From horses to motorbikes, my love for riding began when I was just two years old. The remarkable part is that I still remember that day. I remember being placed on a horse and sitting there for what felt like only a few moments before I suddenly let out a piercing cry. My mother rushed to lift me down as though the horse was covered in thorns. I did not stop screaming until she set me safely back on the ground.

As I struggled to pull down my trousers, my mother quickly realised that the source of my pain was hidden beneath my clothes and hurried to undress me. When she pulled down my underwear, she discovered a large red ant 🐜 clinging stubbornly to my skin with its sharp jaws. She removed it at once, and I calmed down almost immediately. Once the drama had passed, I climbed back onto the horse and proudly rode around the compound with its owner.

When I was sixteen, we visited a family friend and went horse riding with his daughters. The feeling of the wind against my face and the sense of freedom it brought were unforgettable. I wanted to remain in the saddle forever. Three years later, I found myself once again in a Fulani community, where our host father asked us to deliver a message to the next village, as phones were still rare. I was thrilled, knowing the journey would take between three and five hours. And so, three teenagers set off on horseback to deliver a simple message.

My two companions, Kali and Adamu, were far more experienced riders than I was, and they amused themselves by holding little races along the road. I could not help laughing when they both slipped from their horses on the muddy path. Even with the drizzle falling over us, we took in the beauty of the endless green plains stretching for miles ahead. The scene felt almost cinematic, like something out of Howl’s Moving Castle, with its dreamlike landscapes and quiet wonder. I imagined myself in the world of Anne of Green Gables or Heidi, growing up in a peaceful countryside untouched by the noise and pollution of city life. We passed cattle grazing calmly and rows of vegetables thriving in the earth. I felt completely at peace. When we finally arrived, we stepped into another idyllic picture: small gardens in front of huts, each bordered by neat little fences.

Our host was surprised to see three teenagers who had braved the rain to deliver a message. He welcomed us warmly, and his wife prepared warm water for us along with steaming, comforting food. We ate in the darkness, as electricity was scarce, but their kindness made the evening feel full. Grateful for their hospitality, we turned in early, knowing there was little to do after nightfall.

The next morning, we saddled our horses and returned to our host’s home. This journey felt easier and quicker because we followed the main road instead of the mountain trail we had taken the day before. As we rode through the villages, children ran out to wave at us beneath bright blue skies. It was the longest time I had ever spent on horseback, and I treasured every moment of it.

Once we arrived home, I thanked our host sincerely for the wonderful opportunity to ride the horses. When the time came to leave, I was reluctant to go, and the lady of the house seemed equally unwilling to let her “extra daughter” depart. During the two weeks Kali and I spent there, many neighbours stopped by to ask whether I was truly their daughter so that they could propose marriage. I looked and dressed like the local girls, and many assumed I was Fulani. Saying goodbye was not easy, but we cherished our time there and promised to return one day.

After high school, I moved to Kenya, where I often rode motorbike taxis to and from the main road before catching public transport into Nairobi. Each ride stirred the same feeling I had known years earlier on horseback: the wind against my face, the thrill of movement, and the deep sense of freedom that came with both. That connection inspired me to dream of learning to ride a motorbike myself. Although I never had the chance, I still hope that one day I will. I can already imagine riding through forests and over hills, feeling once again at one with nature.

Looking back, I realise that whether on the back of a horse or the seat of a motorbike, what has always moved me most is not simply the ride itself, but the freedom, wonder, and connection it brings. These moments have stayed with me across the years, linking childhood memories with later adventures and reminding me of how deeply joy can be tied to movement, nature, and discovery. Perhaps that is why the dream still lives on: to keep riding forward, wherever the road—or trail—may lead.