by Mike Sikes
When you live your entire life with albinism, walking into large rooms often means preparing yourself to stand apart. You grow accustomed to the sidelong glances, the subtle hesitations, and the quiet reality that, more often than not, you are the only one in the room whose skin and hair tell that particular story.
When my wife, Marget, and I packed our bags for South Africa, I carried that familiar assumption halfway around the world with me. Marget had been chosen as an alternate delegate, and out of more than 300 applicants, I had been selected to serve as a conference marshal. We were headed to the Sandton Convention Centre in Johannesburg for the 2026 General Conference of the Global Methodist Church, held from August 30 through September 6.
The gathering was historic from the moment the opening worship began. Founded in May of 2022, the Global Methodist Church held its convening General Conference in Costa Rica during the summer of 2024. But intentionally meeting in Johannesburg marked the young denomination’s very first General Conference on African soil. It marked a milestone, underscoring a rapidly growing, vibrant, and genuinely worldwide identity.
The halls of Sandton hummed with an undeniable energy. Across the week, 1,168 registered attendees moved through the plenary spaces and committee rooms—delegates, alternates, clergy, and observers representing annual conferences from Africa, Asia, Europe, North America, and South America. Languages drifted past in waves; hymns rose in unfamiliar cadences but carried unmistakable devotion.
Yet amid that global sea of faces, something profoundly personal began to happen. Early on, I realized my long-held expectation was mistaken. I was not the only person with albinism in the room.
The first surprise arrived in the form of Benjamin, a delegate seated with the delegation from Kentucky. Crossing paths with him in the bustling concourses, exchanging that instant spark of mutual recognition, grounded me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. We were separated by geography and personal background, yet bound together by a shared physical reality and a common commitment to the church’s work.
Dr. Benjamin
My morning assignment was standing by the entrance doors where the hallways were filled with people of all walks of life converging on the main hall for worship and work. On my way back to the hotel one evening, I met an employee who shared more than a similar doorman job with me. Lindani is a South African local working for the convention center in the evenings.
He is also a person with albinism. Striking up a conversation with him offered an immediate, powerful reminder of how shared humanity transcends cultural lines. I took his hand and held it for a few seconds rotating to where both of the backs of our hands were visible. The reaction was spontaneous acceptance of who we are. Standing beside the doorway with Lindani, comparing experiences across different corners of the world, a simple greeting turned into a quiet, sacred encounter.
Lindani
The spirit of genuine connection extended beyond the convention center floor as well. During the gathering, I had the privilege of meeting a local woman named Jiji, who presented me with a handcrafted beaded necklace. Touched by the gift and the intricate pattern of colors, I asked her if there was a story behind the beads. She looked at me warmly and explained with simple grace: “The white beads are your hair, the blue beads are your eyes.” In that single moment, what might have felt like a difference to be managed or overlooked was reflected back to me as something intentionally seen, valued, and honored. Holding those beads in my hands, I knew they would serve as an enduring touchstone for the warmth and generosity of the people we encountered.
JiJi
In an international body grappling with legislation, structure, and mission, inclusion isn’t always defined by policy debates or formal committee reports. Sometimes, it happens quietly in the hallways, near the doorways, and through the hands of a local artisan. It happens when someone who spent decades expecting to be the only one suddenly looks up and finds peers among the decision-makers on the floor, allies welcoming guests at the gates, and neighbors who see your reflection as a work of art.
As the conference concluded on September 6 and the delegations prepared to scatter back across five continents, the memories that lingered most were not just the votes or the formal resolutions. It was the realization that in this emerging global family, the circle had widened enough to encompass us all—fully seen, deeply connected, and no longer alone.
