The UFO Over Broadhurst: When Aliens Allegedly Landed in Botswana’s Backyard

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Southern Africa has always had a taste for the dramatic. We’ve had gold rushes, political scandals, and one too many road signs that promise “potholes ahead” like it’s a scenic attraction. But few moments in regional history top the day aliens supposedly touched down in Botswana. No, really. The Broadhurst UFO incident wasn’t a rumour whispered over late-night beers — it was a full-blown national headline. Even decades later, it remains one of those stories that sit perfectly between “that’s ridiculous” and “wait… what if?”

It was the early 1980s. The Cold War was still on, cassette tapes were the height of technology, and the phrase “social media” would have sounded like a new disease. In Gaborone’s quiet suburb of Broadhurst, the sun had just gone down when locals noticed something strange in the sky — a glowing object, metallic and pulsing with red and white light. It wasn’t a plane. It wasn’t a satellite. And it definitely wasn’t something anyone had seen before.

Witnesses claimed it hovered silently at first, like it was choosing where to land. Then, in full view of several people, it descended — slowly, deliberately — into a patch of open veld near the edge of town. That’s when things got weird. According to reports from the time, military and police units rushed to the scene within minutes. The area was cordoned off. Trucks rolled in. And by morning, the field was empty, save for a circular patch of scorched earth and a handful of very confused residents.

The official explanation? A “weather balloon.” Which, let’s be honest, is what every government says when they run out of believable lies. This one apparently had “malfunctioned” and “fallen to the ground.” Sure. Because every weather balloon glows red, hovers silently, and requires the army to arrive faster than an ambulance on payday.

Naturally, that explanation didn’t satisfy anyone with an imagination. Within days, the local papers were buzzing. Some swore they’d seen the object up close. Others claimed men in unmarked uniforms removed something “large and metallic” under tarpaulins. One woman told reporters she’d heard a humming noise that “felt like it was inside her head.” Conspiracy theories exploded faster than you could say “Area 51, but make it African.”

And here’s where it gets truly fun: Botswana wasn’t known for UFO sightings. This wasn’t Roswell or rural Texas. Broadhurst was a quiet, respectable neighbourhood. People didn’t hallucinate flying saucers between errands. So when multiple witnesses — including police officers — described the same thing, people paid attention. The Botswana Daily News even ran an official piece acknowledging the “incident,” which only made the mystery harder to bury.

By the end of that week, the story had spread across southern Africa. South African radio picked it up. Zimbabwean tabloids added their own flair. Some claimed the craft left behind a strange residue that killed grass in a perfect circle. Others insisted local children had found “metal fragments” that vanished after government men showed up. The more the authorities said “nothing to see here,” the more everyone leaned in.

To this day, no one has ever produced conclusive evidence — but also, no one has convincingly debunked it. And that’s where the story found its real power. It became a kind of modern folklore. Whether you believed in aliens or not, everyone could agree on one thing: something happened in Broadhurst that night, and the official story didn’t make sense.

Even now, decades later, old-timers in Gaborone tell the story with a mix of pride and amusement. “The Americans had Roswell,” they say. “We had Broadhurst.” It’s their local mystery — proof that even quiet corners of Africa have their brush with the bizarre. And unlike most Western UFO tales drenched in paranoia, this one has a distinctly African flavour. The witnesses weren’t panicked. They were curious. The community didn’t descend into hysteria. They simply shrugged, talked about it, and went back to their lives — but never stopped wondering.

What makes it particularly charming is how normal life continued around it. Kids still went to school. Shops still opened. But every so often, someone walking their dog would pause at that patch of veld and stare for a moment too long. There’s a rumour that in the months following, people reported seeing strange lights near the same spot — flickering low over the ground before vanishing. Others claimed their radios picked up faint, metallic noises whenever they drove past at night.

Sceptics, of course, had their say. Some blamed experimental aircraft. Others suggested meteor fragments or electrical interference. A few even said it was a prank gone too far. But no one ever found proof for those theories either. And so the story survived — told and retold until it slipped from “news” into “legend.”

There’s something wonderful about stories like that. They don’t ask to be proven. They just want to be remembered. The Broadhurst UFO isn’t about little green men or government cover-ups. It’s about curiosity. It’s about the human need to explain the unexplainable — and how, when logic fails, imagination steps in to fill the gaps. Whether it was an alien craft, a military experiment, or just a confused bit of space junk, it left behind a lasting question: what if?

And honestly, that’s enough. The best mysteries don’t end with answers. They end with raised eyebrows, quiet chuckles, and stories told over fires long after the facts have faded. Somewhere out there, maybe something really did stop by Botswana for a look around. Maybe they took one look at the bureaucracy and the heat and decided to move on. Or maybe the real aliens are just the friends we made along the conspiracy. Either way, Broadhurst earned its place on the map — not for proof, but for wonder.