"As one would have to be, to make a life outside of the larger cities," the letter continues, "the people here are quite keen. They can detect changes in things, and observe conditions which I cannot, and I am often at a loss to try to follow their conversations, though my Darija is by now very good (I am told). It is like engaging in animated teahouse chatter with a group of particle physicists, about things which are invisible to me."

Further down: "I continue to move from village to village every week or so, seeking out the local musicians, as Bowles did, though without the recording equipment or the government grant. I have, however, acquired an "assistant," a boy of 15 who has, with his father's blessing, attached himself to my cause, though I doubt he could articulate just what that is any more than I myself could. I call him "Bob," (or "Bwab") which he responds to because it sounds just like you were saying his name (which you can guess) very fast. Socially, he is brazen, which really does assist in meeting the right people for my enterprise.

"The music has a genius which is very much not apparent upon first entering the North American ear. Think about the first time you heard Thelonius Monk clobber the keyboard, how clumsy and ill-timed it sounded, before the brilliance of it began to take shape in your mind. A group of musicians who have never before played together can just sit down, start playing, and in less than a minute be playing music which sounds as though it were arranged for them. It starts with the drummers, and radiates out to the winds and strings. Some players assume a dominant role, without this being agreed upon beforehand, and will structure a peice via call and response. In the next peice, some other will step up to the leadership role. This egalitarianism certainly is not mirrored in daily life here, which is very hierarchical; it seems to be a musical thing only, and they openheartedly invite my attempts to riff on their ancient grooves."