I grew up inside a story that was already bigger than me — a story of ministry, mission work, and a family name woven deep into the Seventh‑day Adventist Church. When people talk about “church families,” they usually mean folks who attend regularly. But the Du Preez family? We didn’t just attend. We served, we led, we built, and in many ways, we became part of the fabric of Adventism in Southern Africa and beyond.
My grandfather, Pastor Alwyn du Preez, wasn’t just a pastor. He was a man who carried the church on his shoulders, whether he was preaching in South Africa or serving far away on St. Helena Island, one of the most isolated mission posts in the world. My grandmother, Joyce, stood right beside him — the kind of woman who didn’t need a title to lead. She led through presence, through kindness, through the quiet strength that keeps a church community alive.
When my mother died, I was five years old. And from that moment until I turned fifteen, my grandparents became my world. Their home became my home. Their routines became my routines. Their faith became the air I breathed.
I didn’t just grow up in an SDA household — I grew up in the engine room of Adventist ministry.
My uncle, Dr. Ron du Preez, was the only uncle I had, and he carried the academic torch of the family. Ron wasn’t just a pastor; he was a thinker, a teacher, a global voice. When he preached, he didn’t just deliver a sermon — he delivered a worldview. His books, his lectures, his travels… they showed me that Adventism wasn’t just a local church; it was a global movement.
Then there were my grandfather’s brothers — Gerald and Ingram du Preez — each carrying their own piece of the legacy. Gerald, especially, left a mark on Adventist history. His research into the SDA Church’s development among Coloured communities in South Africa is still one of the most important historical works on Adventism in the region. He didn’t just write history; he preserved identity.
Growing up around these men — and the strong women beside them — shaped how I see service. It shaped how I see justice. It shaped how I see people.
When you live in a house where ministry is not a job but a lifestyle, you learn early that service is not optional. You learn that people’s stories matter. You learn that systems fail, and when they do, someone has to stand up and fix them.
That’s the part of my family legacy I carry into my own work today — tracing unclaimed benefits, fighting for citizens who have been forgotten, and pushing for accountability in systems that prefer silence.
My activism didn’t come from politics.
It came from watching my grandfather pray with strangers,
from seeing my grandmother feed people who had nothing,
from listening to my uncle explain truth with clarity and courage,
from hearing Gerald talk about history that was almost erased,
from seeing Ingram serve without ever asking for recognition.
I am a Du Preez.
I grew up in the shadow of pastors, missionaries, scholars, and servants.
And everything I do today — every fight, every investigation, every post — is rooted in that legacy.
This is my family.
This is my story.
This is the foundation beneath my activism.
