When you’re from Haiti, you know that roosters don’t only cock-a-doodle-doo in the mornings as they do in cartoons. They remind you of their existence throughout the day. I find it refreshing and calming to be around this sort of animal life. I also hear gunshots and goats bleating. I hear church music projecting across neighborhoods and young boys getting chastised by their mothers. The singing of a congregation’s cry floats over me, though I am miles away. Drums, ocean waves, men arguing about who would take me to Île-à-Rat. The sounds of Haiti, as I experience them, all at once, are one of a kind.