12 Years After… Pastor Taiwo Odukoya Recounts Bimbo Odukoya’s last Moment

It seems like yesterday for family, friends and followers of the late Pastor Bimbo Odukoya as her memory still lingers on the mind 12 Years After. It was a fateful Saturday morning on Dec 10, 2005 when Pastor Bimbo was among the people who lost their lives on the ill-fated Portharcourt-bound Sosoliso flight. It was a sad day for her husband, Pastor Taiwo Odukoya, but 10 years down the line, he has fought the good fight and bounced back a few years after. Pastor Bimbo Odukoya was survived by her husband and 3 children. 4 years after Pastor Bimbo’s death, Pastor Taiwo remarried a South African Lady, Nomthi, who brought back hope and who was defined as a timely consolation. They both have 2children.

In memory of Pastors Bimbo legacies and 10th year remembrance, Pastor Taiwo wrote an inspiring book GRACIOUS LEGACY—The life and times of ‘Bimbo Olukoya

In the book, Pastor Taiwo Odukoya gives a first-hand account of a riveting life of Bimbo Odukoya , a woman whose exemplanary life and undeniable impact echoes through the generations. In the book, we meet the Bimbo we all knew; passionate ,dedicated, a lover of God and a woman who lived to serve with all her heart. But we also meet the Bimbo who lived, loved and worked behind the spotlight. Glorious legacy explores the life of Bimbo from the cradle through her early days in life, family and Fountain of Life church. He examines, in this engaging narrative, the environmental and context that culminated in a life and legacy that inspires and challenges the reader.

BIMBO’S LAST MOMENT

Those were Bimbo’s exact words .She had called from the Abuja Airport to inform me of a slight delay with her flight. It was her last scheduled trip for the year; a two –part ministration, first in Abuja, with a connecting flight to Port Harcourt for the second .It was our manual practice in the 21 years of our marriage; ,Bimbo would call me before any takeoff and upon her arrival on all her trips, and I did the same every time I was away. We were that involved with each other. After our phone conversation on the fated December 10, 2005, I expected Bimbo’s next call by the time she would have landed. This time, however, the promised call never came. That Saturday morning was like any ordinary day.

There was nothing to suggest the events that transpired would be remotely dramatic. My brother, John, was due to visit Nigeria with his family from the United State of America (USA) and we were to host them at the Vicarage. We had made plans for some minor repairs around the house and throughout the week, the house was brimming of artisans, but Bimbo, being away from home, was unable to supervise the last day of work. At her request, I took upon myself the chore of personally supervising the artisans ,more so because I was not in the habit of giving access of our private space to just anyone.

About 1.30pm, I went into the bathroom to make space for the painters; I must have stooped to pick something, because I remember suddenly ramming my head into the edge of the toothpaste rack. I went blank! Is this how people die?

That was the thought that ran through my mind as I struggled to gather my wits. The pain was so severe, but I was able to crawl out and nestle into the sofa in the living room. I was still in that slouched position when my phone began to ring. I picked it reluctantly, still trying to clear the fog in my head. At the other end of the line was Gbenga Onabanjo, one of our associates in the church. He told me in rushed sentences, how our choir leader’s niece was involved in a plane crash.

Aghast, I said, ‘Another plane crash” This was because at that time, the nation was just recovering from the trauma of a previous crash that occurred about 3 months earlier. But instead he replied, haven’t you been watching the television? The sososliso flight from Abuja to Portharcourt has crashed’’ When I heard that ,it felt as though waves of electric current coursed through my entire body at once. ‘My wife is on that flight’, I muttered as if to myself, then I cut the line.

In a moment of disbelief, I dialed Bimbo’s number, No response. I switched on the television in a bid to catch the news, all the while wishing it was untrue, certain that an incident of that nature could not be happening; atleast, not to us. Mumbling words of prayer under my breath, I wondered how to deal with the calls that barged into my phones, and more pressing, the questions from our youngest daughter, Tobi, who had learned of her mother’s accident from an insensitive parent within the neighborhood where she had gone to play. Everything happened so quickly, I tried all I could to book the next flight to Port Harcourt, but was dissuaded by the people around, who were concerned about my ability to make the trip in my state of mind.

It got worse because reaching the airlines for feedback on the next line of action proved to be futile. Before long, concerned friends began to stream into my home, some find answers and others, to offer comfort. My nephew, Temitope Odukoya, who was staying with us at that time, offered to go to Port Harcourt by road. At this time, the airport had been shut down, still with no word from the authorities. I called a few classmates from my University days, who resided in Portharcourt to help locate ‘Bimbo. But by Sunday, the following day, while still awaiting feedback from Temitope, news reached me that Bimbo had passed on. Her time of death was so detailed to be precisely 6 hours after the crash.

It was devastating to learn she was alive for 6 hours, possibly fighting for her life, and I could not make it on time to reach her, though she must have been expecting my arrival. Looking back through the years, I am humbled by the magnitude of God’s grace in the face of tremendous travail, and sometimes irreplaceable loss. It was this grace that sustained me during the months following ‘Bimbo’s passing, and it was this same grace that invariably brought Nomthi, a beacon of hope and a timely consolation.

With each passing year, I have had the burden to share the untold details of Bimbo’s life, not in a bid to waken any sense of loss, but rather to share her passion, legacy and inspire as many people as would read this book to run with the similar passion for God, love for humanity and zest for life as Bimbo did. At the end of the day , the words of Bimbo readily comes to mind: Life is short, death is sure, it is only what you do for the Christ that lasts.”