All but one of the ten mornings we awoke in Cuba—including our time in Havana—roosters were our alarm clocks. Occasionally they started at 3:00am, clearly not having gotten the message to wait until dawn.
By 6:00 much of the world—urban or rural—was awake and underway with their days: kids off to school, oxen harnessed, bread deliveries, talking at the bus stop or waiting for a ride under an overpass, and long racks of tobacco already picked and hung to dry.
Especially in the farm communities, which of course is most of Cuba, the day began early and in earnest, no doubt a habit formed because later in the spring and summer the afternoons can be brutally warm. These people are intimately connected to the land, roosters and all, and it is hard to imagine it being any other way.