To his family, Pope Francis was simply "Jorge Mario" - even during the 12 years that he was pontiff.

"When Jorge decided to accept the papacy, he understood his life as he knew it would change forever, and so did we," the Pope's nephew, José Ignacio Bergoglio, told BBC News Mundo.

"When we heard of his passing, it came with a certain comfort to the soul, because we knew our loved one was finally at peace, and once again, he was simply our Uncle Jorge."

Before he became the first Latin American to lead the Catholic Church, Pope Francis was Jorge Mario Bergoglio, born into a close-knit, middle-class household in the Argentine capital, Buenos Aires.

The eldest of five siblings, he often described their bond as being "as close as the fingers of one hand."

Among them, he shared a particularly special connection with his younger sister, María Elena – now the only surviving member of his immediate family.

Pope Francis also played a pivotal role in the life of his nephew, María Elena's son José Ignacio, who grew up without a father.

"I always say that my two uncles, Alberto and Jorge, became the father figures I so deeply missed as a child," José Ignacio said.

"Jorge knew how to be serious when needed, but he never lost his spontaneity or his sense of humour. He was a warm, approachable uncle, and I loved him deeply."

José Ignacio vividly remembers the day his uncle was elected pope, a moment that stunned him, especially after he had dismissed all speculation that Jorge could ascend to the papacy.

"I had gone to a family friend's house for a meal, and we began watching the conclave. The moment the white smoke rose, I started to tremble. I became incredibly nervous," he said.

• You can watch and follow the funeral live here on the BBC News website and app. In the UK, there will be live coverage on BBC One from 0830-1230 BST, presented by Reeta Chakrabarti, available to watch on the iPlayer. There will also be live coverage on the BBC News channel presented by Maryam Moshiri. Finally, you can also follow coverage of the funeral on the BBC World Service

"Then, the protodeacon stepped out and announced, 'Habemus Papam.' I only heard 'Giorgio Mario.' I dropped to my knees in front of the television and started to cry."

The short journey to share the news with his mother, who lived just 15 blocks away, took much longer than usual. Everywhere he went, locals stopped him to offer their congratulations.

"At home, I hugged my mother, and we cried together for a while. Then cousins and friends started to arrive, and the phone was ringing off the hook."

Amid the chaos, with local and international media camped outside their door, the phone rang again around 9pm. A distant voice on the other end simply said, 'Hello.'

"Who am I speaking to," I asked. "It's Jorge, boludo," came the reply [using the rude slang Argentines use for "idiot", often affectionately].

"It was Pope Francis, swearing," José Ignacio recalled. "I handed the phone to mum. As they spoke, I watched her tears dry. It was an incredibly moving moment."

Hundreds of thousands are expected to gather in St. Peter's Square on Saturday for Pope Francis's funeral, including world leaders, Catholic officials, and mourners from around the globe.

However, José Ignacio said his family had no plans to travel to Rome for the service.

"We firmly believe our place is here," he explained, encouraging mourners to honour Pope Francis's memory by donating to charity, a gesture he believed would be a more meaningful tribute.

José Ignacio had shared the news of his wife's pregnancy with the Pope during their last conversation, a moment that would remain etched in his memory forever.

"The joy and emotion he expressed were deeply meaningful to me," he said, adding that Pope Francis left him with a powerful message to live a life of solidarity, austerity, humility and commitment.

He also remembered a conversation from his teenage years when his uncle was a cardinal, recalling it as the best advice he ever received on how to make the world a better place.

"Change comes from within, through commitment," his uncle had told him.

"If you're unhappy with the police, become a policeman and change it from within. If you're dissatisfied with politics, get involved in politics. With commitment and conviction, we can create a better world,' he said.

"I think this is one of the most profound lessons I've learned from him."

When José Luis Iguarán steps outside his home in La Guajira, northern Colombia, he is met with a line of 10 towering wind turbines stretching across the cactus-strewn terrain toward the Caribbean Sea.

The Wayuu indigenous group, which Mr Iguarán belongs to, has lived on the arid peninsula region for centuries, herding goats, tending to crops, mining salt, and fishing.

With some of Colombia's most powerful winds, La Guajira has now become the epicentre of the country's shift from fossil fuels to renewable energy.

But this green ambition has faced both resistance and reflection from locals, whose territory is deeply tied to culture, tradition, and a profound connection to nature.

"You wake up and suddenly you no longer see the trees. Instead, you see and hear the turbines," Mr Iguarán says.

His community now shares its land with Guajira 1 - one of Colombia's two operational wind farms. Another 15 wind farms are currently under construction in La Guajira, and there are plans for dozens more.

"At night, the noise from the turbines disturbs our dreams. For us, dreams are sacred," Mr Iguarán adds.

The Wayuu, who number around 380,000 in Colombia and extend into Venezuela, have distinct traditions and beliefs. Dreams are a bridge to the spiritual world, where they receive messages from their ancestors that are interpreted within the family.

Despite the cultural disruptions, Mr Iguarán says that his community has benefited from Guajira 1. The energy company behind it, Colombian firm Isagen, has paid for them to have access to clean drinking water, better roads, and sturdy brick houses, which have replaced some of the mud and cactus ones.

Isagen, which is owned by Canada's Brookfield, also pays three local communities an annual fee for the wind farm to be there, a percentage of annual electricity revenues, and 20% from the sale of carbon credits. These are bought by companies wishing to offset their carbon emissions.

Mr Iguarán believes such energy projects can help bring vital development to Colombia's second-poorest region. But not everyone shares his enthusiasm.

"The wind farms produce clean energy, but they create division within the Wayuu communities," explains Aaron Laguna, a Wayuu fisherman, who lives in the coastal village of Cabo de la Vela.

His community is currently in the process of consultations over a wind farm due to be built nearby. He has seen others affected by projects complain about a lack of transparency, poor compensation, a disrespect of cultural norms, and corruption.

"Bad negotiations are made, and the resources given [to us] aren't well managed by locals," he adds.

These concerns have led to disputes with the energy companies, and even conflict within Wayuu communities. Some oppose the projects, while others feel excluded from negotiations that could bring them benefits.

"There is still this idea that if it is green, it is automatically good," says Joanna Barney, director of environment, energy and communities at Colombian think tank Indepaz. It has extensively researched the energy transition and its effects on the Wayuu.

"In Colombia… there isn't a solid legal framework to properly assess the environmental impacts - and the social impacts are immeasurable."

In December 2024, Spanish company EDP Renováveis shelved plans for two wind farms in La Guajira, saying the projects were no longer economically viable.

One factor was the doubling of local indigenous communities who said they would be affected, and therefore need compensation, from 56 to 113.

EDP's decision followed the May 2023 exit of Italian multinational Enel from another planned wind farm in the region. Enel attributed its departure to "constant protests" that halted construction for more than half of the working days between 2021 and 2023.

Guajira 1 was also marred by roadblocks, a common way of protesting in La Guajira when locals feel unheard.

And think tank Indepaz has recorded cases of attacks against employees of the energy firms, including armed robberies and kidnappings. And in some areas it has found cases of displacement and violence between local communities who disagree over neighbouring wind farms.

"We call it the 'wind wars'," says Ms Barney.

For Colombian anthropologist Wieldler Guerra, there is a clear disconnect between the Wayuu and the wind farm companies.

"There are two worlds talking, and they have not managed to understand each other," he says.

This gap extends to the very way they perceive the wind - the element central to these projects.

"For the Wayuu, the winds are people. It is not the wind, but the winds. There are eight different winds in Wayuu culture, mythological and ancestral beings with distinct temperaments that shape the surrounding environment and must be respected."

By contrast, companies and the Colombian government see wind as a resource to harness for environmental progress, profit, and to address the country's energy needs.

While Colombia has a relatively clean domestic electricity matrix, with nearly two-thirds coming from hydroelectricity, the country remains vulnerable to low reservoir levels, which creates a risk of energy shortages. Wind energy currently contributes just 0.1% of the energy mix.

For energy companies investing in the region, the risk of conflicts with local people are a worrying prospect.

One such firm, AES Colombia is developing the country's largest wind energy cluster in La Guajira, with six wind farms.

The company insists it maintains an open dialogue with communities, offering fair compensation, and ensuring benefits such as clean drinking water and shares in carbon credits.

But it says good community relations are not enough.

"We cannot do these projects alone," says Federico Echavarría, general manager of AES Colombia. "The government must help resolve conflicts between communities."

On the windswept beach in Cabo de la Vela, Mr Laguna says La Guajira has historically been neglected by the state.

Education and healthcare are poor, and most rural communities do not have running water.

Some people still walk hours each day to collect water from jagüeys – reservoirs filled with rainwater.

His community has a small salt-water treatment plant that produces fresh water and it wants the company planning to build the nearby wind farm to expand it, so that more locals benefit.

Despite the talk of progress, he points to a lingering paradox. "The worst thing is we won't receive even a single kilowatt of the electricity produced here," he laments.

The plan is for the wind farm's electricity to instead be sent elsewhere, and that the village will continue to rely on generators, at least in the medium term.

While the future might look bright for clean energy, many Wayuu are still anxious they will be left in the dark.

This must be the most secretive election in the world.

When 133 Catholic cardinals are shut into the Sistine Chapel on Wednesday to choose a successor to Pope Francis, each one will have sworn an oath on the gospels to keep the details under wraps for life.

The same goes for every person inside the Vatican during the conclave: from the two doctors on hand for any emergency, to the dining-room staff who feed the cardinals. All vow to observe "absolute and perpetual secrecy".

Just to be sure, the chapel and the two guesthouses will be swept for microphones and bugs.

"There are electronic jammers to make sure that phone and wi-fi signals are not getting in or out," said John Allen, the editor of Crux news site.

"The Vatican takes the idea of isolation extremely seriously."

The famous lockdown is not only about keeping the voting process itself secret: stopping "nefarious forces" from attempting to hack it for information or to disrupt things.

The measures are also about ensuring the men in red total seclusion from the secular world and its influences as they prepare to vote.

Catholics will tell you the election is guided by God, not politics. But the hierarchy takes no chances.

On entering the conclave, everyone is obliged to surrender all electronic devices including phones, tablets and smart watches. The Vatican has its own police to enforce the rules.

"The logic is trust but verify," John Allen said.

"There are no televisions, newspapers or radio at the guesthouse for the conclave – nothing," said Monsignor Paolo de Nicolo, who was head of the Papal household for three decades.

"You can't even open the windows because many rooms have windows to the exterior world."

Everyone working behind the high Vatican walls for the conclave has been heavily vetted. Even so, they are barred from communicating with electors.

"The cardinals are completely incommunicado," said Ines San Martin of the Pontifical Mission Societies in the US.

"There will just be walkie-talkies for some specific circumstances like, 'we need a medic,' or 'Hey, the Pope has been elected, can someone let the bell-ringers in the Basilica know.'"

So what if someone breaks the rules?

"There is an oath, and those who do not observe it risk ex-communication," Msgr De Nicolo says, meaning exclusion from the church. "No one dares to do this."

It's a different matter in the run-up to the conclave.

Officially, the cardinals are banned from commenting even now. But from the moment Pope Francis was buried, parts of the Italian press and many visitors turned cardinal-hunters, trying to suss out his most likely successor.

They have been scouring the tourist-filled restaurants and gelato joints around the Vatican, ready to speculate on any sightings and possible alliances.

"Wine and Rigatoni: the Cardinals' Last Suppers", was one headline in La Repubblica which described the "princes of the church" enjoying "good Roman lunches" before lockdown.

Reporters have then been grilling waiters on what they might have overheard.

"Nothing," one of the servers at Roberto's, a couple of streets back from St Peter's, told me this week.

"They always go quiet whenever we get close."

The other prime spot to catch a cardinal is beside the basilica itself, next to the curve of columns that embraces the main square. Each morning there's a huddle of cameras and reporters on the lookout for the men in lace and scarlet robes.

There are now close to 250 cardinals in the city, called here from all over the world, although those aged 80 or over are not eligible to vote.

As they head into the Vatican for their daily congregations to discuss the election, each one is surrounded and bombarded with questions on progress.

They've given away little in response beyond the "need for unity" or assurances that the conclave will be short.

"The whole idea is for this to be a religious decision, not a political one," Ines San Martin explains. "We say the Holy Spirit guides the conversation and the vote."

But the Pope heads a huge, wealthy institution with significant moral authority and global sway on everything from conflict resolution to sexual politics.

So the man chosen – and his vision and priorities – matter far beyond the Vatican.

Certain Catholic monarchs had a veto on the election up until 1907. Today, voices from all quarters try to influence the debate – most obviously through the media.

At one point, Rome's Il Messaggero chided a presumed front-runner, Italian Cardinal Parolin, for "a sort of self-candidacy".

Then there was a video clip of Filipino Cardinal Tagle singing John Lennon's Imagine, apparently released to dent his popularity. It went viral instead.

Meanwhile, a glossy book highlighting some potential contenders is doing the rounds, lauding conservatives like Cardinal Sarah of Guinea for condemning the "contemporary evils" of abortion and the "same-sex agenda".

"There are groups in town who are trying to bang the drum on issues of interest to them," John Allen says. "The cardinals are aware of this kind of thing, they read the papers. But they will do everything they can to block it out."

"Are there lobbies going on? Yes, like in every election," Ines San Martin agrees. "But it's not as loud as I thought it would be."

She argues that is partly because Pope Francis appointed so many new cardinals, including from new places.

"Fifty or sixty percent of them don't even know one another. So even if you were an outside group, trying to have an agenda, it's very hard even to pick your cardinals to begin with."

By Wednesday morning, all the electors should be in place inside the Vatican – stripped of their phones and sealed off from the rest of the world.

From then on John Allen believes personal preference will dominate over politics, liberal or conservative factions or the "rattle and hum of public debate".

"I really think the cardinals' discussions among themselves right now is key," Ines San Martin agrees. "A lot have been speaking up for the first time. You never know just how inspiring one of them might be."

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Prosecutors in Mexico have arrested the mayor of Teuchitlán in western Jalisco state as part of their investigation into a nearby cartel training site.

The mayor, José Murguía Santiago, is suspected of colluding with the New Generation Jalisco Cartel (CJNG), which he has denied.

The investigation was launched after activists discovered bone fragments and hundreds of discarded shoes, backpacks and items of clothing at the Izaguirre ranch outside the town in March.

Rights groups said that they feared the ranch had been used as an "extermination camp", where people were forcedly recruited and trained, and those who refused were tortured and killed.

The discovery by people searching for their missing relatives of what appeared to be evidence of mass killings at the site shocked the country, where cartel violence is rife.

Mexico's Attorney-General Alejandro Gertz gave a news conference last week updating journalists on the federal investigation into the ranch.

He confirmed that the site had been used as a training centre for recruits of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel, one of the most feared and powerful transnational drug trafficking gangs, which has its power base in Jalisco.

However, he said that there was no evidence that it had been used as an extermination and cremation site.

According to the attorney-general, bone fragments discovered there were not recent and forensic tests suggested that the fires lit at the ranch would not have been hot enough to dispose of human remains.

Gertz's statements caused anger among "searchers", the name given to relatives looking for the more than 120,000 people who have been reported missing in Mexico over the past two decades.

They said that his news conference raised more questions than it answered and failed to address to whom the many abandoned shoes found at the ranch belonged and what had become of those people.

Gertz insisted that the authorities would continue looking into whether there had been any collusion between the CJNG and local officials.

The arrest of Mayor Murguía Santiago is part of that ongoing investigation.

Prior to his arrest, the mayor had said that he had nothing to hide. "If they want to investigate me, let them, I'm clean and willing to say what I know," he told local media.

But prosecutors allege that he knew of the existence of the training centre and did not act on that knowledge.