In the quiet heart of Côte d’Ivoire’s political capital, where dust roads meet wide boulevards, an immense white dome rises into the sky. It belongs to the Basilica of Our Lady of Peace of Yamoussoukro — the largest church in the world, dwarfing even St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.
Few outside the region know of it. Fewer still understand the story behind it.
Commissioned by the country’s first president, Félix Houphouët-Boigny, the basilica was more than a house of worship. It was a statement. “He wanted to put Yamoussoukro on the map,” said local historian Adama Kouassi. “And he did—not with politics, but with faith and ambition carved in marble.”
Construction began in 1985, when Houphouët-Boigny was well into his third decade in power. Designed by architect Pierre Fakhoury, the basilica took just four years to complete. Pope John Paul II consecrated it in 1990.
The building is staggering in scale. It stretches over 30,000 square metres, with a dome that soars higher than the Vatican’s. The interior can accommodate 18,000 people, though regular Sunday services rarely draw more than a few hundred.
The structure is adorned with Italian marble and 7,000 square metres of stained glass imported from France. In one of those panels, almost hidden among saints and angels, stands an image of Houphouët-Boigny himself, hands clasped in prayer. “It’s not a church for the people,” one taxi driver commented. “It’s a church for his memory.”
Indeed, the basilica is deeply personal. Houphouët-Boigny, born in Yamoussoukro, not only moved the nation’s capital there — he planted his legacy in its soil. He gave the church to the Vatican as a gift. But critics then, and now, question the price.
Estimates of the total cost vary, but some put it at over $200 million — a staggering figure at a time when many Ivorians were struggling to access basic services. “The country was in recession,” noted economist Geneviève Amani. “Hospitals were crumbling. Schools were underfunded. And then came the basilica.”
The Vatican reportedly accepted the gift on the condition that a hospital be built nearby — a promise that took years to fulfil.
Today, the basilica stands as both a marvel and a monument. Visitors are often stunned by its serenity. Pilgrims still come. But in a region where many live on less than $2 a day, the question lingers: was it worth it?
“It depends on who you ask,” said Kouassi, looking up at the dome. “To some, it’s a symbol of misplaced priorities. To others, it’s a symbol of hope — that Africa can build something this grand and beautiful, and call it its own.”
