By Jerina Zaloshnja Rakipi — Reporting from Vatican City
Tirana Times, April 26, 2025
In 1967, a Catholic priest in Tirana—whose name I never managed to learn—quietly came to our home to baptize me. I was only two years old, born to a Bektashi father and a Muslim mother, who, despite the danger, did not deny the wish of Aunt Ana (the Italian lady from Barletta who helped raise me) to have their daughter baptized into the Catholic faith.
It was a time of deep fear, just before the communist regime, following the model of China’s Cultural Revolution, would ban religion, destroy churches, and attempt to erase faith itself.
A few months before that darkness descended, I became a Catholic child, thanks to a gentle priest and my unforgettable nanny, Mrs. Ana Sopoti.
She taught me how to pray at night before going to bed, how to make the sign of the cross, and how to silently thank God at the Sunday lunch table. Tirelessly, with all the time in the world and unfazed by my mother’s complaints that she was taking too much care of me and neglecting others, my Barese nanny — “my salvation” — would take me by the hand on magical imaginary journeys to St. Peter’s Square, where I would wave my tiny hands to greet the Pope.
“Say Ciao Papa,” my sweet-faced nanny would instruct.
“Ciao!” I would imitate.
Those were my very first encounters with the Pope.
Which Pope it was exactly, I do not know.
Years later, when I finally set foot in the real Vatican, in 2003, carrying wounded memories of my nanny who, after thousands of silent, clandestine meetings with the Pope from communist Tirana, had ultimately embraced God Himself in Italy, everything felt strangely familiar, as if I had walked there hundreds of times before.
Today, however, I am here not as that little girl, but as a journalist.
I report, I do not dream.
I report on the final farewell to Pope Francis, whose warm and gentle smile I have seen every Sunday for the past ten years.
Today is a heavy day. Thousands of pilgrims, world leaders, and ordinary people have gathered to bow their heads before the Pope, one last time.
A Special Bond with Albania
In Albania, Pope Francis holds a special place in history. His visit on September 21, 2014 — his first trip to Europe as Pope — was a powerful testimony of hope and interfaith harmony.
The streets of Tirana that day were filled with hundreds of thousands of Albanians—Christians and Muslims alike—waving flags, smiling, and crying tears of joy.
Standing proudly in “Mother Teresa” Square, Pope Francis proclaimed:
“Mother Teresa is a great daughter of these lands. Peace be upon your homes!”
He saw in us something rare and precious: the ability to live peacefully among different faiths, to build a mosaic of coexistence.
“May the eagle on your flag always hold onto hope in God, who never disappoints and who stands with you in hard times,” he told us.
In an unforgettable moment, Pope Francis embraced the survivors of communist persecution (including Father Ernest Simoni Troshani, who had endured 18 harrowing years of imprisonment).
Deeply moved by Father Troshani’s story, the Pope would later appoint him as the first Albanian cardinal in history, honoring a life lived with unbreakable faith.
Even today, standing among the mourners, I hear the echoes of Pope Francis’s words from Tirana:
“Let no one think they can use God as a shield to plan and carry out acts of violence.”
His message feels more necessary than ever.
A Farewell for the World
Here in Vatican City, the heart of the Catholic world beats slower today. Around St. Peter’s Basilica, rivers of mourning and gratitude flow side by side.
World leaders, religious figures, and ordinary people came not merely out of duty but out of love for a Pope who made the world feel smaller, kinder, and more human.
According to Vatican estimates, around 250,000 people attended the funeral Mass at St. Peter’s Square, while 150,000 more lined the motorcade route through downtown Rome to witness the first papal funeral procession in a century. As Pope Francis’ simple wooden coffin traveled aboard a modified popemobile towards the Basilica of St. Mary Major, the crowd clapped and cheered “Papa Francesco!”
As the bells tolled, the pallbearers carried the coffin past dozens of migrants, prisoners, and homeless people standing outside the basilica, holding white roses. Inside, four children gently laid those roses before the icon of the Virgin Mary that Pope Francis so deeply loved.
The funeral Mass, presided over by Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re, was steeped in tradition but felt wide open and inclusive—true to Pope Francis’s spirit.
“We mourn a shepherd who tirelessly served humanity with courage and compassion,” the Cardinal declared, his voice carrying over the silent sea of faces.
In his homily, Cardinal Re described Francis as “a pope among the people, with an open heart towards everyone,” highlighting his informal and spontaneous style. The crowd applauded warmly when the Cardinal recalled Francis’ concern for migrants, mentioning how he celebrated Mass at the U.S.-Mexico border and visited refugee camps in Greece, bringing 12 migrants back with him to the Vatican.
Among those present were U.S. President Donald Trump, French President Macron, Italian PM Meloni, Argentinian President Javier former President Joe Biden, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres, British Prime Minister Keir Starmer, Prince William, and leaders from across continental Europe. From tiny Albania, President Bajram Begaj stood solemnly alongside Cardinal Ernest Simoni Troshani.
In a striking and unexpected moment, Donald Trump and Volodymyr Zelenskyy met privately inside St. Peter’s Basilica, seated alone on simple chairs—a quiet reflection of Pope Francis’ enduring call for peace, especially regarding the war in Ukraine.
Religious leaders from every faith tradition gathered too—Muslim imams, Jewish rabbis, Orthodox patriarchs, Protestant pastors—standing side by side.
It was the world Pope Francis dreamed of.
For us Albanians, a moment of deep emotion came when young people from Tirana, Shkodër, and Durrës laid a wreath, wrapped in red and black, at the Pope’s coffin.
A simple act of thanks—from a people who had been seen, loved, and blessed.
I will never forget Cardinal Pietro Parolin’s voice ringing out:
“May the eagle on your flag always carry hope in God.”
A Spirit That Does Not Fade
As the ceremony ended, a deep silence enveloped St. Peter’s Square.
Slowly, thousands of people left, leaving Pope Francis to rest in a private ceremony at the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore.
But in a way, his spirit did not remain buried.
It seems to linger, unbroken, in smiles, in prayers, in dreams of bridges built instead of walls.
Today, as I walk away from St. Peter’s Basilica, one thing is clear:
For Albanians, for Catholics, for the world at large, Pope Francis will always remain the Pope who smiled at us.
The Pope who believed that kindness is stronger than hatred.
The Pope who left us not just a memory, but a path forward.
For me, something else is clear too.
There were two women from my family who bid farewell to the beloved Pope with tenderness and sorrow in their hearts.
On one side, me, raising both hands and calling out as loud as I can: “Ciao Papa!”
On the other side of the sky, the hands of my nanny, struck by rheumatism but very much alive.
How strongly she waves, how warmly she welcomes our Pope!
She has not died either; she has just grown older.
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