Behind Lesotho’s suicide crisis

. . . lack of access to support worsening situation

. . .  no reliable, coordinated data available

 . . . as ministry moves to conduct situation analysis

“There were moments when the pain became so intense that I genuinely believed that ending my life was the only way I could make it stop,” recalls Sehlomeng Labane.

For Labane, suicidal thoughts were not simply about wanting to die. They were about desperately wanting an end to overwhelming emotional pain.

“When I was in that space, my thinking became very narrow, and it was difficult to imagine a future beyond that moment. I think that is something people do not always understand about suicidal thoughts,” she says.

Before her suicide attempts, Labane remembers becoming increasingly overwhelmed and withdrawing into herself. Much of what was happening inside her remained hidden from those around her.

She attempted suicide several times, experiences she describes as having come from a place of intense emotional pain rather than simply a desire to die.

Her understanding of suicide changed again after she lost her niece to suicide. She was no longer only someone who had experienced suicidal thoughts; she was also among those left behind to grapple with the loss.

Even when surrounded by people who try to help, Labane says, the feeling of isolation can persist. There can be a hollow numbness, a loss of motivation and, at times, an inability to see any light ahead.

For many people experiencing depression, she says, it is not simply a matter of feeling sad. It can become a gradual descent in which even basic self-care begins to disappear.

Hygiene declines. Social connections fade. Curtains remain closed. Days are spent in bed, wrapped in silence.

For another survivor, Lekhetho Khama, that darkness became a lived reality.

Khama says he battled depression for years, largely triggered by the devastating loss of his sister who committed suicide. What followed was a prolonged period of emotional turmoil.

“It’s a very lonely and terrible place to be,” Khama told theReporter this week.

Left untreated, his depression worsened, affecting the way he viewed himself, his circumstances and the possibility of a future. His thoughts became increasingly consumed by the pain, while his mind searched for a way to escape it.

Khama says he stopped seeing a future for himself. Death no longer frightened him. Instead, it began to appear as a way out of his suffering.

“When darkness got a hold of me, I felt the best way out was to end my life,” he says.

Without adequate support, Khama turned to alcohol in an attempt to cope. Rather than easing his pain, however, he says drinking deepened his struggles.

“I thought it would help me manage my depression, but it made everything worse,” he says.

His turning point came when he finally received help. The experience opened his eyes to the number of people who are suffering silently.

Their stories are not unique.

Across Lesotho, people continue to experience depression, suicidal thoughts and emotional distress, often without access to adequate mental-health support.

Clinical nurse and counsellor, Manoka Motloung says suicidal behaviour needs to be understood beyond the misconception that suicide is simply a choice or a sign of weakness.

“Suicide is not a choice nor a weakness. It is pain that is beyond what a person feels they can move through, except by taking their own life.”

She says there is also a common misconception that people who die by suicide do not want to live.

“The truth is that people who commit suicide still want to live and love life. It is just that they want a way out of their pain, a pain that their mind tells them is beyond anything else,” Motloung points out.

There are warning signs associated with suicidal thoughts, but these are often overlooked.

Disrupted sleeping patterns, mood swings and social withdrawal can be among the signs that something is wrong.

Recognising these changes, she says, can be an important first step towards getting someone help.

For Litŝitso Mokhothu, founder of Healthy Minds Advocacy (HeMA), recognising warning signs is part of a much bigger responsibility that extends beyond individuals and families.

Every life lost to suicide affects families, friends and entire communities.

HeMA creates spaces where children, young people, women and other vulnerable community members can talk about what they are experiencing without fear of judgement.

But Mokhothu is cautious about attaching specific figures to the organisation’s work.

“HeMA is primarily a community-based advocacy organisation rather than a national crisis line, so we do not currently have enough data to make a reliable year-on-year comparison of suicide calls or referrals,” she says, adding: “What we can speak about is what we encounter through our outreach.”

From that experience, she notes, there is a clear need for greater mental-health education, safe spaces and early intervention, particularly for children and young people.

Teachers, caregivers and families also need support to recognise when changes in behaviour may indicate that someone needs help.

Mokhothu adds that children and young people are dealing with pressures around family relationships, identity, education, unemployment, violence, social expectations and the transition into adulthood.

The World Health Organisation (WHO) reports that one in seven adolescents aged 10 to 19 experiences a mental-health condition. Globally, suicide was the third leading cause of death among people aged 15 to 29 in 2021.

Mokhothu says boys and men also require particular attention because social expectations around masculinity can sometimes make it difficult for them to ask for help.

One of Lesotho’s biggest obstacles in understanding the scale of the suicide problem is the availability and coordination of reliable data.

Mokhothu cautions against claiming that one particular group is the most affected without reliable and current evidence.

The WHO has identified strengthening mental-health data collection, monitoring and surveillance as one of the areas Lesotho needs to improve.

Thabo Mokhothu, Acting Director of Mental Health in the Ministry of Health, says they are currently conducting a suicide situation analysis.

He explains one of the challenges is that suicide data is collected from multiple sources, making it difficult to establish a single, accurate national figure.

The Lesotho Mounted Police Service (LMPS), communities, mortuaries, the Department of Home Affairs and hospitals each collect data, he says.

“Suicide data has categories. There are people who have suicidal thoughts, some who attempt suicide and those who succeed and take their own lives,” Mokhothu indicates.

According to LMPS data cited by the ministry, the 2025/26 financial year recorded 60 suspected suicide deaths — 52 males and eight females.

The data recorded hanging in 30 cases, poisoning in 10, drowning in four, strangulation in four and gunshot wounds in two. Nine other cases were listed as suspected cases.

Mokhothu says the ministry cannot yet determine whether suicide has increased or decreased because the situation analysis is still under way.

The ministry wants to use the findings to develop a suicide-prevention plan.

While better data is needed to understand the problem, access to mental-health professionals remains another major challenge.

Mokhothu says the shortage of counsellors, psychologists and other specialised professionals limits the support available to people experiencing mental-health difficulties.

“The absence of counsellors is a challenge for the ministry. Having professional counsellors and therapists at different health facilities would go a long way,” he reveals.

The ministry is working to increase its human resources, although progress has been slow amid broader challenges facing the health sector.

Psychiatric nurses are available in all districts, according to Mokhothu, but there is a shortage of psychologists.

Ideally, every district should have at least one psychologist. At present, Lesotho relies heavily on psychologists provided through international partners.

The shortage means that people who need specialised mental-health support may struggle to access timely and appropriate care, particularly in underserved areas.

For Labane and Khama, the consequences of silence are deeply personal.

Their experiences show how suicidal thoughts can develop behind closed doors, often without those around the person realising the extent of their suffering.

For advocates and mental-health professionals, breaking that silence means creating environments where people can speak before their pain reaches crisis point.

September, observed as Suicide Awareness Month, provides an opportunity for Lesotho to have conversations that are often avoided.

But awareness, advocates say, cannot end with a month on the calendar.

It requires families willing to listen, teachers and caregivers able to recognise warning signs, communities prepared to offer support, reliable data to guide policy, and a health system equipped with enough mental-health professionals to respond.

For people like Labane and Khama, being heard and receiving help can mean the difference between remaining trapped in the darkness and beginning to see a way beyond it.