At 74, my Rzakul azhe (“azhe” means grandmother in Kazakh) stood on the edge of a mountain, waiting to take off on a paraglider. The instructor checked her harness one last time. I watched her smile, the smile of someone who had waited decades to finally say yes to herself and fulfill a childhood dream.
A grandmother’s paragliding flight over Ölüdeniz, Türkiye. Photo credit: Fatima Kemelova
After that flight, my grandmother unexpectedly became a social media sensation. Videos of her soaring through the sky spread across different platforms, and within a single day I received numerous messages from journalists asking if they could interview her.
Azhe with her granddaughter, the author of this essay. Photo credit: Fatima Kemelova
Life has a curious sense of irony. As a young woman, my azhe dreamed of flying and becoming a journalist. But after marrying at an early age, as tradition dictated back then, she believed those dreams no longer belonged to her.
“When I married young, I buried all my talents deep inside my heart,” she told me. “I tore up and burned every article and poem I had ever written because I thought my life from then on had to be devoted entirely to my family. I believed there was no place left for dreams of journalism or the arts.”
Listening to her made me realize just how fortunate my generation is. We live in a time when we have the freedom to choose our own path, change careers, travel, discover new passions, and pursue our dreams without feeling they have an expiration date.
During an interview at the KazMedia studio. Photo credit: Fatima Kemelova
Of course, going viral does not bring only kindness. Alongside countless messages of admiration came comments that saddened me: “What does she think she’s doing? She should stay home and watch television.” “This is not how a Kazakh grandmother should behave. She should set an example for young people and spend her time praying.”
Those comments reminded me how deeply rooted our expectations of older women still are. In Kazakhstan, many people grow up with a particular image of what a grandmother should be: caring for grandchildren, helping her children, cooking for the family, rarely traveling for herself, and certainly never choosing an adventurous hobby.
Yet this image did not appear out of nowhere. Our grandmothers belonged to a generation that endured difficult times. Many spent their entire lives putting the needs of their families before their own dreams.
That is precisely why my grandmother inspires me so much. She has never followed the script that others wrote for her.
A family portrait with my grandmother and her children. Photo credit: Fatima Kemelova
Her life has not been easy, but she never allowed hardship to define who she could become. Her favorite saying has always been, “Swim against the current.”
Fulfilling her dreams today has never meant abandoning her role as a mother or grandmother. One does not exclude the other.
She has four sons, four daughters, 24 grandchildren, and 13 great-grandchildren. Every one of us is convinced that we are her favorite.
Family remains at the center of her life. On holidays, especially Nauryz, we all gather at her home. We dance, laugh, and drink tea poured from the samovar by her own hands. At her age, she is constantly learning something new. She sings and performs with a choir of grandmothers, proving that curiosity and creativity do not disappear with age.
Celebrating Nauryz Holiday with family. Photo credit: Fatima Kemelova
Watching her take flight, I realized that courage changes over time. At 20, courage is chasing your dreams. At 74, it means believing you are still allowed to have them.
As children, we think our parents and grandparents teach us about life. Sometimes, however, the most important lessons come long after they have turned 70.
Because of my azhe and the family that raised me, I have never believed that anything is too late. She taught me to dream without limits and to believe that, with faith in God, far more is possible than we often imagine.
I asked her if she was afraid of flying.
She smiled and replied, “No, I felt like a little girl again. I was simply happy that my childhood dream was finally coming true. I trusted God and I flew.”
Traveling together has a way of revealing sides of our loved ones we have never seen before.
That evening, my mother, my grandmother, and I sat around the same table. Suddenly, I no longer saw three generations of women. I saw three girls, each with dreams still waiting to be lived, plans still waiting to unfold, and every reason to keep embracing life.
Perhaps that is the greatest lesson my Rzakul azhe has given me. Every woman, regardless of her age, deserves the freedom to dream without apology. Age should never become a measure of what a woman is allowed to do, who she is allowed to become, or how boldly she is allowed to live. Dreams do not belong only to the young. They belong to anyone who still has the courage to reach for them.
Fatima Kemelova is a reporter with The Astana Times.
