13 October 2025 by Limpho Sello

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A shy yet confident voice fills the air, serenading a group of journalists documenting the devastating impacts of child marriage in Lesotho — a southern African nation of crisscrossed brown mountains that conceal both beauty and pain.

For the first two minutes, 21-year-old *‘Maseabata speaks with remarkable composure. That is, until she gently asks, “Am I not going to appear anywhere so I can relate my story freely?” A simple assurance from the journalists — whose trip is supported by the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) — unlocks emotions she had carefully restrained.

Her voice begins to falter, cracking into fragments that tremble between whispers and sobs, as though the weight of her story was too heavy for her throat to bear. Tears stream endlessly down her rounded cheeks, glowing against her flawless brown skin. Each word pulls her back to that painful day — the day she was married off at just 15, a teenager from Holantu village in Bobete, Thaba-Tseka district.

“I sneaked out of the house one evening to meet my then boyfriend — now my husband,” ‘Maseabata recalled softly.

“Later that night, my aunt realised I was gone. She came looking for me with her husband. When they found me, they started beating me, hurling insults, and demanding to know how many times I had sex with my boyfriend.”

When word of the incident reached her mother, who was working in South Africa, the aunt advised her to send ‘Maseabata away. The situation quickly worsened, leaving the teenager frightened and uncertain about her future.

“When I told my boyfriend what had happened,” she said, “he told me, ‘I didn’t plan to marry you — you’re still too young. But given your situation, I have to marry you to protect you.’”

A week later, her mother agreed that marriage would be the best way to preserve the family’s honour. And just like that, ‘Maseabata’s childhood came to an abrupt end.

Legally, what happened to ‘Maseabata should not have been possible. Lesotho’s Marriage Act sets the minimum age for marriage at 21, though exceptions exist with parental consent. The Children’s Protection and Welfare Act of 2011 also criminalises child marriage. Yet experts warn that these laws often clash with customary practices, which allow boys as young as 18 and girls as young as 16 to marry with parental approval.

According to a June 2024 World Policy Analysis titled “Information for the Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women, 90th Pre-Sessional Working Group”, child marriage rates remained high even years after the passage of the Children’s Protection and Welfare Act: 16 percent of women aged 20–24 had been married before 18, while 14 percent of girls aged 15–19 were already married.

UNFPA calls child marriage a human rights violation, defining it as any formal or informal union involving a child under 18 — whether with an adult or another child. For girls like ‘Maseabata, these legal protections offer little comfort because the reality of child marriage continues to shape lives, ending childhoods long before their time.

Now 21, ‘Maseabata she is a young mother raising a one-year-and-six-month-old child in a home she describes as one without control, dignity, or freedom.

“If I had known about contraceptives, I wouldn’t have had a child so early,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I regret it deeply because I wasn’t ready to be a mother.”

Her story is both deeply personal and painfully familiar in Lesotho, where many girls are still married before turning 18. According to Child Marriages Data, the practice remains significantly more common in rural areas than in urban communities. In 2024, the prevalence of early marriage stood at 18 percent in rural areas compared to 8 percent in urban areas, bringing the national average to 13.4 percent.

Marriage as punishment

For ‘Maseabata, marriage to her now 27-year-old husband was never about love — it was a punishment that pushed her into a life of survival. Today, she earns a living by selling beer alongside her mother-in-law, struggling to make ends meet.

“We sell beer on a very small scale, just enough for all of us to survive.” She said quietly.

Her husband, who was 21 when they married, has since gone to South Africa — Lesotho’s only neighbouring country — in search of informal work. She explained that she had met her husband only three times before marriage.

“I never thought of marriage at that age. I loved school. I wanted to become a nurse. That was my dream.”

Instead, she was married off in March 2021. At the time, she was in Form C and had to juggle school with married life. Her husband supported her financially at first, alongside her family. But when she failed Form C, the door to education slammed right in her face.

“He told me never to go back to school again, that education was useless since I had already failed. He said I should stay home.”

Her dream of becoming a nurse was buried under household chores, insults, and restrictions.

Living in control

Life in her husband’s home has been defined by control and constant criticism. ‘Maseabata said her husband dictates nearly every aspect of her life. She is not allowed to visit her maiden family, socialise with friends, or seek employment.

When she posted her photos of herself swimming with friends on social media, her husband furiously accused her of promiscuity. “He doesn’t want me to live the life I want. If I say I want to work, he says I can go — but then he will accuse me of cheating. He said I should not earn money for myself.”

The economic reality is grim. Her husband is unemployed, occasionally trying to run a small liquor business with little profit. Household needs are met by his parents, who even provide basics like soap.

“I feel it is really his parents who is supporting me. My husband doesn’t care about anything.”

Now that he is in Gauteng looking for work, she explained the distance has not eased her suffering. If anything, it has worsened the control, she said.

 “Even when he calls from there, it is to insult me. To accuse me. To say painful things.”

Almost four years after marriage, ‘Maseabata, at 19, gave birth to her only child unplanned.

“I did not even understand contraceptives. I only knew vaguely, but I didn’t realise they could really help me. If I had known, I would not have had a child so early.”

Now, she uses contraceptive injections to avoid another pregnancy, but the emotional weight of being a mother at such a young age remains heavy.

Maseabata said biggest regret is losing her education.

“All I want is to return to school. To repeat Form C. To become a nurse. That has been my dream since I was a little girl,” ‘Maseabata said.

Chiefs accused of legitimising illegal marriages

Her story exposes a larger crisis: a society that enables child marriage and silences victims.

In Thaba-Tseka, officials admit the practice continues, often fueled by initiation traditions and signed-off cattle exchanges facilitated by chiefs.

District Administrator Tlali Mphafi recently told the press that boys return from initiation schools already eager to marry, often with chiefs allegedly legitimising underage unions by authorising cattle payments.

“Boys go to initiation schools here in Thaba-Tseka, young boys are initiated in Thaba-Tseka while they are still very young in age. I do not know what is said at the initiation school because I have never been initiated,” Mphafi said.

“When the boys return from there, they come back wanting to marry while they are still young. At initiation, you go when you are 16 years old, you return at 16 years old, but when you return, you already want to marry, so they marry. The truth is, they leave behind these children, they leave behind wives because they are still young.

“I have realised that the chiefs have abandoned their responsibility because they even write and sign for the cattle that are used to marry off these underage children, and this matter is a crime.

“Now this matter causes people who lack conscience to engage in issues of marriage and sex because the response is always that he will be married with cattle, cattle that have been signed off by the chief, who continues to write cattle that marry off a young child, and she gets married while she is still a little girl.”

The chiefs’ alleged involvement, combined with silence from families, traps girls in marriages that rob them of education, freedom, and a future.

The Principal Chief of Leribe, who also oversees parts of Thaba-Tseka, Joel Motšoene, told Uncensored News on October 9, 2025, that chiefs are not only community leaders but also play a key role in law and policy implementation. He said their responsibility is to intervene where there is need, engage in dialogue to address emerging challenges, and find amicable solutions to community disputes.

Chief Motšoene explained that traditional leaders meet every month for introspection sessions to assess whether they are still fulfilling their mandate effectively. Particularly on the issue of child marriages, Chief Motšoene said they always emphasise that couples must produce identification cards so that we can verify whether their marriage complies with the law.

“When the ages do not meet the legal requirement for marriage, we do not approve such unions,” he said. However, he acknowledged that not all chiefs strictly follow the law.

“I will not deny that there might be some chiefs who approve marriages by simply signing and stamping letters without verifying ages. As a result, such marriages continue to happen,” he admitted.

Chief Motšoene also identified abduction as one of the major challenges facing traditional leaders, saying some Basotho continue to mistake the practice for a legal cultural norm.

“You will find people who still believe abduction is lawful when, in fact, it is illegal,” he said, adding: “these are the issues we discuss during our meetings. But another problem is that some chiefs fail to attend these gatherings, and such practices may persist in areas where they are absent.”

He further noted that the process of reporting cases of child marriage often takes too long. “During this lengthy process of transferring reports from one office to another, it may appear as though cases of child marriage are not being properly addressed,” Chief Motšoene concluded.

UNFPA Country Representative John Kennedy Mosoti said this failure is systemic.

“The fact that we are not holding the perpetrators to account, that is the problem. We also have the highest maternal mortality, the highest GBV, and the highest suicide rates in the world — all tied to these systemic failures.”

Still dreaming in silence

Despite everything — the forced marriage, the insults, the isolation, and the stolen childhood — ’Maseabata has not let go of her dream.

 “All I want is to go back to school. To study. To be a nurse. That is my dream. I don’t want another child now. I just want a better life for me and my baby.”

But as long as her husband controls her life, as long as her family prioritises honour over her future, and as long as institutions look away, her dream remains just that — a dream.