08/17/2026
The Story behind my riding student Jamila.
She wants to learn how to ride and one day she wants to fox hunt 🐎🦊🐕❤️
The Last Flight Out of Kabul — And the Dream That Found Its Way Home Five years ago today, Afghanistan changed forever. The Taliban took control of Kabul, and with it, the lives of millions of Afghan people were suddenly thrown into uncertainty. As Western forces prepared to withdraw, chaos descended on Kabul's airport. Thousands of desperate Afghan men, women, and children pushed toward the airport, hoping to escape before it was too late. American military aircraft were arriving and departing in an extraordinary effort to evacuate as many people as possible. For many, there was only one thought: Get on the plane. Get out. Survive. Among that desperate crowd was a family—a father, a mother, two daughters, and their young son. In the confusion, the father became separated from his family. At one point, another Afghan man who had also lost track of his own family asked the father if he could borrow his cell phone to try to locate them. Without hesitation, the father handed him his phone. Then the crowd surged. People were pushed in every direction. The man disappeared into the mass of people, taking the father's phone with him. In those few frantic moments, the father lost his family—and his only means of communication with them. The mother and children were forced forward with the crowd. They later learned that a Taliban su***de bomber detonated himself at the airport. Roughly 170 Afghan civilians and 13 U.S. service members were killed, with scores more wounded. The bombing incident brought all evacuation efforts to an end. They could not find their father. They tried calling. There was no answer. And then came the moment that would change their lives forever.
The aircraft doors closed. The plane began moving toward the runway. They were leaving Afghanistan without their father. They did not know whether they would ever see him again. Terrified and confused, the mother and her children watched as Kabul disappeared beneath them. They were carrying little more than the clothes they had on and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Hours later, they landed in the United States. They were processed as refugees and housed in a US army base for six months, and eventually brought to Richmond, Virginia, which would become their new home. Jamila was only 24 years old. She, her mother, her sister, and her younger brother spoke virtually no English. For the first few months, they were welcomed into the home of a local family who helped them begin the difficult process of rebuilding their lives. Then, little by little, doors began to open. They found work. They began learning English. The children entered school. Jamila enrolled in English-language classes. Her younger brother entered school, and her younger sister continued her education. Their mother remained at home, caring for the family while trying to adapt to an entirely new country and culture. Richmond became more than a place where they had been resettled. It became home. Within a year, the family had begun finding its way around their new community. They discovered the kindness of people who were willing to help them. They learned how to navigate American life, work, school, transportation, and all the ordinary things that most of us take for granted. But there was one person missing.
Their father. Jamila never stopped trying to find him. For almost four months, the family had no idea what had happened to him. They tried every possible way to make contact. Eventually, they were able to reach him. But bringing him to the United States proved almost impossible. The dream of having their family together again remained painfully out of reach. So Jamila did what she had learned to do from the beginning: She kept moving forward. She returned to school and began studying to become a nurse. Today, she has a full-time job. Her younger brother is working while continuing his education. Her younger sister is also working and attending school. They support one another. They have their own home, their own cars, and a life they built together from almost nothing. They care for their mother. They work hard. They study. They dream. In many ways, they are living the American dream. But there was another dream Jamila had carried with her since childhood. A dream that had nothing to do with escaping war. A dream that had everything to do with freedom. She wanted to ride a horse. For more than twenty years, perhaps twenty-five, Jamila had dreamed of riding. As a young girl in Afghanistan, however, that dream seemed almost impossible. Cultural traditions, circumstances, and the restrictions placed on women and girls—particularly during earlier periods of Taliban rule—made the idea of a young Afghan girl joining a riding club or receiving riding lessons seem completely out of reach.
So the dream stayed inside her. Until one afternoon, I received a message. A young woman was asking about riding lessons at Mayfair Farm. I noticed her accent and asked where she was from. Her answer surprised me. “I'm from Afghanistan.” I told her she was welcome. I invited her to come to the farm, meet the horses, see our facility, and learn about our riding program. A few days later, Jamila arrived with her younger sister. I gave them a tour. I explained our lesson program. I introduced them to the horses. But before I noticed anything else, I noticed her face. Her smile. Her eyes. There was an unmistakable happiness in them. She looked at the horses with the excitement of a child seeing something she had dreamed about for years. Then she told me: “Mr. Joe, this has been my dream for more than twenty years. Since I was a child, I wanted to ride. This is my chance. I am serious about it, and I want to pursue it. I would appreciate it if you would give me a chance.” I looked at her and said:
“A chance it is.”
I told her that she was no different from anyone else who came through my doors wanting to learn. The most important thing I saw in her was not experience. She had none. It wasn't her ability to handle a horse. She didn't know how. It wasn't her knowledge of riding. She didn't have any. What she had was something much more important: The spark. The curiosity. The determination. The love of horses. And the willingness to learn. I told her that I would teach her everything I could and share with her the knowledge and experience I had gained through a lifetime with horses. And so we began. When Jamila first arrived, she had never properly handled a horse. She did not know how to lead one, groom one, tack one, or safely prepare a horse for riding. She had never sat on a horse's back or learned how to communicate with a horse. But in only three months, her progress has been remarkable. She has learned the basics. She has gained confidence. She has developed a relationship with the horses. And most importantly, she is having fun.
That matters enormously. Because riding is not simply about sitting on a horse. It is about communication. Trust. Patience. Respect. Discipline. And love. Jamila is now also enjoying our local trails. She has told me that one day she would like to learn another part of the equestrian world that has fascinated me throughout my own career: Fox hunting. I have invited her to attend the annual fox-hunting camp hosted by Deep Run Hunt Club as an auditor. She is extremely excited. I hope she will learn about the sport, the traditions, the etiquette, the horsemanship, and the unique fellowship that exists within the hunting community. I also hope she will meet new people and make new friends. And who knows? If she continues riding and maintains the same enthusiasm, perhaps one day she will become a confident horsewoman and an active member of our equestrian community. A Dream Beyond the Horse During my lifetime with horses, I have met countless people. Young and old. Beginners, intermediates, advanced riders, and people returning to horses after many years away.
Every rider who walks into my program teaches me something. Every horse teaches me something. Every experience is different. But there is one thing I have always valued above riding ability: Enthusiasm. The desire to learn. The love of the horse. The joy that comes from discovering something new. I have cherished every student and every experience throughout my career. But I must admit something: Jamila's story is one of a kind. Her journey has touched me deeply. She went from a crowded airport in Kabul, separated from her father and uncertain about her future, to a new life thousands of miles away. She learned a new language. She went back to school. She pursued a career. She helped build a home for her family. And after carrying a childhood dream inside her for more than two decades, she finally walked into a barn and stood beside a horse. That moment may seem simple to someone else. To Jamila, it represents something much bigger. It represents freedom. It represents possibility.
It represents a dream that survived war, displacement, separation, uncertainty, and years of waiting. And now that dream has four legs. From Kabul to Richmond Five years ago, Jamila was running toward an airplane because she was trying to save her life. Today, she walks toward a horse because she is building the life she once dreamed about. That is the part of her story that stays with me. The same young woman who once had to leave everything behind is now creating something of her own. She is becoming a nurse. She is helping support her family. She is caring for her mother. She is continuing her education. She has a home. She has a future. And now she has a horse beneath her. I believe that is what America can represent at its best. Not simply a place to escape to. But a place where, after surviving the unimaginable, a person can finally begin to dream again. Jamila's story reminds us that sometimes the greatest victories in life are not measured by money, titles, or accomplishments. Sometimes victory is simply having the freedom to pursue the dream you were once told was impossible. For Jamila, that dream was to ride.
And after twenty-five years of waiting, she finally did. Looking Toward the Future I am excited about Jamila's future. I believe she has what it takes to become a very good—perhaps even a brilliant—horsewoman one day. But more than that, I hope her story continues beyond herself. Perhaps one day she will teach someone else to ride. Perhaps she will introduce another young person to the horse. Perhaps she will share the same joy and freedom that she has discovered. Because that is how the legacy of horsemanship continues. One person teaches another. One rider inspires another. One dream becomes the beginning of another person's dream. I hope you will join me in welcoming Jamila into our equestrian and hunting community. I hope you will share your knowledge with her. Teach her. Encourage her. Ride with her. And help her discover everything this wonderful sport has to offer. I am certain she will listen. I am certain she will watch. I am certain she will learn. And I am certain she will make new friends along the way.
Five years ago, Jamila's family was separated by the chaos of Kabul. Today, here in Virginia, she is finding something that the war could never take away from her: Hope. And sometimes, hope arrives quietly. Sometimes it arrives in the form of a horse. Sometimes it begins with a simple question: “Can you teach me how to ride?” And sometimes, after twenty-five years of waiting, the answer is simply: “Yes. Your dream starts here.”
Note: media attached showing Jamila's progress learning how to handle and ride a horse. Jamila is excited about participating in the upcoming Deep Run Hunt Club fox hunting camp.
