By: Chioma Madonna Ndukwu
The sun peeks over the hills of Africa, gentle as a prayer whispered before dawn. It falls on basilicas in Bamenda, chapels in Chikwawa, and shrines in Owerri—touching every soul kneeling at the altar of hope.
Africa, full of faith and fire, once gave the Catholic Church its popes. Yet today, she waits at the threshold of Rome, unheard in the secret room where smoke and silence choose the next shepherd.
Why?
History, though sometimes silent, remembers. Three men of African origin—Victor I, Miltiades, and Gelasius I—once wore the papal crown. They were popes not by petition but by providence, called from North Africa when Rome still listened with open ears.
But centuries passed, empires fell, and with time, the Church’s gaze turned northward and stayed there.
Africa’s voice, once clear, now echoes faintly in marble halls where the conclave gathers. And so, the continent watches from afar, asking quietly: When will we be seen again?
To understand the delay, one must look into the sacred shadows of the conclave; the quiet chamber where cardinals, chosen by past popes, vote on who among them shall lead the world’s Catholics.
It is a ritual ancient as incense, heavy with unspoken rules. And while Africa supplies the Church with numbers, vitality, and vocations, her path to the papacy is paved with caution and tradition.
As one Vatican scholar once said, “The Church’s leadership has been shaped by centuries of European hands. To shift that takes more than prayer, it takes boldness.”
Even sainthood in Africa comes slowly. Consider Blessed Cyprian Michael Iwene Tansi, a Nigerian priest whose life of sacrifice inspired thousands. Beatified in 1998, his journey to sainthood has since stood still.
“Every Church has saints,” wrote historian Fr. Michael O’Connell, “but some saints must wait longer to be believed.”
Africa’s spiritual giants are often hidden under layers of skepticism, their miracles weighed against politics rather than faith.
To feel the heartbeat of the continent, Chioma, from AfricaWorldNews spoke with Catholics across Nigeria.
Isioma Chukwuma, a skincare entrepreneur from St. Francis Parish in Enugu, did not hold back.
“They still see us as the footnote,” she said. “We carry the Church on our backs, our mothers wake before dawn to sing Matins, our priests serve in villages and cities alike. Yet, we are always the ones waiting to be recognized. When we are good enough to suffer, why are we not good enough to lead?”
Her words echoed the proverb: “Until the lion tells its tale, the hunter’s story will always glorify the gun.”
From Sacred Heart Parish in Jos, Barrister Tochukwu Ibe offered a more measured response.
“The process is sacred and slow,” he said. “Not every cardinal is papabile, even from Europe. But I believe our time will come. It’s not just about being African, it’s about being chosen by the Spirit through men who are still, frankly, learning to hear with wider ears.”
He quoted Saint Augustine: “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.”
In Kano, St. Benedict’s Parish, Mr. Kabiru Dogo, a merchant and devout Catholic, did not mask his disappointment.
“The Vatican must stop pretending we are invisible,” he said. “We are not asking for a gift, we are asking for fairness. Our churches are full, our priests are faithful. If this Church is truly one, holy, catholic, and apostolic, then its leadership must reflect the body, not just the head.”
Africa is not empty of leadership. It is full overflowing. But the chalice is often passed over, waiting for the day when the Church dares to drink from it again.
Cardinal Peter Turkson once reminded the world: “The Church is universal. Its leadership must mirror that universality.”
But time, like tide, turns. Africa’s Catholics are no longer whispering. They are singing. And someday soon, perhaps the smoke from the Sistine Chapel will carry not just tradition, but testimony; testimony written in African hands, sung in African tongues.
When that day comes, it will not be a revolution. It will be a resurrection.
