Being raised in a family of sharecroppers(slavery’s next-door neighbor) in South Carolina, I always thought that I was “Something Else” because I had traveled extensively. I bad been to Africa, my motherland, and had conversed with men and women of influence and wisdom. I received my law degree from the University of Buckingham in England with the intent of specializing in private internationallaw and working thrthe Europea.n Economic Community in Brussels. Being admitted to the Inner Temple Inns of Court and going off to worship at Windsor Castle with the Queen of England and Prince Andrew, I definitely thought I was “Something Else.” “Something Else” was on a roll, headed for the big time. In April 1984 I was studying for my bar examination, and, even though I was in no mental or physical state to do anything but rest, as usual I pressed on and “sat” my papers. I was so ill that I could hardly write my name, much less name cases supportive of legal arguments, draft writs, or argue mens aasappropriate. Energy all but depleted, I took a taxi to see a former ambassador to London from Sierra Leone whose friendship could be re-