With a tinge of smile on his face; he looks far out. Seemingly seeing what is farther than the sighting of physical eyes. Sighs, then his face contorts beautifuly into a full smile. He looks fully at his one man audience and pats his hand. The noon light illuminating his cool brown eyes and the occassional flutter of his curved eye lashes. He seems to have much to say and without any goading or prompting he speaks thus: I can’t remember the date. But I can recall with utmost clarity the events of that day: the day I met Sinmi. I remember strolling into the adjacent yard to our church with Tom Clancy’s RED OCTOBER in my grasp with one of my fingers acting as a page marker and looking for a serene enough but not entirely secluded spot in the vicinity to savour the unfolding thrill of Clancy’s narrative and the comedious thrill of the live football tango at play on the make-shift field when it happened… ‘Do you know she can’t speak pidgin?’ A brother-friend of mine had