The morning silence breaks as loud speakers broadcast the day’s first song-like call to prayer. It’s 5:45 a.m.  As night turns to day, the city begins to stir.  Engines rumble, pipes rattle and cargo doors clang loudly slamming open and shut delivering loads of fresh produce to green stands, dairy goods to markets and freshly baked breads to local cafes.  As more people begin moving about and buses begin their daily routes, the increasing volume becomes almost rhythmic.  Taxis return to the city after dropping their first 4:00 a.m. fares at the airport.  They line the sidewalks - doors open for all to hear unknown voices conveying dispatch orders from crackling radios.  As the sun peeks over the eastern sky, mothers hurry crying children to day care.  Storeowners ready storefronts by washing away the ever-present dust -- some with garden hoses, others with large water bottles.  

By the time the second call to prayer is recited, streets are bustling with activity.  People and automobiles rush to unknown destinations.  High-pitched horns beep and honk, radios boom with the latest rap, tires skid, brakes screech and steering wheels whine.   Babies scream in discontent while the masses offer greetings of mirëmëngjes to one another.  As morning gives way to afternoon, music from sidewalk cafes vibrate. 

The third call for prayer reverberates from tall towers.   Business people scurry about in groups searching for favorite lunch spots, discussing work of the day.  Women walk arm in arm chatting about new shoes, children giggle as they ride double on bicycles and men gather to rinse their hands at the water fountain outside the mosque.  Roma women, holding babies that appear to be in a drugged state of sleep, whimper and beg.  Men shuffle along, hands clasped behind their back.  Friends and co-workers meet for afternoon coffee or tea, buzzing with chatter while tending to cell phone alerts, even here.  Traditional wedding caravans of automobiles one after another pass by filled with a groom and his large extended family -- identified by white towels draped from the windshield and flags waving from side doors -- banging drums and tambourines, trumpeting horns, and sounding music announcing their cause to retrieve an awaiting bride.  Birds tweet and flutter by to pick berries.  A man tries to chase both blackbirds and doves from comfortable perches along an open third floor roof with the swish-swish-swishing of a stick.  

The muezzin melodiously announces the fourth call to prayer as afternoon turns to evening.   Streets again fill with automobiles accompanied by blaring horns, rumbling brakes and squealing tires, this time with drivers impatient to deliver occupants to late day meetings or return home.   Police interrupt traffic with a whoop of sirens escorting important government officials through town.  Wailing ambulances sound nearby.  Groups of raucous boys play kick ball in the street while girls sit on doorsteps, whispering secrets.  As the sun goes down, neighbors visit around crackling bonfires of trash burning in the middle of sidewalks as young couples stroll by in the street.   Booming firework displays light up the dark and the pop, pop, pop of celebratory gunfire startle the senses.  The sidewalks and streets fill with groups of men walking side by side, women walking arm in arm and families walking hand in hand mumbling cheerfully to one another.  The sexy, sultry sounds of Adele's Rolling in the Deep... "we could have had it a-w-l-l-l, we could have had it a-w-l, a-w-l" blasts from the open windows of a passing car. 

A few hours after sundown, verses of the final call to prayer echo all around.  Soon after the only sounds remaining are the chatter of late night dance crowds, the barking of wild dogs trying to avoid the hunt and the rumble of generator engines providing necessary power.  

Finally, the hush of a sleeping city.