Though mostly based in Sri Lanka I keep returning to England for a few months every year. This is to put in the mandatory period of active work per year needed to keep my licence to practice going. I have long retired from the NHS regular job and return only as an experienced locum being employed by an agency.

It was sometime around 3 a.m. in a sleepy London hospital that I met Dr. Teboho Lesego, himself, a locum from Lesotho. Over lukewarm vending-machine coffee and the distant beeping of monitors, our conversation drifted into unexpected yet astoundingly interesting territory, land disputes, generational trauma, and the tangled skeins of justice.

Lesego shared a story that was both sorrowful and surreal: his late father had owned a modest plot of land near Maseru since the 1930s. He had purchased it legally, registered it with the relevant authorities, and reaped it’s benefits peacefully for over two decades. Then, without warning in the early 1960s, a group forcibly took over the land, claiming possession without title.

What followed was a 60-year legal battle that saw the case hop through district courts, appeals, reversals, and finally the country’s apex court. The final judgment, handed down just a couple of years ago, did not restore his father’s ownership but instead rewarded the trespassers with full title. The reason? A legal concept known as “prescriptive title,” interpreted through precedents dating back to colonial times.

Lesego, usually stoic and reserved, couldn’t hide the tremble in his voice: “How can a person who steals land end up owning it just because the courts took too long to decide? My father waited for justice. And it never came.

Shadows of archaic Law

This case, sadly, isn’t an anomaly. Around the world, particularly in post-colonial jurisdictions like Sri Lanka, Lesotho, or parts of South Asia, courts still lean on century-old judgments to resolve modern property disputes. Cases from the 1830s and 1840s, written during colonial rule and under different social realities, echoing fearful and haunting sounds along the dark long and abandoned corridors of land laws, continue to shape verdicts in democratic societies today.

When these precedents dominate, nuanced facts and lived experiences risk being overruled by technical doctrines, especially when judges are bound to interpret law rather than morality. It’s not that the judiciary doesn’t try; they do. But the system they navigate is often slow, rigid, and steeped or even entrenched in tradition.

A judiciary worth respect

What must be said, loud and clearly, is that judges shoulder an incredibly difficult and thankless task. They must draw meaning from convoluted case histories, sift through decades of testimony, and reconcile conflicting interpretations of law. Their restraint is often mistaken for indifference, their precision for coldness.

Yet it’s also fair to ask: when does adherence to outdated legal formulae become injustice itself? Can possession ever truly trump rightful ownership, especially when that possession was gained not through neglect, but through outright trespass?

Parable of the Caucasian Chalk Circle

This dilemma brings to mind the ancient parable of the Caucasian Chalk Circle, famously dramatized by Brecht, the German theatre reformer. When two women claim the same child, it is not the one who pulls hardest who wins, but the one who lets go of the child to save him from harm. It’s a story about true ownership being defined not by possession but by care, responsibility, and moral rightness. In land disputes, this analogy rings painfully true: the rightful custodian is often the one who nurtures and protects, even when the law, slow and unyielding, rewards only the forceful. When courts lose sight of this truth, justice becomes less a sanctuary and more a game of strategy.

Lesotho. (Image courtesy BBC)

Calling for reform

Dr. Lesego’s story is a clarion call for countries to re-examine their legal frameworks. It isn’t about undermining courts, but empowering them with updated tools. Legislative reform, clearer statutory definitions, and the phasing out of colonial case law in land disputes are essential if justice is to be timely, fair, and humane.

Until then, stories like his will continue to unfold in quiet homes, whispered between generations, never quite finding their rightful place in history.

“A land may be taken from a man,” Lesego said as our shift was inching towards the end, “but the pain is never repossessed.”

“I know this judgement under normal circumstances, is the end of the road for us but if I don’t at least make a valiant attempt to reverse this order through a bigger bench, my father, who is looking down from there will feel utterly and miserably betrayed ” Lesego exclaimed looking up and pointing at the arched high roof of the atrium. I was his confidant. I am the second in the family of five brothers. Though we are equally well educated my dad turned to me whenever he needed unstinted support. So. I can’t let him down, he opened out gaping.

Family’s history of a historical legal battle

With his voice still trembling but with courage and conviction, he continued. “I was in the med school on the hills in my final year 1972 when our home and the six-acre ranch became the property of a mortgagee as my dad failed to settle the mere 15,000 maloti he had borrowed to construct the ceiling of our new house that was being built. Mind you three of us were in the university at the time, my dad’s business had hit the rocks, and our mum’s monthly salary as a school teacher fell well short of being able to fill dad’s budget gap: the recipe for the above disaster. Fortunately, my dad stumbled upon a thing called the Finance Act No. 11 of 1963 in a newspaper that gave relief to people tormented by lean means and fell a prey to mortgagees. With this to back us, I worked alongside my father fighting tooth and nail every step of the way and redeemed the property for us. A near impossible mission accomplished. Naturally my dad from up there must be wanting me to do the same here and I just can’t let him down” he said showing his grit and determination.

About the Author

Dr. M. M. Janapriya is a Sri Lankan Surgical Consultant whose career has spanned continents, cultures, and causes. Though primarily based in Sri Lanka, he spends part of each year working in England to maintain his GMC licence and continue practicing medicine. Throughout his decades-long journey, he has stood firm as an advocate for justice, channelling his expertise and experiences to challenge systemic inequities both within and beyond the health sector.

His recent oration, ‘An Introduction to Dark Virtues of a Lifelong Contrarian’, delivered in memory of his alma mater’s late principal, chronicles his resistance against entrenched injustice and his belief in ethical rebellion powered by professional mastery. This precept runs through his writing: introspective, defiant, and deeply humane.

by Dr. M. M. Janapriya