When U.S. President Donald Trump turned to Liberian President Joseph Boakai during their first-ever meeting and said, “such good English… where did you learn to speak so beautifully?”, the internet lit up. Social media users from Liberia to Washington couldn’t decide whether to laugh, cringe, or analyze. Was it a compliment? A gaffe? Or simply Trump being Trump?
At the heart of it was a comment that—while framed as praise—struck many as puzzling. Liberia’s official language is English. It has been for nearly two centuries, ever since freed African Americans helped found the country in the 1800s. So when Trump expressed surprise at Boakai’s fluency, some felt it exposed a lack of knowledge about Liberia’s history and its longstanding ties to the United States.
But there’s more to this moment than just a soundbite. According to Liberia’s Foreign Minister, Sara Beysolow Nyanti, President Boakai took no offense. In an interview with CNN, Nyanti explained that Trump was likely responding to the American influence embedded in Liberian English—a shared linguistic rhythm shaped by history. “What President Trump heard distinctly was the American influence on our English in Liberia,” she said. “And the Liberian president is not offended by that.”
Nyanti further clarified that Trump’s remark may have been more of a recognition than a dismissal: “We know that English has different accents and forms, and so him picking up the distinct intonation that has its roots in American English for us was just recognizing a familiar English version.”
That might be a generous interpretation, but it’s also a diplomatic one. In the world of international politics, how leaders respond to awkward moments often speaks louder than the comments themselves. Boakai, by all accounts, handled it with grace.
Still, for many Liberians watching from afar, the exchange stirred a mix of amusement and irritation. Some viewed Trump’s tone as condescending—suggesting that a West African leader’s ability to speak English well was somehow exceptional. Others saw it as a well-meaning, if clumsy, attempt to break the ice in a room full of high-stakes diplomacy.
To be fair, Trump did add a curious comparison: “You speak better than some people around this table.” That line, half-serious, half-humorous, was clearly meant to flatter Boakai—but it also raised eyebrows. Did he mean to mock his own staff? Other African leaders? Or was it just a classic Trump improvisation with no deeper meaning?
What we can say for certain is that this was the U.S. President’s first direct encounter with Boakai. Trump, known for his spontaneous style and unpredictable rhetoric, likely had little background on Liberia’s unique linguistic and historical ties to the U.S. But in a strange way, his surprise may have opened a door: it reminded audiences—many of whom also forget—that Liberia is not just another English-speaking country. It is a nation whose very foundation was shaped by the American experience, whose schools, courts, and public institutions still carry echoes of that legacy.
Perhaps what Trump meant to say—but didn’t quite manage—was that Boakai’s voice stood out. That he was articulate, thoughtful, and confident in a room where language can often become a barrier. If so, the moment should be seen less as a diplomatic blunder and more as a window into how little many in the West still understand about Africa’s diversity and depth.
So yes, the comment was odd. But it sparked a conversation. And maybe that was the point. If diplomacy is part performance, part perception, then this curious exchange—however awkward—may have helped break the ice between two leaders who are only just getting to know each other.
But then came the photo of the day: both presidents smiling, each giving a thumbs up in the Oval Office. That, in itself, may be the most fluent form of diplomacy.
