Power, Protocol, and Papal Grace: The Inside Story of How It All Went Down in Rome By Bianca Ojukwu
There’s something about the Vatican that strips away titles and trappings. In the shadows of St. Peter’s Basilica, under the searing Roman sun, global leaders, power players, and everyday pilgrims become equals—bound by reverence and ritual.

I should know. I was there.
On my last trip to the Vatican—during the funeral of Pope Francis just weeks earlier—I had witnessed something unforgettable. As President Donald Trump arrived and a crowd of dignitaries swarmed to greet him, a sharply-dressed, no-nonsense priest cut through the noise with a firm:

“Scusi. This is St. Peter’s Basilica, not the White House. Kindly take your seats.”
Boom. Order restored. And a reminder: here, no one upstages the moment.
So when I returned for the Installation Mass of Pope Leo XIV, I knew I’d be witnessing not just history, but human theater—with the Nigerian delegation right in the mix.

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, leading the delegation, arrived in good time—early enough to soak in the atmosphere, greet dignitaries, and observe the ancient rites. As we settled into the square, I spotted Peter Obi and Kayode Fayemi, former governors and political heavyweights, already seated. After the President had taken his place, I went over to greet them—and in a rare gesture of statesmanship, they chose to accompany me to pay their respects to the President.
What followed was a surprisingly warm and humorous exchange. Far from the icy tensions back home, Tinubu welcomed them with ease, smiling, laughing, and trading quips like old friends reunited at a family function. They soon returned to their seats—but that moment, however brief, spoke volumes about what’s possible in Nigerian politics when the ego is set aside.
But Rome doesn’t care who you are. The sun showed no favoritism. Under the blazing Vatican heat, everyone—presidents, pilgrims, priests—sat exposed. The square is merciless. People faint. They’re carried off in stretchers. It’s part of the experience.

One man, seated directly in front of me, collapsed mid-Mass. Paramedics were far off, and panic briefly rippled through the crowd—until Seyi Tinubu, the President’s son, leapt into action. He darted to the vestibule and returned with a cold bottle of water that was used to revive the man before medics arrived.
Meanwhile, the President—stoic and composed—sat through the entire three-hour liturgy, standing and kneeling as required, skipping only Communion. Afterward, he lingered. He chatted with Nigerian priests, seminarians, posed for selfies, and shared laughs, showing none of the fatigue one might expect.

And oh—that suit.
Tailored to perfection, the President’s power suit turned heads across the square. The cut, the stride, the confidence—it was presidential flair meeting ecclesiastical ceremony. He walked up to greet the new pontiff with grace and gravitas.
So yes, Vatican ’25 wasn’t just a religious event—it was a convergence of power, humility, diplomacy, and humanity.

From protocol to personal moments, this was history not just witnessed, but lived.
And for those of us lucky enough to be there, one thing is clear:
In Rome, you don’t just attend a Mass. You become part of a moment that echoes through eternity.