Found in the In-Between: Kabela Mfeka on Journey, Community, and Coming Home to Christ

From Durban to Atlanta to Orlando – and back to the Father’s heart

When you first meet Kabela Mfeka, you feel it: a quiet depth, a creative fire, and a humility that tells you he’s seen a lot more than he lets on at first glance.

We met at “Joyful Noize: Praise & Skate” in Orlando. After the skating, the music and the buzz of conversation, I sat next to him and began to talk. What started as casual conversation turned into a powerful testimony about leaving South Africa, navigating America, chasing creativity, hitting rock bottom, and finally surrendering to Christ.

This is his story.

Growing Up in a House Full of Art and Faith

Kabela is from the east coast of South Africa, born in Houston but raised in Durban and Pretoria, in the province of KwaZulu-Natal.

“I grew up Zulu in a Christian home,” he shares. “And I also grew up in a very artistic household.”

That’s an understatement.

His grandmother was a well-known actress in South Africa.

His grandfather was a celebrated playwright.

His mother is an entertainment lawyer.

His uncles are rappers.

“Pretty much my whole family is in the arts in some way,” he says. As a child, he would fall asleep backstage while his grandfather’s plays were being performed—some of the biggest productions in the country. He modeled for clothing catalogues at five or six years old and assumed that was normal for every kid.

“Growing up, I didn’t realize my childhood was a little strange,” he laughs. “Being on set, being behind the scenes, being around well-known people—that was just life to me.”

That environment shaped how he saw the world. The “safe route” or “typical path” never really existed in his mind. All he had ever known was art, creativity, and storytelling.

But it also created tension later: how do you honor your gift without letting it become your god?

 

Feeling the Ceiling in South Africa

As he got older, that question grew louder.

There came a point where South Africa, as beautiful as it is, felt too small for what he wanted to do creatively.

“I felt like I had reached a ceiling,” he explains. “South Africa is big in Africa, but compared to the world it’s small. To be a working-class artist there, you almost have to be at the very top just to survive.”

He had seen fame up close his whole life—the good, the bad, and the painful. He knew he didn’t want the kind of stardom that would cost his peace or relationships. Still, he felt stuck and increasingly depressed.

“I felt like a shark in a fishbowl,” he says. “I had all these ideas in my head, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to accomplish them if I stayed.”

Then COVID hit. The country took a heavy blow, and he watched everything slow down even more.

With his family’s support, he made the decision to leave South Africa and come to the United States—legally, intentionally, and with a heart full of dreams.

 

America: Not What He Expected

This wasn’t his first time on U.S. soil. He’d attended a film camp briefly in 2019, but he doesn’t count that as “real” America.

Arriving this time, he braced himself for the “American dream.”

“It was exciting at first—everything was new. The food, the language, the feeling of being a minority,” he recalls. “But it was also very depressing because I had fantasized about America my whole life, and when I got here I realized… it’s not that popping,” he says honestly.

“There are things I deeply appreciate here—especially financially. America just has more money and more opportunities than South Africa. But the dream itself? It can be underwhelming.”

At the same time, something invisible was shifting in his heart.

He had grown up Christian, but had never truly made a personal decision to follow Jesus. Once he arrived in the States, he drifted away from God and dove headfirst into career, achievement, and worldliness.

“I wanted to make something that people would look at and say, ‘Wow, that’s so beautiful,’” he admits. “I didn’t realize the most beautiful thing I had was back home—my family.”

 

Atlanta: The Highs, the Lows, and the Collapse

If life were a movie, the Atlanta chapter would be the dramatic turning point.

His grandmother, who had filmed Black Panther in Atlanta, encouraged him to consider the city over Los Angeles.

“She told me, ‘If you look like you and you’re doing what you do, you should go to Atlanta. That’s where it’s at,’” he recalls. “They call it Black Hollywood—and it really is, in both good and bad ways.”

He also got accepted to Clark Atlanta University, which sealed the deal.

Atlanta gave him what he thought he wanted.

“It showed me I was born to be an artist,” he says. “Music, film, acting—I was performing in sold-out arenas, being on film sets, rubbing shoulders with people I grew up watching and listening to. It took me as high as you can go when you’re just starting out.”

But the higher he climbed, the emptier he became.

“At the top, there was no space for Jesus in my life. At all.”

The fast-paced lifestyle came with heavy spiritual and emotional costs—substances, sexual sin, pride, and compromise. Eventually, it all burned out. He lost his stability, his relationships, and his sense of self.

“I went from the absolute top to being homeless,” he says. “Couch surfing, sometimes sleeping in train stations… and too embarrassed to tell my family because of my ego.”

The same city that had fed his creative dreams nearly crushed his soul.

 

Rock Bottom, Donuts, and a Stranger Named Brian

Rock bottom wasn’t just circumstantial—it was spiritual.

“I couldn’t afford to go back home. I was hungry. I had no food. I was alone,” he remembers.

One day, desperate and starving, he decided to walk and see if he could find a food bank. Instead, he found a man named Brian.

“He just started talking to me about Jesus,” he says. “I grew up knowing about Jesus, so part of me was like, ‘Don’t Jesus me right now.’ But another part of me knew it was the truth.”

Not long after, a random stranger handed him a dozen donuts—no speech, no strings attached. Just provision.

“I hadn’t eaten in days,” he says. “I was in a daze. I walked back with the donuts and decided, ‘Alright, I’ve heard about the Bible my whole life. Let me actually read it.’”

He began reading the Word—still high, still double-minded, still wrestling. He calls that his “lukewarm stage,” where he agreed Jesus was probably the truth but still clung to his old habits.

Then, God began opening doors that looked like blessings but were really crossroads.

He got a one-day movie gig at a church that paid him well and fed him. He landed a residency at a jazz lounge, performing regularly. He had opportunities forming—but his heart was still divided.

All of it set the stage for a bigger decision.

 

The Call to Leave Atlanta

In the middle of his chaos, his family—now in the U.S. as well—could see the change in him.

“My mom and sister had an intervention,” he shares. “They told me, ‘We don’t recognize you anymore.’”

He was physically smaller, spiritually drained, and emotionally distant. Still, he defended his lifestyle and opportunities, trying to convince them (and himself) that he was fine.

Then came a moment that tested everything.

The owner of the jazz lounge wanted to officially lock him in: more pay, more freedom, more events. She told him, “Dave Chappelle and his friends are coming for New Year’s. This could be huge for you.”

At the same time, his mom and sister urged him to leave Atlanta and move to Florida. They said they’d help him get there, even if it meant putting him on a bus.

“I was literally choosing between obedience and everything I had ever wanted,” he says.

In the end, he chose obedience.

He agreed to leave Atlanta and never responded to the job offer again—walking away from what looked like his big moment, knowing that staying would probably cost him his life.

“It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve made,” he says, “but it was the second-best decision of my life. The first was giving my life to Jesus.”

“I honestly don’t think I’d be alive if I had stayed,” he admits quietly.

 

Orlando/Kissimmee: Obedience, Isolation, and Deliverance

Moving to Orlando wasn’t glamorous.

He slept on the floor of his sister’s dorm.

He stayed in a run-down motel at one point, surrounded by chaos and police.

He had no community, no camera, no creative outlets.

“God basically said, ‘It’s going to be Me and you for about a year,’” he explains.

That year was a season of isolation and stripping. God removed the distractions, the noise, the illusions. It was quiet—painfully quiet at first.

Then came March 18th at 8:57 PM.

Still stubborn, still trying to hold onto weed, he got high one more time. But this time, something different happened.

He describes being suddenly aware of the spiritual realm and seeing the demonic presence that had been influencing him. He felt a strange, persistent itch in his ear—like something lodged there. Then, in a powerful moment, he felt God physically “pull” something out of his ear, like a spiritual blockage being removed.

“I fell to the ground and became instantly sober,” he says. “It felt like I was throwing up words instead of vomit. I literally said out loud, ‘I, on March 18th at 8:57 PM, accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.’ It was like I had no choice but to say it.”

That night marked the true beginning of his new life.

Since then, God has been restoring him—spirit, body, and soul. His health, his family connections, his mind, and his peace have all been renewed.

 

Community, Belonging, and Discernment

Now living in Orlando with his family, Kabela feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time: home.

The climate reminds him of Durban—hot, humid, coastal, calm. The pace is slower. The expectations are different. And spiritually, he feels safe.

“Atlanta showed me what disobedience to God does,” he says. “Orlando showed me what obedience to Him will get you.”

When it comes to community, he’s careful and intentional.

He believes community is like a covenant space—just under marriage in its capacity to shape your walk with God. But he also knows not every crowd is healthy, and not every Christian circle reflects Christ-like character.

He’s learned to test the spirits, to value quality over quantity, and to wait until God says he’s ready to connect deeply again.

“It’s important to build community,” he says, “but even more important to build the right community at the right time, so you don’t hurt others with the sin still in you—or get pulled backwards by theirs.”

 

Creativity: Gift, Not God

With a family so deeply rooted in the arts, it would be easy for creativity to become an idol. For a while, it did.

Now, he sees it differently.

“It’s definitely a gift,” he says. “But my gift is no longer my master. My purpose is not to be an artist. My purpose is to follow Christ.”

He still dreams of one day being a full-time artist again—not for fame, but to simply enjoy his work and do everything unto the Lord. But if God told him to lay it down completely?

“I’d be okay with that,” he says. “Because at the end of the day, I want my life, my art, my interactions—even just a hug or a free meal—to reflect Jesus more than they reflect me.”

 

Found, Not Just Creative

When asked what he’d say to someone who feels lost between places, identities, or seasons, he pauses.

“You’re supposed to feel that way right now,” he says gently. “Before God finds you, you have to really feel lost. Because only Jesus can truly find you.”

Kabela’s journey shows us what it looks like to:

• Chase the world and find it empty
  
  
• Hit rock bottom and meet grace there
  
  
• Leave a city of disobedience for a season of obedience
  
  
• Discover that home is not just a place, it’s a Person—Christ
  
  

Today, he walks in gratitude for the quiet, for the peace, and for the presence of God that never left him, even when he drifted.

“I used to love the noise,” he says. “Now I yearn for the silence—just being alone in my secret place with Jesus.”

Home Is Where Christ Is

From Houston to Durban,

From Durban to Pretoria.

From Pretoria to North Carolina

From North Carolina to Atlanta

From Atlanta to Orlando

From train stations to motel rooms.

From platform to floor.

From Mr. Boy to simply Kabela.

His story is a living reminder that God’s mercy can reach the highest stage and the lowest street, and that no city, lifestyle, or label can define you more than the love of Christ.

Wherever Christ is, there is home.

And in Orlando, in this season, Kabela is finally living like he knows that for himself.