Lesotho’s only white ‘sangoma’

MASERU – BERT ’Mamohau Gibson, 76, is a White Mosotho traditional healer who, despite believing in the power of the ancestors, relies mainly on scientific research for her work.

Vumani nge a chant traditional healers in Lesotho and South Africa shout as they command their patients or clients to agree to what their ancestors are saying, is however not part of her vocabulary.

This means her patients do not have to respond “Siya vuma!” in agreement to the direction of the ancestors on how they should use the herbs that Gibson gives them.

In most cases, traditional healers, commonly known as sangomas in South Africa or mathuela in Lesotho, are black indigenous Africans who claim that their healing powers or knowledge of medicinal herbs come from ancestors.

They go through initiation to learn about sacred secrets and also to understand the language of the ancestors.

Gibson, a qualified midwife with vast clinical experience from her adventurous work in South Africa, Lesotho and the United States, says her herbal healing was influenced by her experience living among Basotho communities.

“Ke lethuela la Lekhooa la Mosotho,” she says with a giggle, meaning “I am a white sangoma who is also a Mosotho”.

Gibson is a South African-born woman who trained as a nurse and midwife and worked in a hospital before volunteering to offer health services in rural Lesotho back in the 1970s.

She also worked in the U.S and Canada, where she had a near-fatal car accident.

“I reflected on my Lesotho experiences when I was on a hospital bed. The accident I had was so bad that I spent six months in bed and was unable to work,” said Gibson.

She said her doctor told her to exercise regularly and also do yoga because her muscles were too tight.

“My back was like a biltong.”

Gibson began studying herbs, with a focus on their nutritional value. But in the end she also learnt about the medicinal values of herbs and she would later prescribe them to her patients.

“The moment I got back to Lesotho I used small plants like strawberries and I also ran a herbal shop”, she said.

Like all sangomas, Gibson believes she is spiritually attached to her ancestors. She says she also feels connected to the ancestors of Basotho but does not claim to receive instructions from them on how to treat her patients.

“I don’t cure AIDS or get rid of HIV. I cannot claim that,” she said.

“All I do is recommend the use of certain herbs whose medicinal properties can help boost a patient’s immune system. I advise patients to go to the clinic and consult doctors before using the herbs to avoid taking herbs that clash with their prescribed drugs,” said Gibson.

Armed with the knowledge on herbs, Gibson said she registered with Lesotho’s Ministry of Health in 1989 and was duly licensed to operate. She is also registered with the Lesotho Council of Traditional Healers.

Gibson says she was touched by what she observed about Basotho’s indigenous religious beliefs when she was a volunteering as a midwife in the country’s rural areas.

“In order to understand people well you have to wear the shoes they are wearing. Put yourself in their shoes so that you feel with them,” she says.

“You cannot help people if you are not part of them. Be a Mosotho, think and act like a Mosotho if you want to earn any respect from Basotho.”

At the time when she was in Quthing, where the locals named her ’Mamohau (Mother of grace), she saw many pregnant women who had no access to clinics.

She recalls helping a woman deliver under a tree with nothing but her hands and her midwifery training.

She says one of the complicated deliveries she did which required a doctor and hospitalisation that were not there was of a principal chief’s relative.

Another complicated delivery, she says, was of a boy whom the parents named after her brother.

They had promised to name the baby after her if it was a girl, she said. The boy was born in Gibson’s bedroom.

“From that day I regarded myself as a Motaung by clan because the boy is a Motaung. I am a Mosotho, a Motaung by clan and I have Bataung ancestors,” she said. “A Motaung was born on my bed. That touched my soul and my spirit and I became a Motaung too.”

Although she describes her religion as rooted in African spirituality, she does not regard herself a diviner and does not base her herbalism practice on divination.

On the contrary, she has planted an array of herbs she imported from Europe because “thorough studies have been made on these ones and I know their medicinal values”.

“Many plants in Lesotho have not been studied and I am uncertain about their use. Yes, I know they have medicinal properties but I am very selective towards them,” she says.

Gibson does not want to claim medicinal value of a plant without scientific evidence and avoids usual claims by sangomas that they can cure a variety of diverse conditions including cancer, psychiatric disorders, HIV/AIDS and others.

“I don’t reach a diagnosis through spiritual means. I give people what I have studied and read about.”

When thepost visited Gibson recently, her brother from South Africa had visited her with his wife, bringing new plants from the Eastern Cape to see if they would succeed in this side of the Drakensberg.

Residing in Khorong Ha-Nchela, just after Thaba-Bosiu to Thupa-Kubu, Gibson lives in an old stone house surrounded by trees.

It is in this yard where her botanical garden is flourishing.

She says she wants to pass knowledge about nutritional values of all the plants she studied to willing young Basotho before she dies.

“The level of stunting among Basotho children is worrying. Something has to be done urgently.”

Gibson believes that Basotho are capable of defeating malnutrition “by paying enough attention to their gardens and growing food and every kind of edible plant”.

She says proper food can prevent a lot of diseases that have become a headache for many governments worldwide.

Gibson produced two short documentaries on health under the auspices of Phela Health and Development Communications on nutrition and HIV.

Alice Samuel & Caswell Tlali