There’s a peculiar, almost pathological obsession in the modern music industry with the concept of the “trajectory.” The artist must always be moving upward, forward, outward – changing, developing, gaining more followers, more streams, bigger stages, louder noise. It’s a relentless, exhausting requirement of stardom that leaves little room for gravity, let alone grace. But then you meet someone like Malehlokoa Mary Hlalele — known simply as Maleh to anyone who’s listening to South African Afro-soul — and you realise that sometimes the most profound career move an artist can make is to fall to her knees.
Maleh, born in the craggy, majestic kingdom of Lesotho and polished in the relentless grind of Joburg, has been in the business for two decades. That’s 20 years of navigating an industry that’s famously unkind to women. That is, women who won’t be bundled up and packaged into some sexy, influencer-style babe in heels and latex peddled by music executives and social media platforms alike.
Maleh is different. She started out in 2003 as a teenager in the Afro-pop group Khaya, winning a Metro FM award before most of her peers had given a thought to becoming anything. She left to study cinematography before returning to launch a solo career that resulted in two South African Music Awards (Samas) for Best African Adult Album. She had hits and collaborations with DJ Kent and DJ Ganyani. She was on the music-industry trajectory.
And then, she stepped away.
“Life comes in seasons,” she tells me. “The chapter in which Dithapelo was written was one where things didn’t unfold the way I’d planned. I found myself having to surrender… I learned that when life doesn’t go as expected, it creates an opportunity to get on your knees to truly inquire of your maker."
Dithapelo, her latest offering released in March 2026, translates to “prayers”. It’s not just an album; it’s a sonic exhalation – the sound of a woman who’s stopped trying to outrun her own life and has instead decided to sit in the middle of it and see what happens. The project is anchored in Sesotho, her mother tongue, and explores themes of divine love, self-discovery and the kind of bone-deep healing that only comes after you’ve admitted you’re broken.
There’s often a risk when an established secular artist pivots to the spiritual. The cynical observer might view it as a retreat, a safe harbour for a fading star. But Dithapelo sounds like expansion rather than retreat. Maleh hasn’t abandoned the neo-soul warmth or the Afro-fusion rhythms that defined her earlier work. Instead, she’s repurposed them, taking the seductive, swaying cadences of Afro-soul and aiming them at the sky.
“I wanted to express both my love for God and His love for us in a way that feels accessible, even to those who may not necessarily connect with the more popular conventional gospel music sounds,” she says. “It became important for me to bridge that gap, to bring along the audience that’s grown with me.”
This isn’t the thunderous, choir-backed gospel of mega-churches and evangelicals. It’s intimate, intricate and rooted in her Basotho heritage. The title track, featuring Mzizi, and songs like Jonna Oe, which unexpectedly marries Sesotho lyrics with a distinctly Malian guitar arrangement, demonstrate a musical intelligence that transcends genres. It’s folk, jazz, soul, but mostly it sounds undeniably African.
Maleh’s current incarnation is strikingly fierce, uncompromising and expressive of her unwavering independence. After a five-year hiatus, she returned in 2022 with Lerato Laka, released under her own label, Psalms Productions. Dithapelo continues this independent streak. Maleh has chosen the harder, slower, but perhaps more rewarding path of ownership while other artists choose to kowtow to music labels at the risk of being chewed up and spat out.
“From the very beginning… I made a promise to myself not to be boxed in or defined by industry trends,” she says. “Being independent and now owning my music through Psalms Productions has been incredibly empowering. It’s given me a level of control and creative freedom that allows me to grow at my own pace.”
This independence isn’t merely financial; it is artistic and personal. It’s the freedom to collaborate with Aranda to design a range of Basotho blankets inspired by her late grandmother. It’s the freedom to view success not as fame or visibility, but as the ability to sustain a career with honesty and humility. It’s the freedom to be a mother to three children — including a teenager who’s now old enough to watch how her mother navigates the world — and to place that role above the demands of the stage.
“Motherhood definitely comes first,” she admits, acknowledging the daily, imperfect juggling act of balancing a career with raising a family. “But at the same time, I’m very aware that my work as an artist is also part of my legacy for them.”
This month, Maleh took to the stage at Bassline Fest at Constitution Hill to celebrate Africa Day. Constitution Hill is a site heavy with the ghosts of South Africa’s apartheid past; it’s a place of profound suffering and injustice. To bring Dithapelo — an album born of surrender and steeped in hope — into that space was an act of reclamation, she notes.
“The history that Constitution Hill carries is heavy,” Maleh says. “And for me, that’s exactly where the gospel speaks so powerfully — it’s about laying down those burdens and finding peace, healing, and hope… To now bring a sound of hope and love into that same space is a real privilege.”
Maleh’s journey hasn’t been mapped in a straight line up. In an industry that worships youth and novelty, she’s found relevance in maturity and tradition. She’s learned that you do not always have to fight your way to the top. Sometimes, the best thing for the soul is to fall to your knees, find your voice and sing.
Maleh’s album Dithapelo is out now on all major streaming platforms.
First published in Sunday Times Lifestyle.
