The weight of economic despair is crushing Lesotho’s garment workers, and it’s all thanks to a policy decision made thousands of miles away. But here’s where it gets even more heartbreaking: these women, the backbone of their families and communities, are now struggling to survive as jobs vanish and hope dwindles. Every morning at 7 a.m., crowds of women gather outside clothing factories in Maseru, the capital of Lesotho, a small, landlocked kingdom in southern Africa. They’re not just looking for work—they’re clinging to the last threads of financial stability. Yet, since former President Donald Trump imposed sweeping global tariffs in April 2025, those opportunities have all but disappeared.
Take Moleboheng Matsepe, for example. Once a full-time seamstress crafting sports leggings for the California brand Fabletics, she lost her job in 2023. Initially, she managed to scrape by with three-month contracts, but since September, she’s been left with nothing. “The pressure is too much,” she admits, her voice heavy with worry. “We can’t even sleep at night.” At 48, she’s the sole provider for five family members, now earning a meager 50 maloti (£2.23) a week from occasional laundry jobs. Her story isn’t unique—it’s the reality for thousands in Lesotho.
Lesotho’s garment industry, once a lifeline for its people, employed 50,000 workers at its peak in 2004. This boom was fueled by the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA), a 2000 U.S. law that granted tariff-free access to the American market for thousands of African goods. But AGOA, which requires renewal by the U.S. Congress, expired in September 2025 amid a government shutdown, leaving Lesotho’s economy in limbo. Today, the industry employs around 36,000 workers, mostly women, in a country of 2.3 million people. A third of these workers sew clothes for U.S. brands like Levi’s and Gap, earning as little as 2,582 maloti (£115) a month.
And this is the part most people miss: despite the low wages, these jobs are a lifeline in a nation where unemployment soared to 30% in 2024. For Matsepe, her job at Fabletics wasn’t just work—it was freedom. “Everything I wanted, I could do with the money I earned there,” she recalls with a rare smile. “It was a friendly place, with no harassment.”
But Trump’s “reciprocal” tariffs, announced in April 2025, upended everything. Based on the trade imbalance between countries, these tariffs targeted nations like Lesotho, which exported $237 million in goods to the U.S. in 2024 but only imported $2.8 million. If fully implemented, Lesotho’s exports would have faced a staggering 50% tariff. Here’s the controversial part: Trump dismissed Lesotho as a country “no one has ever heard of,” but his policies treated it like a pariah state, according to Lesotho’s trade minister, Mokhethi Shelile.
The tariff was eventually reduced to 15%, but the damage was done. Lesotho’s economy shuddered. In June, the central bank slashed its growth forecasts for 2025 and 2026 to 1.1% and 0.9%, respectively. A government survey in August revealed 400 layoffs, with five clothing companies operating at just 5-30% capacity and three shutting down entirely.
At Ever Successful Textiles, once a bustling hub, only 80% of its 470 sewing machines are in use. The workforce has shrunk from 650 in 2024 to 550 today. Lesotho is now exporting more to South Africa, but at a fraction of the price. While U.S. orders bring in $5 (£3.71) per piece, South African orders yield just 5 rand (£0.23).
Shelile insists Lesotho is diversifying, but the reality is stark. “We still need U.S. dollars,” he admits, “to import electricity, buy machinery, and maintain our currency’s peg to the rand.” On December 10, the U.S. House of Representatives voted to extend AGOA for three years, but Trump’s administration only supports a one-year renewal. Shelile hopes Congress will pass the three-year extension by January, but even then, the 15% tariff remains. “It needs to drop to 10%, like Eswatini, Ethiopia, and Kenya,” he argues, “or we’ll lose our competitive edge.”
Meanwhile, women like Mapuseletso Makhake continue to wait outside factory gates, their hopes fading. At 48, she’s struggling to buy sanitary towels for her 15-year-old daughter, pay school fees, and care for her 19-year-old son and ailing father. “My heart breaks every time,” she says, tears streaming down her face. “I wish my husband were here to share this burden.”
Here’s the question that lingers: Is it fair for a small nation like Lesotho to bear the brunt of global trade policies crafted by distant powers? And what does this say about the human cost of economic decisions? Share your thoughts below—let’s keep this conversation going.
