes, ordering another coffee as the waiter sweeps past.