From a distance, the newly built houses in Makalong appear to fulfil the promise of development under Phase II of the Lesotho Highlands Water Project. The neatly aligned and modernized houses stand as visible symbols of progress and improved living conditions. Yet for Mathapelo Motabola and Mahopolang Khatleli, the reality of resettlement extends far beyond the walls of their new homes. The move has brought a deep sense of loss, disruption of livelihoods and uprooting of social and cultural ties that had shaped their lives for decades.

Figures 1: The newly built houses which appear perfect from the outside but inside lingers sadness and a deep sense of loss for the women.

For nearly five decades, Mathapelo Motabola called Lits’otsong home. It was where she raised her children, cultivated her fields, harvested fruit from her trees and built a life deeply connected to the land and community around her.

Just a few kilometres away, Mahopolang Khatleli had also established a life rooted in her environment. As a traditional healer and beekeeper, she depended on medicinal plants, livestock and bees not only for her livelihood, but also for knowledge and practices passed down through generations.

Today, both women live in Makalong, a resettlement village established under Phase II of the Lesotho Highlands Water Project (LHWP). While the resettlement programme promised improved living conditions and a better future, their experiences reveal a different reality. The greatest losses are not visible in the houses they now occupy, but in the livelihoods, identities, social networks and sense of belonging they left behind.

Figure 2: One of the four houses that belonged to Mathapelo now stands taken down, over 50 years of memories taken down just like that.

Figure 3: The river that once ran just below Mathapelo’s home met her daily needs, water for drinking, cooking and sustaining her household. Today, she depends on a water source that is unreliable and insufficient.

The land that once sustained her family is no longer accessible in the same way. What used to be a 30 minutes’ walk to her fields has now turned into a two-hour walk. Not only that, but a portion of her fields has also been affected as it falls within the dam markings. This will cause a decline in her food production.

Figure 4: A dam marking cuts across Mathapelo’s field, dividing the land she once relied on. She says she has not been compensated and when the dam is completed, this portion of her land will be lost forever.

She also left behind four houses, along with 50 fruit trees that sustained her household. From these trees, she made dried and canned fruits, some for her family, and some to sell within the community.

Figure 5: Behind her, Mathapelo leaves the fruit trees that once sustained her family, trees she depended on for food and income and which she could not take with her.

Not far from her, is 55-year-old Ms. Mahopolang Khatleli, the disruption is equally profound. A beekeeper and traditional healer, she watched her bees flee from the unsuitable conditions of Makalong. The medicinal plants she relied on for healing are no longer accessible in the way they once were, disrupting cultural practices and traditional knowledge passed down through generations.

Figure 6: Ms. Mahopolang Khatleli stands in front of what was once one of her houses in Lits’otsong, where she practiced traditional healing and kept her bees. During relocation, the structure was demolished, causing the bees to escape and leaving a key part of her livelihood behind

She had a dedicated space in one of her houses, where she kept her bees and medicinal plants. These were not only part of her livelihood, but part of her identity and cultural practice.

Ms Khatleli’s beekeeping site in Lits’otsong was taken down together with her house, her outside kitchen “lelothoane,” and all she had, all these years, now abandoned, symbolizing the collapse of a livelihood rooted in nature. During relocation, the wardrobe she used to house her bees was dismantled. In the process, the bees fled.

Her medicinal plants, carefully collected over the years, were hastily packed into plastic and newspapers. Now, they sit stored in one of her rooms, disconnected from the natural environment they once thrived in.

Figure 7: Once rooted in nature and carefully gathered over years, her medicinal plants are packed into plastic and newspapers and remain stored in a room, separated from the natural environment where they once thrived.

She raised the issue of her bees with the project authorities.

“They told me they would try to bring them back,” she says. “But until today, nothing has happened.”

Proper procedures should have been followed to safely relocate her bees, establish a suitable new habitat for them, and provide the necessary support and training to maintain beekeeping in a different environment. Instead, her bees were lost, and with them, a key part of her livelihood.

Her poultry farming collapsed too, the chicken house provided is incomplete, without roofing or protection. Her chickens died and with them, another source of sustenance.

Figure 8: The incomplete, unroofed chicken house provided to Ms. Mahopolang Khatleli offers little protection, leading to the loss of her chickens. In the new settlement, where homes are closely spaced, she can no longer let them roam freely and is forced to keep them tied.

Makalong reflects the visible outcomes of development: new houses, Yet the experiences of Mathapelo and Mahopolang reveal a less visible reality. Resettlement has uprooted livelihoods, disrupted cultural practices and weakened connections to land and community that took decades to build.

Although both women experienced resettlement differently, their stories are connected by the same underlying reality: life after relocation is heavier in ways that cannot always be measured, exposing the often-concealed emotional, social and economic costs borne by affected communities.

Their experiences also raise a critical issue, livelihood restoration.

Resettlement is not only about moving people into new houses. It must also be measured by whether people can restore their livelihoods and rebuild a sense of belonging. For these women, the true weight of resettlement lies not in the homes they received, but in the lives, they were forced to leave behind.

In this case, this responsibility remains unmet.

Figure 9: Inside the homes of Mathapelo and Mahopolang, a different reality unfolds, one of loss, disruption and lives still trying to rebuild after being uprooted.