Sounds of the village
Birds twittering in the trees.
Frogs croaking just like those wooden toys you can buy at 10 Thousand Villages.
The thump of a poorly-filled ball kicked around in a game of soccer, heard notably often during downpours.
The scraping and thumping of geckos scurrying along the ceiling, just under the roof.
The pitter-patter of rain on the roof and the flapping of flipflops as we run outside to bring in the half-dry laundry before it gets soaked again. At other times, the thunder of rain pounding the roof till you wonder if it'll hold up under the assault.
One day, to my utter surprise, evoking a homey feeling, the sound of a weed whacker. Another day, to the same result, the sound of a small plane flying overhead.
The swish of palm leaves brushing against each other in the rain, leading me to the window to check if showers are falling again.
Distant rumbling of thunder portending rain.
Drumming and laughing after dark as the fofo (palm wine) flows in a gathering of men.
The call of the town cryer at dusk, announcing yard inspections or some other such village matter.
A veritable chorus of insect noises joining the bird calls.
The echoing, trilling call of the tree-hyrax making his slow descent from his tree-top perch, far in the distance.
The bleating of the goats.
Roosters, of course! How can you have village life without them. Fortunately, their voice is distant and they're late risers - in fact, they seem to crow at all times of the day.