When Prime Minister Sam Matekane came into office, he made something very clear: the government is broke, and the job market is… well, not exactly booming. So, he turned to what felt like the only option left, youth entrepreneurship.
“Start your own business,” he said.
It’s a message we’ve all heard before. And sure, at first, it sounds empowering. Inspiring, even. Who wouldn’t want to build something of their own?
But the more you sit with it, the more that message starts to feel like a deflection.
This isn’t to say we don’t need more entrepreneurs. We absolutely do. Small businesses can drive innovation and create jobs. They can help diversify the economy. But here’s the uncomfortable part: most young people in Lesotho don’t really have the means to start a business…not one that stands a real chance anyway.
They might try. Many do. You’ll find them selling second-hand clothes, baking fat cakes, or driving illegal taxis (catch a ride) just to get by. That’s not entrepreneurship in the way the government imagines it. It’s survival. There’s a difference. And pretending there isn’t… that’s where things start to go wrong.
Because when “start your own business” becomes the default response to youth unemployment, it quietly shifts the blame. The message, whether intended or not, starts to sound like: If you’re still unemployed, it’s your fault. You didn’t hustle hard enough.
And that’s not just unfair, it’s lazy.
Let’s talk reality. Starting a business in Lesotho means dealing with red tape, poor infrastructure, and banks that don’t lend unless you already have money. There are no meaningful startup grants, no functioning incubators at scale, and no safety net for when things go wrong. And they often do.
Honestly, it feels like we’re being told to build boats while standing in the desert.
What’s frustrating is that the government could do more. It could invest in industries that absorb youth in large numbers: agriculture, ICT, renewable energy. It could create a national youth service program.
But instead, we’re stuck in this holding pattern where entrepreneurship is painted as both a moral virtue and an economic necessity. It’s almost romanticized. Meanwhile, the structures that would actually support young entrepreneurs: finance, training, markets, remain weak or completely missing.
We get it. There’s a certain appeal to the idea of young people creating their own opportunities. No need to rely on a sluggish public sector or a shrinking formal job market. But it’s a partial solution, not thesolution.
And maybe that’s the heart of it. We’ve turned a valid idea into a one-size-fits-all answer. And that’s dangerous. Because while we’re telling every unemployed graduate to start a business, we’re not doing the hard work of building an economy where jobs exist at all.
Look, we are not saying scrap the push for entrepreneurship. That would be short-sighted. Some young Basotho do have solid ideas and the drive to make them work. But they need more than pep talks. They need working infrastructure. Access to capital. A policy environment that doesn’t just favor the politically connected.
They need a government that shows up.
In the end, the question isn’t whether youth entrepreneurship is good. It is. The real question is: are we leaning on it too heavily because we’ve run out of ideas, or worse, the will to do more?
And if so, what does that say about the future we’re really offering young people in this country?
That’s a question we can’t afford to dodge anymore.
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