They say lightning doesn’t strike twice. But in the case of the papacy, lightning doesn’t strike Africa at all.
For decades now, as the white smoke billows from the Vatican chimney, so too do the hopes of millions across the African continent. Hopes that a son of the soil will ascend to the most sacred office in Catholicism. Three men, regal in intellect and radiant in faith, have often carried the weight of that collective hope: Cardinal Francis Arinze of Nigeria, Cardinal Peter Turkson of Ghana, and Cardinal Robert Sarah of Guinea. Yet, when the smoke cleared—again—it was not Africa’s turn. The name called was Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, not Francis Arinze.
For many, the news fell like communion wine spilt on white linen. A crimson reminder of how close Africa gets to the centre, only to be told—politely—that the centre is not ready. Again.
Now, let’s be clear: this isn’t about sour grapes. It’s not that Africans feel entitled to the papacy (well, maybe a little). It’s that for a continent that houses more than 230 million Catholics—and growing at twice the global rate—it feels a bit like bringing the biggest dish to the potluck, only to be asked to help wash the plates. Again.
Let’s take them one by one.
Cardinal Francis Arinze—the quintessential Vatican insider. Born in Anambra State, Nigeria, he converted to Catholicism as a boy and rose through the clerical ranks with astonishing grace. By the time he was 32, he was the youngest bishop in the world. He speaks Latin like it’s his mother tongue and served as Prefect of the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments under Pope John Paul II. For years, his name came up in every “next pope” conversation. But like a brilliant understudy who knows the whole script, he was always clapped for—but never called.
Then there’s Cardinal Peter Turkson, Ghana’s intellectual giant. With a charisma that could thaw a Roman winter, he chaired the Vatican’s department for promoting integral human development and is widely seen as a voice for economic justice. He talks sustainability, speaks globalisation, and can pivot from Scripture to the Sustainable Development Goals without missing a beat. But in a world where the Church still hesitates to reflect its most dynamic regions, Turkson’s modernism may have felt too… well, African.
And what about Cardinal Robert Sarah, the Guinean firebrand with the voice of thunder and the soul of steel? A conservative theologian who speaks his truth with the cadence of the desert prophets, Sarah was beloved by traditionalists. But his sharp critiques of Western secularism and impassioned defence of Christian orthodoxy made some in the Vatican uneasy. Here was an African cardinal unafraid to suggest that Europe’s soul was on spiritual life support. The audacity!
So, the question hangs heavy in the incense-filled air: Why does the papal mitre keep missing Africa?
Is it the quiet choreography of Eurocentrism? Is the Vatican allergic to the optics of a pope with skin darkened by the equatorial sun? Or is Africa too full of inconvenient truths—too spiritual, too vibrant, too unashamed of its sacredness—for the political calculations of the Holy See?
To be fair, the papacy is not a UN election. It’s not about quotas or affirmative action. The Holy Spirit is said to guide the choice. But even the Spirit seems to have a pattern. And that pattern often resembles the well-lit avenues of Europe rather than the sunbaked hills of Nsukka or Kumasi.
Still, Africans remain devoted. Resilient. And—let’s be honest—slightly bemused. We send missionaries to rekindle the cold faith of post-Christian Europe, yet are told to wait. We build churches faster than roads, yet are asked to step aside. We produce cardinals who speak five languages and steward Vatican portfolios, yet are never quite “the one.”
But perhaps there’s a lesson here. Maybe, just maybe, Africa’s spiritual might is not meant to be capped with the white zucchetto of Rome. Perhaps our true leadership isn’t a seat in the Sistine Chapel, but the pulsing faith of millions who carry Christ not in mitres, but in markets, on motorbikes, and in midnight vigils. Maybe the throne we seek isn’t in St. Peter’s Basilica, but in the roaring heart of the continent itself.
And maybe—just maybe—when the world is ready for a black pope, Africa would have long moved on from seeking validation in the applause of men.
Until then, we keep watching the smoke, offering our prayers, and doing the work. Not for the papacy. But for the people.
After all, as my grandmother used to say, “If your name has not been called in this market, do not leave the line. The drum is still beating.”
