Growing up, my parents always ensured that I went to church. It didn’t matter where we were; attending church was a must.

Based on what I grew up knowing a church should be, I believed that was the universal rule in all churches except the Catholic Church of course.

It was ingrained in my mind that the service was supposed to start at 9 a.m., and by 1 p.m. we would already be back home, ready for lunch, after which we would go out to play with our friends.

For years, I had never heard our reverend, or anyone else for that matter, speak in tongues. Neither had I ever seen people falling down after being filled with the Holy Spirit.

However, when I joined university, one of my friends invited me to her church. I accepted, and she categorically told me not to wear trousers.

That didn’t bother me because my mother had always insisted that we should wear dresses or skirts to church.

When we finally got to the church, we were warmly welcomed by the ushers. Nevertheless, at the entrance, we were asked to remove our shoes. In addition, they requested that we sit in the front row, which I declined because I was already scared.

What unsettled me even more was the unusual arrangement of benches around the church. They were almost empty, and this allowed people enough space to move around while singing.

The music then began, and it was so fast-paced that everyone jumped and rotated while singing. As a result, I could not concentrate on my prayers, and to this day, I don’t remember finishing them.

I stood at the back, shocked, as I observed everything happening in the room. Some people had started falling while others were rotating at incredible speed while praying, and I couldn’t understand how they managed it without getting dizzy.

Soon after, almost the entire congregation was rotating including my friend. That scared me the most because I suddenly realized I had no one to turn to for answers.

Yet, I noticed that this only happened when a particular woman touched people. From then on, I watched her like a hawk, determined to avoid being touched by her or anyone.

The situation worsened when the woman who had been touching people looked directly at me. At that moment, I wished the ground could swallow me alive. Since I didn’t know what was happening, I decided I couldn’t stay there any longer.

The moment she looked away, I quickly grabbed my bag, picked up my keys, and tried to step out. Although an usher stopped me, I explained that I was not leaving I had only left my bag inside.

Eventually, they allowed me to go, but as soon as I reached the gate, I sprinted away to get a motorbike to take me home.

When I looked back, I noticed one of the ushers standing at the gate, watching me. Deep down, I knew she could tell I was never coming back.

Later, when I met my friend, I asked her what had been happening. She calmly told me that the service had been filled with the Holy Spirit and that such experiences were common in their church.

From that day onwards, I made a personal decision to always do thorough research before visiting a new church because no lie, that particular service left me questioning for days.

As narrated but Cecilia Njeri.

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Muthoni Wanjiku