LIOLI'S LEKHOOA

I tried to be inconspicuous, fat chance. For the past 22 months I’ve stuck out like a linebacker in a ballet class. Regardless, we walked to the far end of the field to watch the game. Running full speed on the dirt pitch the players looked like The Roadrunner with huge clouds of dust following in their wake. Instead of Wiley Coyote being on their tail the opposing team forced their speed and agility to be displayed.
“Watch how they move the ball,” my African soccer tutor pointed out.
“European teams depend more on passing and using the whole space, but here, it’s raw. They depend mostly on speed and footwork.” This assessment seemed accurate even to me the American football novice who still refers to the most popular game in the world as soccer; the nerve. The players finessed the ball and made it hop and skip to their own personal rhythm as I sipped my Black Label and soaked up the fall sun reveling in the perfection of this Saturday.
The game was Lioli vs. LCS two of Lesotho’s club teams. Since my compatriot dwells in Teyateyaneng (the locals don’t bother with the heinously long name it either, they call it T.Y.) we were rooting for Lioli. LCS was from Maseru, the capital, only 20 minutes away, so the competition was fierce and the fan turn out unprecedented. The TY fans are passionate about their team, donning entire outfits comprised completely of burgundy and gold. A trio of fans clad in jean jumpsuits accented by Lioli colors approached me and pinned a burgundy and gold badge to my shirt. I heartily thanked them and began to cheer even louder now that my colors tied me to the Lioli family.
We remained on the far side until after half time when we decided to inch slowly toward the exit because crowds can tend to become quite inebriated and rowdy post- game. We stood just in front of the Lioli cheerleaders who were a large group of men and women singing cheers and dancing to encourage their troupe towards victory. Watching the sinewy footballers battle it out on the field, the fans encourage with energy and song found only on the African continent and feeling the a breezy Autumn blow across my face, I had a moment; a “this is why I joined Peace Corps” moment. Then it escalated.
The Lioli badge I was sporting caught the eye of one of the main cheerleaders. She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the singing, dancing, nigh pulsating crowd. Only a few fist raises of support and a smile and they were on top of me. Three somewhat intoxicated Lioli fans quickly fitted me with a mesh Lioli doorag, a burgundy and gold necklace and then, whoops, I was on someone’s shoulders. I realized too late that the man whose head was between my legs was lifting me onto his shoulders. He was the self-proclaimed Lioli mascot sporting jean cutoffs so short they made Daisy Duke’s look like burmudas. This all happened in a blur so when I started to realize what was happening the Lioli flag was already being shoved into my hands. I had a decision to make, pick it up or scream to be put down. I felt a reassuring set of hands at my tailbone precluding my fall. Well, when in Rome… or Africa. I picked up the flag and began waving it with glee. The crowd went wild and developed a new cheer. It went something like this: “Lekhooa la Lioli” which literally translated means “Lioli’s white person.” There you have it folks. Political correctness has not been Lesotho’s strong suit. My entire 2 years here in Lesotho I’ve heard at least once a day someone yell “Lekhooa,” in my general direction.
The term “Lekhooa” here in Lesotho is usually accompanied by a demand for money or candy. Lekhooa defines someone by the color of their skin, lekhooa is not necessarily a positive term. For the first time in two years, I was being claimed. I was no longer just a white person, but now, I was Lioli’s white person. It’s like someone finally invited me to sit at the cool table for lunch. After feeling culturally inept for the better part of two years, someone had claimed me for the five minutes in which I rode on the crazy fan’s shoulders. I was a part of something bigger, I was Lioli’s.
He finally put me down, where I was met with shock and laughter from friends.
“Of all the days not to bring a camera.”
Yup, of all the days.
Lioli won, 3-1.