The visitor flying into Lesotho—the tiny nation-state wholly surrounded by South Africa—gets to see a bit of the country before landing. It's enough to give him second thoughts. The parched, brown land stretches in all directions; and nowhere is there a hint of the lush mountain kingdom promised in the tourist board's brochures.

The Air Lesotho forty-seater touches down at Chief Leabua Jonathan International Airport, a single building in a vast field. The scrutiny of passport control, then the visitor is whisked down Chief Leabua Jonathan Highway toward Maseru, the capital. The highway is flanked by conical huts with thatched roofs and rows of public housing— cinder-block boxes topped with corrugated iron. The huts and boxes continue into the very heart of the capital, where the visitor's car turns onto Maseru's main road, the Kingsway. The sign readsr “Welcome to Lesotho, Africa's friendly mountain kingdom.” Perhaps it should read: Welcome to the poorest place on earth.