‘The Evangelist’: The Life Story of Evangelist André Coetzee

Copyright © 2012 by Melanie Coetzee.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012903861

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-7699-4

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-7698-7

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-7700-7

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Contents

Prologue

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Prologue

The author has taken the liberty to refer to true and real incidences, people and places, and words spoken by and into the life of the Evangelist André Albertus Coetzee. Nothing more can be added to titivate a translucent life of such a one.

When a boat is reeled in and engulfed in a tumultuous wave, it is powerless against the tide; it slowly turns and turns until it is covered by many waters and disappears underneath; the force of the spiraling current of a ‘whirlpool’ pulls the boat to the seabed. It is lost for somebody, but it would soon become a haven for sea creatures, plants, and moss. The tumultuous wave of sickness engulfs a soul. Powerless to defend the wave, he succumbs to the forces of darkness but not for long.

The story deems to take you on a journey through the life of one man who accepted the responsibility of receiving the supernatural in the form of a miracle healing from God. The responsibility became entrenched in the ultimate purpose for which he, admittedly, had been created. With many odds stacked against him, he reached the ultimate pinnacle of Maslow’s law of need—self-actualization. Notwithstanding the basic needs such as bread and education that sometimes eluded him, he was incinerated by blazing light of the glorious calling.

God was sure to make His indelible mark on that generation—changing the course of thousands of lives strewn all over the South African soil. God needed this generation of people to be injected with the Gospel of Jesus Christ, a people stricken with poverty, crime, and disease who would continue to spiral out of control against the backdrop of political uprising against an apartheid government. It would be a Gospel of truth, love, peace, and moral character preached by a man incensed by the call of God.

He was like a Joseph who was once thrown in a pit and left for dead, became a ‘fruitful bough by a well; his branches run over the wall’; like a Paul who ‘counted all things a loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus’, preaching the Gospel of Christ ‘in season and out of season’; like a James, who dared to show his ‘faith by his works’; and a young man who in pinnacle of his youth, having been admonished, dared not to ‘entangle himself with the affairs of this life’ so that ‘he may please him who enlisted him as a soldier’.

Following the call blindly, little did he know how many good fruits were produced and how many fruitful seeds lay aground waiting to bloom. God in His infinite wisdom and knowledge combed the Earth to and fro in search of someone with a heart of gold and an excellent spirit to perform an unpopular task in the Western Cape of Southern Africa and Namibia. Serving his generation well with the uncompromising Gospel of Christ is not without its benefits; these were merely symptoms of a life obedient to the principles of God. The apparent gifts and talents bestowed upon his seed not genetically predisposed and the thousands of lives touched, who pay homage to the icon, are best described in the words of the Psalmist, ‘The boundary lines had fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I had a delightful inheritance’. May this life inspire the reader to pursue Christ, flee from sin, and embrace love, peace, character, and a never-ending trust in God, the Almighty, through His Son, Jesus Christ.

André Albertus Coetzee and his family to this day continue to be beacons of hope to many families and a spiritual legacy for generations to come.

Acknowledgements

I wish to acknowledge and worship my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ who has afforded me the opportunity to live the life I had lived.

I wish to acknowledge all those who had made an effort to put pen to paper to accurately describe the history of my life.

I dedicate this biography to my children and my generations to come and to all who has been the wind beneath my wings in ministry.

I dedicate this to all those who had frequented the tents over the years and to those whom I had the privilege of bringing to the altar of God.

You are the reason for my life.

My immediate family, the darling of my heart, Maudé, who stood with me right from the beginning, Nicholas my eldest son, La Donna, Ruth, Esther, Evangeline, Abigail, Deborah, André Jnr, and Celesté.

Chapter One

Vineyard Landscape—Keimoes

Born in water; out of water

The Drakensburg catchment areas in the Old Transvaal and Lesotho Kingdom are home to hundreds of indigenous plant and animal species. It is a breathtaking spectacular home as a result of the abundance of water and sun. The catchment areas are straddled between the Maloti Mountains of Lesotho and the Drakensberg Mountains and became globally significant for its rich biodiversity and endemic plant life. The foot-hills of these mountains were home to an indigenous Kalahari bushmen who lived off the fruitful tributaries of the mountains; their quintessential rock paintings are evidence of their existence in these areas.

It is a paradise created by two powerful forces: The Orange and the Vaal Rivers. Swollen by torrential rains these mighty ‘warriors’ would meet in the Union of South Africa. Before Civil Engineers engaged the establishment of dams, these two prolific rivers brought down tons of water, sweeping away every moveable thing in its path.

It was an awesome sight to behold to see the Orange River after its confluence with the Vaal River in the Barkley West District. The union of rivers in Barkley West was titanic. When in flood the rivers were swollen; when they locked horns, they were like two angry bulls. It was a breathtaking contest that lasted minutes; as though they are digging into their heels; you could almost imagine the sound of groaning and moaning as the Orange River subdues the Vaal River. The Vaal River would be completely engulfed by the great Orange River. It continues to rush through Upington flowing until it reaches the Augrabies falls and then rushes its mouth at Orangemund and into the sea.

The sweltering heat in the basin of the Kalahari is compounded by its soaring the temperatures. However, the agricultural town of Upington on the banks of the Orange River earned its status as the unofficial capital of the Kalahari; the Green Kalahari. The Orange River forked into about ten fingers forming small islands. As a result of ample supply of water from the river, the islands became luscious fertile portions of land which earned its name ‘the islands’, later coined the ‘Keimoes islands’.

The Orange River brought life to the people living on either side of its banks. Farmers smiled knowingly; as the river comes down its flood delivering its rich alluvial deposits necessary to fertilize the farms. The needy people on the river banks joyously salvaged the spoils Orange River brought with it in the speed of its journey. Pumpkins, chairs, branches, tyres, sheep, cows, wild animals, living and dead and all sort of useful things was deposited on its banks. This was an annual affair. It was like a carnival; everybody came out to watch this show. Boisterous chattering of young and old filled the air: a sense of fear and surprise mixed with excitement. The crowd consisted of fathers, mothers, children, neighbours, farmers, policemen, clergy, principles, government officials, whites, blacks, the rich, the poor—all came out to see the glory of the Orange River. They entered into a spontaneous conversation with each other—the whole community became as one.

In the summer of 1935; the torrential rains came and the river was swollen. The people had well founded fear of the Orange River when in full flood. Its power could not be underestimated. Little rafts and boats would soon be pummelled by the tumultuous force of the river flow. Crossing the river by raft would be suicide.

This was the scene on the 5 December 1935 in Loxtonvale, Keimoes in Gordonia District of Upington in the Northern Cape of then Union of South Africa, Colony of Britain, when I, André Albertus Coetzee, was born. My father’s name was Nicholas Albertus Coetzee and my mother’s name was Katrina (‘Nee Beukes’). Both the Coetzees and the Beukes were long-standing and well-known families in the district. The family had farms in the ‘Soutpans’. My mother’s sister was ‘Aunt Dove’ (‘Tannie Duif’), and her husband ‘Uncle Frik’ (‘Oom Frik’) also lived on a farm close by. The family often spent some holidays on their farm.

I was told by my Uncle Frik Du Plessis, my father’s cousin, that my mother was high with child when the flood broke and the family was cut off from the town of Keimoes. My father had delayed to take my mother to the hospital, and the rains had come. The river closed in. The waters rose rapidly. People in those years never had television, so we always heard on the radio that the Old Vaal River and Orange River were coming down in heavy flood, and people were warned to move out to higher places above the riverbanks.

There was great fear and anxiety in the mainland for my mother and the unborn child, and people realized that my parents were cut-off by the flood. The dingy hang-bridges, which allowed you to move from one island to the other, were struck by the swell of the waters. My mother was very ill when they heard the news that the rivers were coming down again. They were a young couple, and my mother was due to give birth to their first child any time. Family members and friends feared that the floodwaters would sweep them away at any moment. My father was alone with the threatening flood outside when baby André decided to come. My father was forced to be midwife. On the stormy winter’s night, 5 December 1935, the young Nicholas delivered his own son. He then wrapped the child up warmly and set his wife on a mattress, praying for deliverance from certain death. On the mainland, they had chosen a man whom they knew to be the only one who could navigate the strong floodwaters.

They were pressed to move quickly to get my mother to the hospital, so they set off in the dark night to cross the boisterous flooded river in a boat. A few men pushed the boat into the water, giving him their prayers and support. The skies were black with rain, and the stars and moon were hidden. The waves bolstered the craft high up in the air and then dropped it dangerously below the swell. Hannes Beukes rowed with all the skill and strength that he could muster, slowly pulling away from the mainland. Struggling through the waves, he crossed the flooded river inch by inch, anxious spectators catching a glimpse of the bobbing boat from time to time. This was a precarious situation; the boat, nearly swallowed by the massive waves, moved slowly towards the riverbank. This nearly caused me to fall out from the boat, but my father caught me with a strong hand. My mother cried in fear, thinking her firstborn was gone. There were people on the other sides of the riverbank praying for our safe journey across. When we reached the other side, ‘Tannie Duif’,’ Oom Frik’, and all the other family awaited us anxiously.

My uncle, being an old man at the time when he told me the story, did not miss the opportunity to rub in the fact that the doctor wanted to prosecute my father. He told me that my father was guilty of endangering the lives of mother and child by his neglect to admit them timeously to the hospital.

This narrow escape from these rivers caused my father to say that I was born out of water. Today I say that I was born out of water and ‘in water’! It is with great humility that I think of God’s grace upon my life. Satan tried to kill me at birth, almost the way he tried with Moses at birth. God saved him by water as his mother placed him in a basket upon the river; he was saved from that snake. Satan tried to kill the Lord Jesus Christ at birth. Satan has limited knowledge. He seems to know the called ones, so he tries to kill them at birth, hoping to cause devastation in the kingdom of God. By God’s power, he has always failed and God’s purposes are being fulfilled. I realize that by His Grace, I had been placed in excellent company. Glory be to God!

André Coetzee in his late 40’s

Keimoes islands’ farm, Upington

Chapter Two

Oom Oupie Nicholas Coetzee, 1964

The Rainbow’s End

My father then decided that the rivers of ‘Canon island’ (Kanon eiland) was too dangerous, and he moved for a while to ‘Klip island’ (‘Klip eiland’). There he worked for the white farmers for a while.

I opened my eyes on these beautiful fairy tale-like islands of Keimoes Upington.

Keimoes is God’s hidden paradise on the edge of the Kalahari Dessert. It was in this paradise of green foliage, watery borders, and among the beautiful grapevines, golden brown heads of wheat, and white cotton, when I had discovered myself.

You have to experience the islands of Keimoes. The islands are in full bloom during the months of November through to January. You will fall in love with Keimoes. Riding through a semi-desert area of the Karoo you could not imagine such a paradise close by. As you cross the hill outside of Keimoes; you will be pleasantly surprised as you take in this breathtaking sight. It is so beautiful. When you enter the islands and ride through the vineyards, you will be forgiven if you think you are in heaven. It is breathtaking! A short distance from the islands, you will find the famous and world-renowned Augrabies waterfalls. In the summer months, you will experience the soaring temperatures to as much as forty-two degrees Celsius. The only relief was the Orange River and the willow trees that broke the temperature.

From the Great Kalahari and the foothills of the Maloti and the Drakensburg mountains up to Keimoes; will you find remnants of an indigenous people. For centuries past and present this has been the stomping grounds of Griqua, San, and the Khoi. Keimoes was home to the Griqua and a mixed brown (‘Coloured people’) and the white Afrikaner people. A lovely people who grew