Your Holiness, Pope Francis, I write to you not with ink, but with tears of gratitude and sorrow in the early hours of this morning, as the sun rose over the Sahel, I learned that you had journeyed from this world. My heart is heavy, for we have lost a guiding light. I am a Muslim man and the president of a proud African nation. Yet today, I feel I have lost a father and a friend, when my people suffered, when terrorists struck our churches, when drought and hunger visited our villages. You, Pope, Francis, did not remain silent. You spoke our names in your prayers at the Vatican. You consoled us from afar. I remember the telegram you sent after the attack in Tableau in 2019 When innocent worshippers were slain in church, you called it senseless brutality and prayed for us. Those words were a balm on our wounds.
You made the world see our pain when it would have been easy to overlook a small country like ours, Holy Father, I think of your visit to the Central African Republic in 2015 when you bravely walked a land torn by Christian Muslim conflict, you removed your shoes and entered the mosque in Bangui, embracing the Imam as brother. That day, you showed Africa and the world, what true peace could look like. Though you never came to Burkina Faso, your spirit was felt here. You sent Cardinal Philippe to us with messages of peace. You named our own humble priest, Cardinal Zungrana, as one of your advisors. You always had time for Africa. I recall your gentle smile when we met briefly at the Vatican last year. I was a young leader, uncertain and burdened by my nation’s troubles. You took my hand in yours, your frail hand that had blessed so many, and you said, courage, my son, continue to work for justice and harmony. Those words remain etched in my soul. You likely didn’t remember me among the many, but I will never forget that moment. In our tradition, when a great elder passes, we do not say they are gone. We say they have returned to Allah, returned to God. I believe you have returned to God whom you served with every ounce of your being, your life, was a testament that to serve God is to serve humanity, all of humanity, not just those who share one’s creed. Thank you, Pope Francis, thank you for loving the poor man in Burkina Faso as much as the prince in palaces. Thank you for defending the dignity of refugees from Africa who knock on Europe’s door, reminding the world that we are all one human family. Thank you for the times you spoke of the Sahel in your prayers and for your constant calls to end the violence that plagues our region. You were geographically far, but in spirit, you stood beside us in our darkest hours. As I join the world in mourning you, I also whisper a prayer that the seeds you planted will grow. May the next pope carry forward your torch of compassion. In Africa, we dare to hope that one day the church might choose a shepherd from our continent, if not now, then in God’s good time. But regardless of origin, we pray the new Holy Father will walk the path you paved, a path of simplicity, of reaching across divides, of prioritizing the least among us. Rest in peace, humble father. The winds of the desert carry our farewell to you in the evenings of our land, when the sky blazes with the colours of dusk, we will remember how you lit up our lives with hope. You often ended your letters with fraternally as a brother to all. Now we bid you farewell as our brother, our elder, our Pope, may the Most Merciful receive you warmly and may your dream of a more just and fraternal world live on in us sincerely. Captain Ibrahim Chauri, president of Burkina Faso,