Growing up in a family where all the heads of the family had a role to play in the church, I found myself surrounded by strong ties to the congregation.

My grandmother was in the prayer women's league, my mom was a secretary of the church, one aunt was in the young adults' league and now serves as a liturgist while my other aunt simply made sure she attended church services.

There was an implicit expectation for me to also play a role in the congregation.

Having been raised by my grandmother, MaMashale, as she was known by everyone, seemed to ask me: “Why haven't you joined a league?”

I sometimes hesitated to answer. 

I lived with my grandmother for the majority of my life and our house was literally next door to the church in Medingen village, 30km northeast of Tzaneen in Limpopo.

So there was no avoiding church life for me. I was often the first person to hear the bell on Thursday or Sunday mornings, which actually served as our alarm at home.

If the second bell rang two hours later while you were still at home, you were late for church as the church was starting.

I remember when I was in primary school, passing by the church on weekdays before heading home, I'd wait for my grandmother so we could go home together. 

My grandmother was known everywhere I went and people would ask me, “Is she going to be at church today? Is she preaching today?”

If I wasn't following behind her at church, I was singing praise and worship daily at my Christian school during assembly. My life revolved around church and the word of God.

My grandmother and I had a routine and we watched Joel Osteen together, even though we had just come from a church sermon. 

When I was given slightly more freedom in terms of choice and moved to Centurion, Gauteng, in 2016 when I was 15, I declined my aunt's invitation to go to church.

At the time, I thought I didn’t believe in going to church, and for some time, I even questioned my belief in God. I felt as though I had been forced into it when I was young.

I still went to church with my aunt, but not as often as I did with my grandmother, and I only did so for her sake.

My aunt would ask me, “Don’t you want to join the youth league?” I would shake my head  in disagreement every time.

It wasn't until university in 2020 that I took a step back and realised the depth of my connection to church life.

Despite my newfound freedom, I found myself drawn to the sense of unity and belonging church provided.

I missed singing hymns with fellow congregants, the synchronisation and those rare moments when a granny would start dancing in front of everyone in church.

Luckily, I went to university close to home and could go home every weekend if I wanted to.

At some point my aunt asked if I was coming home for the weekend just so I could attend church and I would say yes. 

Now, at the age of 22, I have branched out to find a church that suits my own needs.

A church where I get excited to hear the sermon, one that doesn't feel like it's attacking me or misleading me but rather guiding me.

I sought a community that aligned more closely with my beliefs and values.

And when I can’t go to church, I watch Joel Osteen, listening to International Pentecostal Church Choir and singing hymns by myself.

I still visit my aunt and enjoy going to my aunt's church, but I still shake my head when she asks me about joining the league.

I mean the uniform is lovely... but no thanks.