a change in plans.

So today was to be the first day of an intensive Arabic course--12 hours a day, five days a week, starting at 7am and going until 10 pm. I was nervous, but ready. Strangely excited even. Here was a chance to dig into the language, test my sheer ability to muscle through and endure the rigorous schedule, find the absolute limit of my ability to absorb new words that often sound like you're clearing the phlegm from your throat. 

My alarm went off at 5:50 a.m. In truth, I hadn't slept much. All night, it sounded like there was a small riot in the street--turned out just to be a soccer match on tv. Most men watch the big games in outdoor tea shops in the street, where their shouts of victory and agony echo between the concrete buildings every time ball changes possession. 

I stumbled out of bed bleary-eyed to find my early-rising roommate who had already been up for at least an hour. I grunted a good morning and let a hot shower transform me from a troll into a functioning human being. The whole time, I had Alannis Morisette's "You oughta know" blaring in my head. Not quite how I was hoping to start my heady day of language acquisition.

But the humid, overcast morning had a golden moment as I went to the kitchen and opened a brand new bag of Ethiopian coffee, brought back from my recent travels. A sympathetic friend had lent me her french press for the month of my Arabic intensive. The results: glorious. I stepped out to my balcony to drink it, listening to the chatter of the morning birds and the sounds of Cairo reluctantly lurching to life: the growl of the buses passing, the metallic clanks of shopkeepers opening up their stores. 

Just then, I got a text message. My teacher was sick and cancelling for the day.

Sigh. I was tempted to lament that my early morning preparation for the big first day of class had all been in vain--but then remembered that, more importantly, today was the last day my roommate Kirsten would be in Egypt. One last day to pal around with her--who flew with me to Egypt last July and has spent every single day with me that I've been in the country--is a beautiful thing. She had also planned to spend part of the evening with our host family in Maasara, who started getting weepy about Kirsten's departure a solid two months ago. She'll need all the back up she can get to get through tonight's sob party to be sure.

So, here's to counting our unexpected blessings, and to a second cup of Ethiopian coffee... yum.