Why Thembisa remains home for community advocate Kelebogile Essien

I am Kelebogile Essien, a servant of the communities I grew up in, guided by a deep belief in the goodness that still exists within them.

I lived in Thembisa for a year, and it was a life-changing experience.

Sundays at Bethel Temple IAG stay with me vividly, the sound of hymns and praise spilling through the windows long before you even reach the gate. Everyone in the section knew each other.

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Children ran freely between yards as if the whole neighbourhood belonged to them. Gates stayed open. There was a shared sense that someone was always watching out for you.

The noise is something I often think about. It may sound strange, but Thembisa is alive in a way that is difficult to explain.

There is always music somewhere, someone cooking, laughter and arguments happening at the same time just a few houses away. It can be overwhelming, but it is also home.

There was a woman near our section who sold the best vetkoek I have ever eaten.

No sign, no name, you simply had to know. That is Thembisa.

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The best things here rarely advertise themselves. You earn that knowledge. The Friday braai spots, the hair salons that double as community meeting points, the church halls that turn into concert spaces, you only understand them if you are from here.

I found myself during a depressive season of my life. It feels counterintuitive, but I found grounding in Thembisa.

My routine became reading, attending church, and surrounding myself with the right people. Connection changed everything.

People are truly the best way to experience a fulfilling life, and finding the right ones made my experience of Thembisa uplifting.

One of the things I have come to reflect on deeply is the silence around mental health, especially among men and young people who have been taught that struggle equals weakness.

The challenge is no longer awareness; most people know what depression is. The challenge is permission: permission to not be okay, to ask for help, and to heal without losing dignity or reputation.

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Real change, I believe, comes through consistent, trusted community spaces, not campaigns or posters, but environments where it is safe to be human.

Our volunteers, many of them young people and students, show up without pay or guarantee of recognition.

They run programmes, facilitate dialogues, carry equipment and handle administration simply because something is needed. In a world that often asks, “What’s in it for me?”, they ask, “What’s needed?” and then they do it. They are the foundation of our work.

I would describe Thembisa as resilient, ready and rising.

I write privately, mostly journals, pages that no one will ever read. Writing is how I process the township around me.

Sometimes I think Thembisa has more poets than it realises; people who carry heavy things and still find language for them in the quiet.

We believe community-based mental health support should be recognised as a right, not a privilege, not once a year on World Mental Health Day, but permanently, structurally, and properly funded.

It should be embedded in schools and clinics and supported like physical healthcare. Thembisa deserves that. Every township deserves that.

Our chairperson, Thembinkosi Radebe, often says: “While we cannot choose where we come from, we are responsible for how we respond, heal and grow.”

That line has become the heartbeat of everything we do. It holds people accountable, but it also removes shame. Holding both at once is not easy, but we try every day.

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For us, home means accountability. You do not abandon it. You do not extract from it. You invest in it, argue with it, stay when it is difficult, and celebrate when it surprises you.

Thembisa is not our target community. It is our home, and that difference shapes everything.