HAPPY IN THEIR IGNORANCE

A sangoma and her acolyte. Photo by Lori Waselchuk

US President Donald Trump, in his speech to Congress Tuesday evening, said Lesotho is a country in Africa that no one’s ever heard of. 

And some Republicans listening to him roared with laughter. They were reveling in their ignorance. Or reveling in their arrogance. 

 My late father, who was a veteran CIA hand, frequently told me when we lived overseas: “Don’t be an ugly American.” Don’t talk loudly in English in a crowd. Don’t appear as the arrogant stereotypical American. Blend in. Basically, be respectful. 

 I have heard of Lesotho. It’s pronounced le-SOO-too, by the way. I was surprised that Trump almost got it right, instead of saying le-SOH-tho as one might assume. Elon Musk, who is originally from South Africa which is adjacent to Lesotho, may have coached Trump. 

 I’ve not only heard of Lesotho, but I’ve been there at least twice. I was almost killed there, but that wasn’t the fault of the Basotho (the dominant ethnic group in that country). The Lesotho army spent hours trying to kill two journalist colleagues and myself, in September 1998, as we endeavored to cover an invasion by South African soldiers.

Cameraman Alister Lyne under fire in a ditch. We were pinned down for six harrowing hours. Photo by Adil Bradlow

So we can say the invasion, and the dire predicament that Alistair Lyne, Adil Bradlow and I found ourselves in, was the fault not of the Lesotho soldiers but of South African Acting President Mangosuthu Buthelezi, who sent in the troops. South African President Nelson Mandela was out of the country at the time but he endorsed the military intervention that cost the lives of nine South African soldiers, 29 Lesotho soldiers and some 50 civilians. At least three journalists were also wounded. 

 In a freaky coincidence, one of the Lesotho soldiers who surrendered to the South Africans told me that he had been among those who fired hundreds of rounds at Alistair, Adil and me as we lay as flat as possible in a ditch near the Makoanyane Barracks, with no escape possible until nightfall. He told me that the Lesotho troops thought we were South African officers or commandos who were dropped off in that ditch for a special mission. 

 Lesotho’s capital, Maseru, was mostly burned down in rioting during the invasion. 

 “I think to date, many Basotho have never forgiven Buthelezi for that invasion,” Catherine Lephoto told me on X. “Crazy, sad days.” 

 At any rate, I had nicer experiences in Lesotho before that dreadful day. 

 A few months earlier, I had gone to Lesotho from my base in Johannesburg to cover elections for The Associated Press. 

 “Arriving on foot, horseback, car _ even in a wheelbarrow _ residents of this impoverished African kingdom flocked to polling stations Saturday to elect a new government,” I wrote. 

 “In voting for a new parliament, and indirectly choosing the next prime minister, Lesotho is further embracing democracy following a series of coups and political shenanigans.” 

 One slow news day, photographer Lori Waselchuk and I drove out of Maseru, past cliffs gilded in gold by the rising sun, to a mountain where in 1824 a wandering group of Basotho led by their king had sought protection. 

 Patrick Rafutho was a lonely tour guide at the site.

So Lori and I hired Patrick to show us around. He told us that the vanguard of the Basotho led by King Moshoeshoe were intercepted by cannibals who lived in caves at the base of the mountain. 

 The cannibals attacked, killing some of the trekkers and dragging their corpses into the caves. By the time Moshoeshoe’s main force arrived, the cannibals already had body parts boiling in cooking pots. Some of Moshoeshoe’s wives _ he eventually had more than 40 _ were among the cannibals’ victims. 

 

Moshoeshoe’s warriors overwhelmed and captured the outnumbered cannibals. They brought the captives to the king and demanded their execution. Instead, incredibly, he showed them mercy. 

 “The king responded that he must respect his wives’ graves, which were the cannibals’ bodies,” Rafutho told us. “He also told the cannibals that if they stopped eating people, they could join the Basotho.” 

 Moshoeshoe arrived at mountain after dusk, and he dubbed it Thaba Bosiu, or Mountain of the Night. Over the next four decades, the Basotho fended off invasions by British troops, Boer irregulars and rival tribes from the mountain, which today is a national monument. 

 In one of the caves, Lori, Patrick and I found a sangoma, or traditional healer, and her acolyte. Ducking past the entrance to the cave, I spoke with the sangoma, who was wearing a blue cape and beaded white headband. The scene seemed prehistoric. The roof of the cave was blackened by fires. This was one of the caves where cannibals had once lived. 

 Before the three of us left, the sangoma told me that if I spat on some coins and left them at the mouth of the cave, my ancestors would protect me. I did as she requested. 

 I supposed it was a way of giving her a tip. And maybe the sangoma wasn’t just bullshitting me. I loved my grandmothers who had recently died. They had loved me in life. Maybe they would look after me in the afterlife. Who’s to say? 

 I didn’t think much more of it. But ever since Alistair, Adil and I cheated death months later in Lesotho, I wondered about that encounter with the sangoma. Adil attributed our survival to a miracle. 

 Now, it is probably true that few people outside southern Africa have heard of Lesotho. But the government of Lesotho is understandably appalled that the president of the United States would say that in a joking and dismissive manner. 

 Lesotho Foreign Affairs Minister Lejone Mpotjoane says it’s “shocking” to hear a head of state “refer to another sovereign state in that manner.” 

 “To my surprise, ‘the country that nobody has heard of’ is the country where the US has a permanent mission,” Mr Mpotjoane told the BBC. 

 Many ordinary Basotho feel insulted. Kanaelo Boloetse, a defender of media rights in Lesotho, noted that the country is known as the Kingdom in the Sky and is the only one in the world entirely above 1,000 meters. 

 “We’re here, we’re proud, and we’re not your punchline,” Boloetse wrote on X. 

 So perhaps President Trump should heed my father’s directive. 

 Don’t be an ugly American. 

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By Andrew Selsky