24 hours ago, I watched US musician Aloe Blacc perform his hits to 100 different nations, and now here I am walking on the side of a mountain in a snowstorm on the way to a DanceSport performance. Things move fast at the Special Olympics World Winter Games. But nothing could’ve truly prepared me for this other-worldly experience.
Growing up in South Africa, I attended a private school that included children with intellectual disabilities, often allowing us to learn alongside each other, compete in sports together, or even play in the steel drums band or act together in the annual school play. As a child of the early 90s, I had volumes of hope, that 30-odd years later, the environment of my school might actually become the norm.
Fast forward to 2025, my journey as a features writer at the Special Olympics World Winter Games Turin 2025 consisted of covering eight sports, and nine athletes, venturing to 10 locations, and enjoying the relief of one comfy bed as I collapsed in a heap of exhilaration each night. To some extent, it felt like I was in a feel-good sports flick.
Upon arriving in Turin, the air was already buzzing, with delegations arriving in succession and historical architecture was briefly adorned with Winter Games signage—if you didn’t know the Special Olympics were happening in Turin, while in Turin, you may have been living under a rock.
During the Opening Ceremony at the Inalpi Arena, I, along with countless photographers, producers, communications teams and volunteers, shed several tears during the moving performance from dancers of the Yoann Bourgeois Art Company and the Oltre Le Quinte, as they came together as a Unified dance ensemble, featuring dancers with and without intellectual disabilities. The symbolism of the dance represented the consequences of exclusion OR the incredible result of inclusivity.
As I trekked (okay, a bus covered some of the journey), from Bardonecchia to Pragelato and then Sestriere, sure, I was moved by the athletes and their stories, warmly welcomed by each delegation, their families and coaches—but most of all, I was blown away by their athleticism. Alpine Skiing had me on the edge of my metaphorical seat. Cross Country Skiing was an elegant blend of endurance and frostbite management, while Figure Skating had me questioning whether gravity was merely an option for some. Short Track Speed Skating? Blink and you’d miss them. If I ever feel like seeing snow again, I might take up the joy of Snowshoeing. DanceSport? A graceful reminder that athleticism isn’t just about intensity. Last but not least, Floorball—the competition took place back in Turin, but a moment that many will cherish was seeing footage of the Namibian Floorball Team, who after a tremendous run at the Games, enjoyed snow in the mountains for their very first time.
In Bardonecchia, I witnessed the first-ever MATP (Motor Activity Training Program) demonstration at a Special Olympics World Winter Games with two fathers and their sons racing down a mountainside. Beyond the sporting action, back in Turin, I wandered into the Healthy Athletes initiative, watching while athletes received a range of life-changing advice and healthcare, from dental care to eye health to podiatry. To my surprise, I learned that there is indeed a mistaken belief that people with intellectual disabilities receive the same or better health care than others, when in fact they often receive sub-standard care or virtually no health care at all.
While Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni’s presence created a buzz, the real magic remained with the families, coaches, and mentors of the athletes at each competition. No one cheered louder. As day eight rolled around, a DJ and the ever-smiling mascot Moly, aptly named after Turin’s iconic monument, closed out the Games while a conga line formed, a mixture of athletes, volunteers, and spectators all dancing together. “Freed from Desire” by Italian artist Gala blared from speakers, a song which is often played across numerous sporting events when athletes have triumphed. A serendipitous anthem for these champions. And let’s be clear, these athletes, some of whom have trained since childhood, training with the same vigour and routine as world-renowned athletes, are champions.
In an era of intense divisiveness, we need sporting events like the Special Olympics. “I feel safe, I feel accepted, I feel seen, I have friends here, I am an athlete.” Over and over again, these words echoed across my eight days in Turin.
As the past has shown us, sometimes the best way we can understand one another is to experience things firsthand. The Special Olympics is a clear example that we can foster community and empathy through education, health care and sports. I have to imagine it’s what the founder of the Special Olympics, Eunice Kennedy, wanted for her sister Rosemary.
It’s still 2025, I’ve returned home from the Games, and as a dear colleague warned me, the post-Games depression has set in. It’s not just the adrenalin of watching sports excellence that I’m missing—it’s also the joy of people from all walks of life, coming together to put into action the reality of what the world can be. It’s the future that gave me hope as a school child, when I played, learned and laughed alongside children with and without intellectual disabilities. I hope to learn more and volunteer at the World Summer Games 2027 in Chile. These Games left me with the feeling that a future that puts inclusion at the forefront isn’t some far-off dream. And oh boy, do we need that hope right now.
