Motsoalle relationships of lesotho

- Episode 25- Transcript

Georgie Williams, voiceover: Trigger warnings for this episode include the discussion of homophobia, HIV and AIDS, intergenerational romantic relationships and violence against women and girls. Please proceed with caution.

Where do you draw the line between platonic, romantic and sexual intimacy? How do cultural pressures draw those lines for us? Is your idea of intimacy determined by greater powers- governmental, religious or even colonial?

In 1997, Nigerian gender scholar Oyèrónkẹ́ Oyěwùmí made a startling claim in her book, The Invention of Women. Oyěwùmí claimed that the Yoruba- a large ethnic group predominantly inhabiting West Africa- historically did not have a gender system. In her book, Oyěwùmí argued that Yoruba culture was organised exclusively around age and that the very concept of gender was a colonial imposition- that the reductive biological determinism seen in many Western cultures was something forced onto the Yoruba, instead of it emerging spontaneously within their own culture. The notion of a culture- as expansive and populous as the Yoruba- existing without womanhood remains radical and divisive to this day. What Oyěwùmí’s writing conveyed was more than insight into Yoruba culture- but a dearth of awareness in the global arena about the gendered and sexual traditions of all African communities.

Inclusive discourse around African gendered and sexual systems has remained underrepresented in much queer and feminist theory for decades. With these fields dominated by predominantly European or American voices, African genders and sexualities have often been mistranslated through the heavy-handed imposition of eurocentrism and English language terminology. But what does it mean to disavow the lens of Europe? To throw out a rule book on gender and sexuality so entrenched in colonialism and white supremacy?

In our final episode of Season Two, we go right to the source of expertise on how the platonic, romantic and sexual practices of the country of Lesotho have changed- and confront the perils of reducing a gender and sexuality diverse world under the LGBTQ+ banner. At the intersection of African ideas of womanhood, homosexuality, eroticism and kinship, we consider how the Basotho people have navigated intimacy and companionship in a pre-and post-colonial Lesotho. Welcome to Episode 25 of /Queer. You’re here with me, your host, Georgie Williams.

Our final episode in this season and our final destination for this research period was one that had been earmarked since the beginning of this project in 2019. Lesotho had been intended as the final leg of /Queer’s first season- but funding did not take us far enough and, in a twist of unexpected good fortune, this meant returning to the UK in the first week of March, 2020- a mere two weeks before the country locked down for COVID. This lack of funding ensured that I personally was not stuck overseas at the height of the pandemic.

But Lesotho remained on the roster for this project, and with good reason.

Lesotho, if you are unfamiliar, is a landlocked country bordered on all sides by South Africa. The Kingdom of Lesotho, as it is formally known, only gained independence from the United Kingdom in 1966- and was previously a protectorate under the British Empire from 1868, when the country was known as Basutoland. This meant that the country was afforded particular “protections” by the United Kingdom during this particularly turbulent period of African and European history. It goes without saying that this backdrop of colonisation and European control of Lesotho has almost certainly informed how Lesotho has chosen to resist the internalisation of European culture- as we shall discuss later in this episode.

Before we dive into some of the more complex subject matter of this episode, we should outline some key terminology that many people outside of Lesotho will be unfamiliar with. Lesotho is the name of the country, but Sesotho is the language spoken and culture. Basotho or Sotho are used to refer to the people of Lesotho, but Mosotho is a person in the singular- such as a Mosotho woman. As the intermediary between our interviewee and you, the audience, I will do my utmost to provide contextual cues to convey the meaning of these terms when used.

The most important piece of terminology is, of course, already front and centre in our episode title- Motsoalle Relationships of Lesotho. Motsoalle is a term I came across early on in my career whilst looking for examples of sexual diversity in the African continent- and a term that I can confirm was reductively translated in that context for an English-speaking audience. The version I was first exposed to, years ago, implied that motsoalle relationships were akin to Western lesbian relationships, in a polyamorous context. That is to say that I was given the impression that Basotho women had historically been able to partner romantically and sexually with other women whilst also maintaining a romantic and sexual relationship with a male partner. But, as is commonplace in the arena of African gender and sexuality studies, the version of motsoalle that I had learned about was not truly representative of this term’s meaning.The interpretation I was first exposed to was not baseless- comparisons between motsoalle and lesbian relationships have been made in many scholarly papers, perhaps most notably Kathryn Kendall’s "When a woman loves a woman in Lesotho”. Kendall’s paper implies that lesbian relationships do not emerge in Lesotho due to Basotho women’s economic dependence on their male counterparts- but that motsoalle relationships are the closest equivalent. Naturally, in any context where a culture-specific term is being compared to an English-language term such as ‘lesbian’, I wanted to defer to local expertise.

We should make it abundantly clear at this stage that motsoalle is a term with multiple connotations. As is often the case, translating a culture-bound term across cultures and languages can oversimplify its meaning, or erase facets of what this term means. The /Queer team has always endeavoured to ensure that complex and nuanced concepts are always painted in broad strokes of grey, instead of in black and white. To do this meant handing the reins over to someone who, professionally and personally, was best situated to thoroughly school us on the subjectivity of the Sesotho language.

Mamoeketsi Ntho, in interview: It's because Sesotho is very diverse. You can use one word to mean a hundred things. In the Sesotho practice, when you have a funeral, in the program that they will be sharing, there'll be somebody called Motsoalle of the deceased. And that means a friend of the deceased. But yeah, if you talk about these sexual, sexualities and those, now, that is when we are talking about a woman has a relationship with another woman but not necessarily being lesbian. Yes.

Georgie Williams, voiceover: The voice you are hearing is Dr Mamoeketsi Ntho, an academic from Lesotho with whom we made contact after a long game of chasing leads provided by other scholars and associates. For reasons which will become evident in this episode, conversations around the meanings of the term motsoalle are taboo in Lesotho- and talking to a complete stranger and outsider on this subject is something that Lesotho gender experts are rightfully hesitant to do. The misappropriation of language and cultural concepts, the exotification of non-western and, specifically, African practices and the exploitative practices of anthropological researchers throughout much of modern history means that representatives of misrepresented communities have undeniable justification for not putting their stories in the hands of outsiders. Undoubtedly, having Dr Ntho afford this project the benefit of the doubt was nothing short of a privilege, especially given her evident expertise in Lesotho gender and development studies.

Our interview with Dr Ntho was conducted virtually for two reasons; first and foremost, this was recommended by Dr Ntho due to her busy schedule, but also because I was personally struggling with altitude sickness in Johannesburg- and travelling to Lesotho for an in-person interview would almost certainly make this worse. Johannesburg sits at an elevation of 1750 metres above sea level; a definite adjustment for someone raised on a coastline. However, the Lesotho border is visible from space- this mountainous country includes, as part of its border to South Africa, the Drakensburg. The Drakensburg, which means dragon’s mountains, reach an elevation of almost 3,500 metres above sea level. For those struggling with the fatigue and malaise of Johannesburg’s elevation, Lesotho promises even greater challenges to the body. This is the long-winded way of telling you that being high up made me too sick to make the drive down with a friend to conduct this interview face to face. I hope to make the visit sometime in the near future.

Dr Ntho, in interview: I am Mamoeketsi Ntho, Ntho is N -T -H -O. In the academia, they call me Dr. Ntho. I am currently a government employee as a Chief Accounting Officer in the Ministry of Gender, Youth, Sport, Arts and Culture. I've been in this position from 2020. My entire life, about 20 -something years, I've been a lecturer in the Department of development studies, teaching gender studies and contemporary development discourses. I hold a PhD in development studies. My main focus was on gender and development in Lesotho, basically tracing the emergence and evolution of the gender politics in Lesotho. So, most of my work in gender has been basically around gender and development, you know, gender and transport, gender and energy, gender and policy, all those have been my focus before I joined the ministry. But now being in government, my main job now is to ensure that policy is being implemented, legal frameworks are in place to address inequalities that affect men and women or youth. And then sports as well, because I also am the PS for Department of Sports, so I also ensure that the sports policy is in place and it is implemented. So in a nutshell, that's me.

Georgie Williams, voiceover: Beyond her professional expertise, I was hopeful that Dr Ntho would be able to talk on the subject of motsoalle relationships, as I believed she was likely old enough to remember them first-hand. Motsoalle relationships- which we will define loosely here as highly affectionate and potentially romantic relationships between Basotho women- do not appear to exist as they once did in Lesotho. There are a myriad of influencing factors at play- perhaps most centrally, the factor of globalisation and Lesotho’s resistance of Western culture. In Marc Epprecht’s Heterosexual Africa? The History of an Idea from the Age of Exploration to

the Age of AIDS, Epprecht describes the imposition of LGBTQ+ language on African cultures as being reminiscent of “North American gay imperialism” and a desire to “shoehorn African evidence and perspectives into ill-fitting North American formulations”.

As has been referenced multiple times throughout this project, a parallel exists here with Indonesia- where the gender-diverse Waria community has resisted being categorised under the LGBTQ+ acronym- both because the term Waria predates this acronym and because of the conservative Indonesian pushback against what they believe to be encroaching Western culture. Waria being tarred with the same brush as ‘LGBTQ+’ has been deeply harmful for them- and where resistance to Western imperialism has sprouted in Indonesia, homophobia has sometimes germinated alongside it. In the context of the Waria, a desire to preserve traditional Indonesian practices has led to many protesting against a facet of their culture which is traditional. One could speculate that similar mechanisms underpin the disappearance of motsoalle practices from Lesotho. Motsoalle relationships- specifically those with romantic overtures- seemingly disappeared from Sotho culture sometime before the turn of the 21st century. So naturally, I wanted to know what awareness Dr Ntho had- professionally and personally- of these relationships.

Dr Ntho, in interview: In Sesotho, when we say someone is your motsoalle, you actually mean that he's a friend. This is someone that is very close to you, someone who knows you, someone who can actually describe you if people want to know about you, somebody who you have intimate moments with, because you can confide in each other. It is someone that can cover you when you need to be covered. motsoalle becomes your sibling. This is your day -to -day definition of motsoalle. But Basotho also may call someone your friend because you have a relationship with or a romantic relationship with, you know. There is a word that they use that is a bit derogatory, that's called nyazi. But when they say someone is motsoalle, in that it is someone that you have a romantic relationship with. It is a word that is used not to expose. It is a softer way, it's a softer version of what they would call nyazi. But now the history I'm going to step back into is the 1970s, after the 1960s, because I was born in the 60s.

Georgie Williams, voiceover: The term “nyazi” is somewhat comparable to the term “concubine” in English. Nyazi can be translated to mean “lover” but in the pro-marriage culture of Lesotho, this is a pejorative term. Nyazi implies a relationship out of wedlock- and this term has far heavier connotations than motsoalle, which is a term more oriented around friendship and platonic bonding.

The terms used to denote kinship also vary hugely from what has been normalised and proliferated in much of the Western world. Sesotho kinship structures are remarkably different to the Western idea of the ‘nuclear family’, which comprises a father, a mother and their children. For example, people who would be considered ‘maternal aunts’ or ‘paternal uncles’ in much of Western culture are considered a form of ‘mother’ or ‘father’ for Basotho. Generally-speaking, Sesotho kinship reinforces closer ties with what many Western cultures would classify as more distant relatives. This context feels pertinent as Dr Ntho goes on to describe the dynamic that existed within motsoalle relationships between older and younger girls.

Dr Ntho, in interview: So when we grew up as young girls, there would be our older sisters or older girls who would be, what would be the best way of defending, but who would be our mummies, she's your mummy, you're her baby, right? But it's someone that you meet, it's not necessarily related, but she calls you baby, and she actually has an intimate moment with you. She would buy you nice things, would want to be with you a lot. And now, when I look back, I realise, oh, these older girls, actually, they were teaching us even how to handle boyfriends, but they didn't know, they didn't tell us that they teaching us that, but you can remember vividly that they would help us as young girls, they would spoil us, then you go to boarding school, a girl's boarding, they will be spoiling you, they will be giving you this and that, they will be, well sometimes they will be actually exploiting you because you'll be working for them, doing laundry for them, but you know I understand that things no longer happening now. But for us when we grew up, especially those who went to a boarding school, they will tell you the same story that you have this person who calls you a baby and you call them the mummy. Well, as I grew older myself, I also have to have a baby and somebody calls me a mummy, then you are friends, but also you also engage into romantic, you know, you become intimates, not necessarily intimate, intimate as in, you know, a heterosexual relationship, but it's somebody who will cuddle you, somebody who is going to spoil you, like I say.

Georgie Williams, voiceover: The dynamic Dr Ntho describes is significant to the conversation around motsoalle- but it is not a dynamic which has gone undocumented thus far. Sociologist Judith Gay wrote extensively on the experiences of women in Lesotho- from their relationship experiences to their experiences of migration. Her article, titled ‘Mummies and Babies’ and Friends and Lovers in Lesotho details uncannily similar experiences to what Dr Ntho describes- and more. Gay rejects what she describes as the “ethnocentric polarisation of homosexual and heterosexual relations which is such a marked feature of Western culture”. That is to say, Gay believes that experiences and relationships that many Westerners would describe as heterosexual or homosexual do not have to present themselves at odds with one another- that there may be more room for nuance between the two.

Gay goes on to argue that this form of “fictive kinship” allows Basotho girls to prepare themselves for both the nurturing aspects of motherhood but also the romantic and affectionate aspects of relationships with men. Gay suggests that this specific mummy/baby dynamic only emerged in the mid 1900s- and this is bolstered by the fact that the words “mummy” and “baby” are spoken in English and not the Sesotho equivalent terms. That said, similarly affectionate gift-giving dynamics between girls and women were reported by elderly women who would have been children at the beginning of the 20th century.

Anecdotally, Gay reports younger informants suggesting that sexual behaviour did occur in some of these mummy/baby dynamics, but that largely this was condemned socially- and this condemnation was often supported by references to the Bible. Largely, or at least publicly, these relationships were seen to be predominantly affectionate but non-sexual, even where the affectionate elements may have been interpreted as romantic. Gay also suggests that what these mummy/baby dynamics afforded young women and girls was a way to perform agency in a relationship- opposing the passivity required in heterosexual relationships. The older participant, the mummy, was allowed to initiate and declare affection in a way that may be considered inappropriate in relationships with men. Naturally, not all these relationships occurred amongst school-age girls, either. Gay reports cases of these relationships occurring between women where one or both had already married men, but the weight of infidelity- romantic, sexual or otherwise- was not as heavy when a woman was involved, instead of another man.

Gay’s article is expansive and insightful and echoes many of the sentiments and convictions expressed by Dr Ntho about the nature of these relationships. It is evident how, in an isolating environment such as boarding schools, where cross-gender relationships were less feasible, the security of exploring affection and bonding with other girls may occur. Additionally, it is clear how the older and younger dynamic may open a door to this kind of relationship- where nurturing is permitted by girls more than pure romantic desire. Furthermore, for very long-time listeners of the project, you may see parallels between what Dr Ntho describes here and the more romantic and erotic elements of queer kinship mentioned in Episodes 2 and 3. The titles afford to us by our kin often carry multiple social connotations- as a provider or a dependent, as a nurturing force or a vulnerable person. In many contexts- although I cannot decisively say all- these kinship terms denote a dynamic more symbolic and less literal than people may interpret them to be. In Sesotho culture, where motherhood and fatherhood are not always afforded to a person through their own procreation but, instead, their sibling’s, to refer to a romantic or close platonic partner as your “mummy” or “baby” is a more nuanced matter than in Eurocentric cultures. In fact, it may be useful to recollect that the latter term is widely used in many English-speaking countries to refer to one’s romantic or sexual partner.

As we delve deeper into motsoalle relationships, it becomes evident how the term ‘lesbian’ does not mesh with the complexities of Basotho lived experience that formulate a relationship dynamic such as motsoalle. To falsely impose the term ‘lesbian’ would also invite ill-evidenced conflations between womanhood inside and outside of Lesotho. In fact, the appropriateness of applying the term ‘woman’ in any African context has been previously contested. In What is a Woman? A decolonial African feminist analysis of womanhoods in Lesotho by Neo Mohlabanea and Malehoko Tshoaedi, Mohlabanea and Tshoaedi contest the notions of womanhood established in queer and feminist theory by renowned scholar Simone de Beauvoir in her seminal text, The Second Sex. Mohlabanea and Tshoaedi argue that “By presenting the experiences of white, middle-class European women as representative of those of all women, yet disregarding those of differently bodied women, the concept ‘Woman’ is not only universalist, but also exclusionary.” Their argument is that the term ‘woman’ is heterogeneous- that is to say, women vary in appearance, anatomy, life experience and cultural values so profoundly that to reduce almost half of the global population to a singular label is misguided- especially when that label is so grounded in European ideals. Mohlabanea and Tshoaedi’s paper also states that, in Lesotho as in many colonised countries, womanhood is defined, reinforced and maintained through the institution of marriage. This institution is described in the paper as hetero-patriarchal- thus, grounded in both heterosexuality and a social system which protects a male-favouring power imbalance. Womanhood, it is suggested, requires both heterosexuality and a willingness to submit and defer power to men. The ideal Mosotho woman, according to this paper, is one whose sexuality is grounded in passivity and ignorance. This ideal is more than a biological certainty- it is a product of cultural traditions, organised religion and Western influence. Womanhood, in Lesotho and everywhere else, is a culture-bound category.

On these grounds, we can begin to understand why the term ‘lesbian’ is more than a sexuality delineator- it is an identity situated within the political and, potentially, at odds with the European and colonial idea of ‘womanhood’. French philosopher Monique Wittig is perhaps best known for her claims that lesbians are not women- a statement grounded in her conviction that womanhood is a concept entirely- excuse the pun- married to heteronormativity. Undoubtedly, the understanding of womanhood we have discussed thus far feels deeply contingent on heteronormativity and the influence of men. However, Queer theorist and transgender scholar Jacob Hale’s response to Wittig implies a far greater nuance. Hale states in his article Are Lesbians Women? that, although Wittig states that “lesbians opt out of the heterosexual economy” this statement does not fully address and unpack “the underlying oppressive function of the distinctions between man and woman”. Lesbianism, as both a sense of being and connecting with others and as a cultural and political category, is connected to modern and European conceptions of womanhood so complexly, its position around a crude gender binary so nuanced and interchangeable, that to use this term to describe any platonic, romantic or sexual experiences between female sex individuals in Lesotho would be distasteful and reductive. As evidenced in many of our episodes, the act of universally and haphazardly applying Eurocentric or Western language to other cultures or communities borders on an act of colonial erasure.

This need to understand the language of gender, sexuality and kinship in other cultures is about more than linguistic curiosity- when we translate concepts across cultures, their meaning and significance can be lost. There is undoubtedly more to Motsoalle experiences than can be conveyed in mislabelling them as lesbian experiences. To better understand the romantic, sexual, platonic and interrelational nuances of Motsoalle experiences, I asked Dr Ntho to drill down on the meaning of the term- and why it is that a word used to convey friendship in one context may have different connotations in another.

Georgie, in interview: So I wanted to ask, based on what you said about these kind of two different uses of term motsoalle, do you think that the reason why a term that's used to describe a close friend is also used for these more intimate relationships as a euphemism, or do you think it's more because of the significance of the emotional bond, or is it maybe some other reason?

Dr Ntho, in interview: That is difficult to distinguish because this has taken me back into my young self, you know? So I'm trying to understand it myself now, that exactly why would that be called Setswale and this also was called Setswale, but I can assure you that there are some similarities in a way, in that this person that calls you, your mommy or my baby, she's someone who protects you. She's someone who actually loves you. In the same manner, that friend, that close friend, it is someone who really loves you. It might be different type of love, but it's someone who loves you, who can actually take a bullet on your behalf. similar with this person, that is, now the difference maybe it is that this one, this, the romantic mummy-baby phenomenon, maybe it is someone that, that relationship can even end. But a close friend, you're not expecting that it can end. Well it can, but that's not what you're expecting. And I cannot even recall that this mummy baby thing, the mummy would even introduce you to her boyfriend and tell her that this is your daddy. Yes, she expects him to respect you.

Georgie, in interview: Wow, that is fascinating and such an unusual dynamic as well.

Dr Ntho, in interview: It is, and Basotho don't talk about it.

Georgie, in interview: That does actually, it leads on to one of my other questions I wanted to ask, which is from what I've found from the research, there's been a real decline in these particular relationships amongst women. Is there anything that you think accounts for that decline in visibility? Do you see relationships like this at all today in Lesotho?

Dr Ntho, in interview: This intimate one, I don't know. But I've heard that my children, for instance, they don't know about it. And I've asked a number of young girls if they know about it, they'll tell me, no. I think maybe the visibility of the lesbian groups or group or the discourses of homosexuality, because now they are emerging and they are out there in the public, probably that might have affected that one, which was for lack of better words, it was more of someone helping you to grow into a woman than this one, which is, well, I don't define lesbians, lesbian, I don't know, I'm not one, so I might get it wrong. But I think I want to believe now that in those times during our time, nobody could talk about homosexuality. It was a taboo. So I think maybe the change in the landscapes on the agenda of sexualities and through the surfacing now of lesbians, gays, transgenders, all of those, maybe it is the one that has affected the practice, or even talking about it, because I can imagine if those days we call ourselves lesbians, our parents would beat us to a pulp. So that was what was there. So today we have these young men, young women, young individuals who are brave to say, I'm in love with a girl. Ours was not necessarily in love, but it had all those dynamics, with you being aware that this person who’s called the mummy has a boyfriend, with her saying this young girl that I call my baby, she has a boyfriend, and it is acceptable. So I can't say it was bisexual because there was no sex there.

Georgie Williams, voiceover: Bisexual is another anglocentric label which feels difficult and inappropriate to impose on this behaviour. Bisexuality encompasses sexual attraction to two or more genders- but does not necessarily encompass romantic attraction. Dr Ntho astutely notes in her example that sex was absent from this relationship- platonic and romantic elements took precedent. When we talk about sexual orientations, we talk about more than sexual desires and experiences- we also talk about our desires for bonding, for companionship, for support and intimacy in its many forms. Biromanticism exists- and we describe it as a romantic attraction to two or more genders. But this never has to involve sexual desire or sexual behaviour. Although it would be misplaced for me to insinuate biromantic behaviour was part of motsoalle relationships, it is a Western analogue that may help us to disentangle what sexual desire and romantic desire looks like.

Georgie Williams, in interview: I want to ask if, you know, if the younger generation aren't aware of it, Do you think it is something that could become prevalent again in the culture, in Lesotho, or do you think this is relegated to history now?

Dr Ntho, in interview: No, I'm sure it is relegated to history, I'm sure it is, because, you know, you could hear these young people would be surprised if another girl showed interest, intimacy to them, they- they'll be, they'll reject it if they think they are heterosexual. So I think, like I'm saying, I think it ended with the boarding school culture. Of course, even in the villages it happened, but it died. And you know, now that you're asking this, I'm like, okay, why didn't we realise when it ended? How were the signs that it was ending and why, why did it end? I'm now beginning to ask myself as you are asking me these questions because it never occurred to me.

I just remember that one, is it Dr. Malasha? I just remember one article or a book. Yes, it's a book that was written by one scholar at the University of Durban about that type of relationship that she had with her helper, her domestic helper. She wrote about it. I just can't remember the name of the book, but she wrote about that relationship. And I know when it was presented, when I was still at the university, most of the old folks like myself, we reminiscing about it to say, oh, okay, they had this relationship we used to have, but it was not about being lesbian, just not. Yes, I'm beginning to ask myself, why didn't you have interest in writing about this? Why? [laughs] As a nation, we are very secretive when it comes to love matters. We are very protective of that information. That's why even our parents would not talk with us about our boyfriends. It is not a Sesotho common thing to talk about love matters. It may have changed because of social media, but if you go into a typical Mosotho woman and her children, it is not very easy to be talking about those. Um, so I don't know what made it decline, but I can only assume that I think the emergence and the evolution emergence of the phenomenon of homosexuality in the public space, in the public domain, maybe erased that practice.

Georgie Williams, voiceover: Anxieties around sexuality, sexual desire and intimacy are not to be unexpected in Lesotho, given the country’s history regarding HIV and AIDS. In 2000, 14 years after the initial detection of HIV in the country, HIV and AIDS were declared a national disaster by Lesotho’s monarchy. According to the World Health Organisation, Lesotho is the third highest HIV infected country in the world, with an adult prevalence rate of 23.2%. This means almost 1 in 4 adult Basotho live with this disease. The Lesotho Ministry of Health and Social Welfare also reports that rates are significantly higher amongst sex workers and factory workers- some of the most vulnerable and financially disadvantaged members of society in Lesotho. A number of factors influence these rates; rural living means access to healthcare becomes more challenging for patients expected to travel long distances. In addition, violence against women and girls remains a pervasive issue in the patriarchal culture of Lesotho. However, it should also be mentioned that the overwhelming majority of schools in Lesotho are managed by churches- Lesotho is, according to the US Department of State, 90% Christian. Sexual shame has been propagated throughout mainstream education in Lesotho through the domination of schooling by Christian organisations. Gender and education scholar Mathabo Khau writes the following about the influence of Christian missionaries in Lesotho in Journeying into the past: Lesotho sexuality education curriculum history:

“The missionaries portrayed sex as an evil act if it was not done for procreation and thus their teachings on sex were about the ills of sex and how dangerous it was to one’s wellbeing. The church privileged its moralistic and warning teachings regarding sexuality over other sexuality discourses. Moral education thus enjoyed hegemony within the missionary schools’ sexuality education curriculum. This kind of teaching was prevalent in church schools and because most schools in Lesotho are church owned, it became a countrywide practice. For example, the ethos of the Catholic Church prohibits the teaching of sex education because it includes teaching about contraception and abortion, which are prohibited among Catholics and thus cannot be taught in Catholic schools”.

The original, pre-Christian perspectives held by Basotho around sexuality are hard to determine, due to a lack of written records and a tradition of Sesotho oral history. But it would be foolish to ignore how Christian influence on sexual openness and awareness has been profoundly harmful here. The roots of sexual anxieties in Lesotho may be numerous and deep in the foundations of this country; but it is undeniable that Western influence- in the form of French Missionaries- plays a key part in negative perceptions of sex amongst modern-day Basotho.

As I spoke with Dr Ntho on this subject, I became aware of a parallel emerging between Lesotho and another non-Western country. In disavowing direct comparisons between Motsoalle relationships and lesbians, we may more easily draw parallels between Motsoalle and the Japanese concept of girls’ love, which we discussed with Professor Yuka Kanno back in Episode 4 of this project. Professor Kanno explained that in Japanese culture, girl’s love is a genre of media that permits and presents a form of romantic affection between adolescent girls which is never overtly sexual. The popularity of this genre of media provides insight into the complexities of navigating romance and eroticism as young people in Japanese culture, where homosexuality remains a pervasive taboo.

Georgie, in interview: That was one of my suspicions, but wow, this is very novel and actually while you talk about it, there is a similar concept in Japanese culture that existed for a long time where it wasn't supposed to be a sexual relationship but it was these deep romantic relationships amongst often teenage, high school age girls that was kind of socially accepted because it wasn't considered overtly sexual.

Dr Ntho, in interview: Absolutely. Absolutely, yes. I think you're putting it right, in the correct way. It was from primary. These big girls would be coming to us, the small ones, and when you become big yourself, you go to the small ones. But honestly, we're not ashamed of it, because like I was saying, it wasn't considered as sexual because sex in our society is not talked about. But in this relationship, because it was pure, that you loved each other as women, as girls, and you could only kiss, that's it. From there, you just share your life, that's all. No, nothing romantic about even being, I don't know what lesbians do, but for this one, it stops there at kissing, buying each other sweets, writing letters, love letters to each other, I love you so much, you know, you're so innocent when I look at it now! [both laugh]

Georgie Williams, voiceover: Dr Ntho’s description of a phenomena she experienced first-hand provides phenomenal insight into Sesotho kinship, relationship dynamics and how human connection is influenced by taboo and desire. Undoubtedly, debates will persist about which sexual or romantic orientations best explain motsoalle relationships, if any. But what Dr Ntho presents in her disclosure, amongst other things, is how contingent forms of connection are on the context of the world around us. What we receive from family, friends, peers, mentors and elders are not pre-determined by biology, nor a universal code of conduct between all cultures. How are needs- be they emotional, physical, spiritual or otherwise- are met or not met by those around us can create spaces in our lives that people fill in unexpected ways. In the heteronormative Western narrative, there is a notion propagated that a sense of completeness only comes from those with whom we share our bodies and share our ability to build a family. Anecdotally, I myself can attest to having experienced adolescent bonds of deep affection and romantic intimacy with my friends that were both distinctly non-sexual and deeply impactful to my sense of self. When we speak of motsoalle relationships, it should be considered respectful not to see them absorbed under the LGBTQ+ acronym- rather, we should recognise them as both relatable and distinct, culture specific and profoundly human.

Any emotions that may be tied to the recognising that a practice or a subculture is lost, are not mine to convey. What the loss of motsoalle represents for the culture of Lesotho is a matter far more complex and nuanced than this project could ever establish. What is evident- and has been evident since the beginning of this episode- is that a cultural phenomena that was academically cannibalised by the Western concept of lesbianism represents so many conversations un-spoken in the non-African world. Africa’s gendered and sexual complexities are a product of resisted imperialism, colonially-denied traditions and the forming and reforming of ideas of connectedness and kinship throughout the ages. In an ideal world, this project could easily commit an entire season just to researching and archiving African sexual and gendered identities. For now, our time with Dr Ntho will stand as a testament to how none of us are ever experts in the human experience- only specialists of our own domain. In this final episode of Season Two of /Queer, Dr Ntho’s insight reminds us that how we connect as people is as complex, as varied and as fascinating as we can imagine, and more. There is still so much to learn. There is still so much to know. The work is never done- and what a wonderful notion to hold in our hands.

This episode of the /Queer Podcast was edited by Sam Clay, transcribed by Bronya Smith, scripted, produced and hosted as always by me, Georgie Williams. A very special thanks to Dr Mamoeketsi Ntho for her incredible interview and to Masemote Grace Molale at the National University of Lesotho for her research assistance in this episode.

Many thanks also to our Patreon subscribers- even when our seasons end, the project continues. We have overheads for running our website and RSS feeds to cover, editing software subscriptions to pay for and money to raise for the next season. During these quiet periods, your support means the most to us. If you want to drop us just a few pennies to keep us afloat, you can find our Patreon at patreon.com/slashqueer. That’s S-L-A-S-H Queer. You can also find our merchandise on Threadless- sporting our gorgeous new ‘Kind, Queer, Radical’ designs, and we are still accepting donations via Ko-fi- the links to all of the above are in the description for this episode.

I want to take a moment to say thank you. 2019 was the most challenging year of my life- and it was also the year I started this project with zero expectations for it to become anything. Five years on, this project has been listened to and read and shared through the overwhelming majority of this planet’s countries, has archived around 16 hours of global gender and sexuality history and, quite selfishly, allowed me as a specialist to learn from some of the most fascinating, generous, candid and compassionate people I have ever met. It has been a joy and an honour to learn alongside you, our listeners. My hopes and dreams very much centre around a third season of this project- myself and the team have discussed field research in South America, South East Asia and even boat-hopping as unpaid deckhands through the Pacific Islands- so if you are in a position to assist with any size of donation, know that it means more to me than I can express. This project is my life. It is my pride and joy. I hope I can bring it to you once more in the not-so-distant future.

This episode was recorded virtually between Lesotho and South Africa. Music in this episode was composed by our resident audio king, Sam Clay. If you enjoyed this episode or have any feedback, please get in touch on Instagram or X at @SlashQueer or email us at info@slashqueer.com. For the last time this season and until we reunite- stay kind, stay radical and stay queer.