Despondency may shake the most heroic faith and weaken the most steadfast will. But God understands, and He still pities and loves. He reads the motives and the purposes of the heart. To wait patiently, to trust when everything looks dark, is the lesson that the leaders in God’s work need to learn. Heaven will not fail them in their day of adversity. Nothing is apparently more helpless, yet really more invincible, than the soul that feels its nothingness and relies wholly on God.
(Prophets and Kings 174.3)
Mr. Frederick Bankole Coker was a dedicated missionary with Adventist Frontier Missions. In his call to work for Christ Jesus, my beloved husband and I traveled extensively to bring Christ to those we met and to lead them to a deeper relationship with Him. As visionaries and passionate missionaries, Christ was always first.
From Guinea to Sierra Leone, Fred’s influence impacted every person he met. Our last conversation centered on the Pathfinder club and the personal contacts he had made.
“I need to go to Freetown tomorrow. I couldn’t bring the rest of the stationery last trip, and other items were unavailable. But I promise I will not spend the night; I will try to make it back home. Besides, I don’t want to sleep in Freetown,” said Fred.
“Okay, then I will go with you since you won’t stay overnight,” I replied.
“Well, you will drive,” Fred responded.
But before going to bed, I felt uneasy and told him that I did not feel like driving and would rather not go. “Can I buy you a bus ticket instead?” I asked.
“Considering the money I have with me and the fact that I need to collect the rest of the stationery, I will need to go with the project car,” Fred said.
“Good point. You need to buy the fuel today if you are leaving early in the morning.” I handed him the money, and he went out to buy the fuel.
My husband came back, took his shower, and went to bed early that night. He wanted to get enough sleep to wake up at 3:00 a.m.
At 3:45 a.m., he woke me up to bid me goodbye and asked me to shut the door behind him. Little did I realize that this would be the last time that we would speak with each other.
Fred was in the habit of asking me to pray with him before leaving. That day, however, he was in a rush and never asked. Nevertheless, as his wife, I went into the room, prayed, and read my Bible for about 30 minutes before going back to bed around 4:50 a.m.
During our project’s morning devotion that day, Saa Famanda, one of our brothers in Christ, joined us as usual. That morning, the devotion lasted longer. When prayers were requested, Sister Kadiatu, one of the girls staying with me, suggested that I pray for safe traveling mercies for Fred. At the end of the devotion, Saa Famanda asked me to accompany him to the residence of the paramount chief.
Such an early morning visit to the paramount chief, who has been fond of us and our work, seemed unusual.
This is when the calls began streaming onto my phone. Saa Famanda, who had received the information about Fred’s demise, never revealed it to any of us—in Africa, it is respectful to wait for the appropriate moment to reveal tragedy—and asked me to move quickly and not answer any more calls.
Upon our arrival at the paramount chief’s palace, I was only informed that my husband was involved in a road accident and was responding to treatment in one of the government hospitals north of Sierra Leone.
My heartbeat sped up, and my emotions shifted as questions germinated in my mind, but the inner Consoler [the Holy Spirit] and those around me gave me hope and confidence. The paramount chief lent us his vehicle to use in assessing the situation and determining the next step.
And so I went home, changed my attire and picked up some funds.
Before we arrived at the scene, more calls continued to come in, but Saa Famanda handled them.
I asked several times to know whether my husband was alive.
“Yes, he is,” Famanda always responded, not wanting to break the news. My prayer deep down was, God, even if he has broken legs, I would rather that than him being dead.
After an hour’s drive, we reached the scene. I nervously got out of the car as my eyes caught sight of the vehicle. The horrible sight explained it all. It was clear that with such an impact, Fred did not survive.
I screamed at the top of my voice until I was exhausted. No words could comfort me or stop me from crying.
Broken in body and spirit, I was lifted and placed in the seat of the car that brought us, and we drove to the hospital, where we met other Seventh-day Adventist mourners.
Then I requested to see the body at the mortuary, where I saw Fred sleeping deeply in his final call. On that same day, he was transported via ambulance to Freetown and another mortuary.
After the sight, all these questions started streaming in:
Why did he have to die this horrible and gruesome death?
After years of service, is this the best gift?
Do I deserve this?
What will I say to my children? How will they react?
Telling our children would be the most uncomfortable and difficult act of all. Do I have the courage to do this alone? Absolutely not! Our children have been studying in America. We called the principal of their school and informed him about Fred’s passing but asked that he wait to share the news until we could arrange for loved ones to be with them. He said he would but could not wait for long. There was a chance the news might spread via social media, and they needed to hear it first from us.
I longed to bring our children to a safer place, so I called all my closest relatives to be around them and offer them support. The tragic truth was then revealed.
It pained me to hear my children screaming without being there to hug them, kiss them and cry with them. Distance had created a vacuum, but God was with them, just as He was with Joseph when he was sold and taken to an unknown land. God said He is the Father to the fatherless and the Husband to the widow. I will always claim that promise deeply.
Fred’s remains were conveyed to Kono, and on April 9, he was finally laid to rest at the AFM project site.
To my beloved husband, this is for you:
Why hast thou departed so soon?
The laughter’s echo
now a silent tear.
A vacant bed, were you still here?
A sudden stillness, where your spirit flew,
leaving a void, a wound cut sharply through.
We built our world on whispered secrets shared.
On dreams we chased, and burden gently bared.
A bond unbreakable, a woven, olden thread.
Now, I’m served cruelly, leaving me for dead.
My hands still reach for your steady hold.
A story unfinished, a future left untold.
The world keeps spinning, at a cruel, relentless pace.
While I’m trapped in moments, longing for your face.
Memories flicker, like a dying flame.
Each precious moment, whispering your name,
a constant ache, a heavy, leaden weight.
How can I navigate this empty, barren space
without your wisdom and your comforting embrace?
The silence screams,
a deafening, hollow sound.
The tears will fall, a river of despair,
But it cannot wash away the love we used to share.
A part of me is gone,
a piece I can’t retrieve.
And only grief remains
for all that I believe.
Rest in Christ, my beloved, You will forever be missed.
