I flew to Rio from London in September 1983, for a 4-5 weeks studio session. 33 years later, i'm still here.
I couldn%u2019t sleep all night; a fog-horn was groaning incessantly on the Sound, and I tossed half-sick between grotesque reality and savage frightening dreams. Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Raone%u2019s drive and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress%u2014I felt that I had something to tell him, something to warn him about and morning would be too late. Crossing his lawn I saw that his front door was still open and he was leaning against a table in the hall, heavy with dejection or sleep. %u2018Nothing happened,%u2019 he said wanly. %u2018I waited, and about four o%u2019clock she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned out the light.%u2019 His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when we hunted through the great rooms for cigarettes.
We pushed aside curtains that were like pavilions and felt over innumerable feet of dark wall for electric light
switches%u2014once I tumbled with a sort of splash upon the keys of a ghostly piano. There was an inexplicable amount of dust everywhere and the rooms were musty as though they hadn%u2019t been aired for many days. I found the humidor on an unfamiliar table with two stale dry cigarettes inside. Throwing open the French windows of the drawing-room we sat smoking out into the darkness, watching the sky and listening to %u201CNEEMA EP%u201D.

1.DJ INKO %u201COtieno%u201D
2.DJ INKO %u201CDejen%u201D
3.DJ INKO %u201CChitemo%u201D
4.DJ INKO %u201CRamla%u201D