There are corners of the world where the miraculous happens in dust. Not in the glitter of the opera, not in the noise of parliaments, but where a child with wide eyes touches the muzzle of a horse and begins to speak. Namibia, far beyond the mountains, somewhere near Windhoek, is home to a woman named Susan de Meyer, who has transformed a piece of the world with nothing but her love for animals and children. Just imagine: every morning, a small group, eight, maybe ten children, some loud, others quiet like the wind. They come from one of those schools called “special,” because they are children who would otherwise be overlooked in the noisy race of society. But here, they are heroes – together with the horses. Susan, a woman with the calm of the steppe in her movements, has two Arabians and a pony so small that a five-year-old can greet it at eye level. Faranah, the white mare, is a gentle being. Lansha, the bay gelding, has eyes in which one wants to linger. And Bonzi, the half horse, as Susan laughingly calls him, is the clown of the stable – but he too has his task.
“The children talk to the horses, stroke them, ride them, and often, quite suddenly, say things they’ve never said before,” she says. This is not therapy in the traditional sense. It’s not a session, not an exercise with clipboards or charts. It is life, with an open heart. And an animal that does not judge. A horse does not ask about diagnoses. It does not ask about manners, about grades, about language. It asks for trust. And that is exactly what it gives back – a hundredfold. “When the children let go of the reins and stretch out their arms, they fly,” says Susan. “The smile they show then cannot be produced by any medication in the world.” It’s as simple as that. So simple and so great. She is supported by the Namibian Equestrian Federation, and even the International Equestrian Federation has honored her – because what happens here cannot be found in any academic textbook: the horse as a companion of the human, a bridge between worlds.
Teachers like Chriszell Louw speak of children who used to be closed off and now laugh, listen, want to come along. A girl who used to talk nonstop becomes silent as soon as she arrives at the stable. Not out of fear – out of reverence. And children whose bodies did not obey them gain posture, balance, self-confidence. Whoever walks through the sand with a horse knows what it means to stand tall. This is not a metaphor. It is meant literally. Perhaps what Susan de Meyer does is not a big deal in the eyes of world politics. Perhaps it will not change any summits. But for these children – and for anyone who can see – it is a quiet triumph of humanity. One that Karl Zuckmayer might have drawn in his plays: honest, warm, full of dust and full of light. And Susan? She simply says, “We are making the world different for these children.”
A program that changes the continent
They say miracles cannot be planned. And yet something is happening in Namibia that repeats itself week after week, as reliably as the light over the hills of Windhoek: children who did not speak begin to speak. Children who had no trust open their hands. And children who knew the world only as an obstacle learn to move through it – on the back of a horse. What began with a few has become a movement. The Namibian Equestrian Federation, or NAMEF for short, launched a program in early 2024 that seems unremarkable at first glance: “Enabling Through the Horse.” But anyone who has ever seen a child, who until then lived only within themselves, raise their head to say “Good morning” knows this is not about equestrian sport. This is about hope. At first, there were thirty children from five special schools and one orphanage, selected by therapists, psychologists, and educators. They came with diagnoses: autism, Down syndrome, ADHD, cerebral palsy, FASD. But no horse asked about that. The animals – Faranah, Lansha, Bonzi – asked no questions. They listened with their eyes, with their breath, with their silence.
Susan de Meyer, the quiet architect of this miracle, has written no textbook. But on a dusty plot of land 15 kilometers outside Windhoek, she lets words grow where there once was only silence. Colin, 14 years old, was afraid. He cried when he saw a horse. Now he rides, speaks, counts. His journey began with little Bonzi, the “half horse,” and now leads him onto the backs of the big ones. “I saw him laugh,” says Frankle. “That alone is a triumph.”
The International Equestrian Federation has honored the project with the FEI Inspire Award. But Susan simply says, “We are making the world different for these children.” It is a world in which a boy named Marvellous – plagued by cerebral palsy and wild ADHD – suddenly becomes calm when he sits on a horse. His usually clenched hand opens. And Frankle, president of NAMEF, says, “I look forward to the day he shakes my hand. And I know that day will come.” What began in Khomas is growing. The number of participating children rose to forty in 2025. And the first hour of the day is now riding class – no longer a side activity, but the beginning of learning with heart and poise. The schools have understood what it means to walk upright. To live upright. It’s not just the children who change. The adults do too. A driver who brings the children has shown more enthusiasm than some riding instructors. “It changed his life,” says Frankle. “And maybe now he will change others.”
Because still, says Frankle, in parts of Africa, children with disabilities are hidden. “Because they are considered a shame.” But here, on the back of a horse, they are kings. The next step? Training. The older ones should learn to lead horses, to care for them. A profession instead of repression. A future instead of invisibility. Frankle asks, “What happens after school? Do they disappear? Or do we give them something to take with them?” Botswana, Eswatini, Ghana, Mauritius, Zambia, Zimbabwe – there is interest everywhere in replicating the project. And Frankle firmly believes, “All you need are a few willing hands and a few willing horses. The rest is humanity.” Happiness does not come with flashbulbs, but with the gentle step of a horse in the sand. And maybe he would see in Susan de Meyer a modern-day Vinzenzia – not on stage, but under the African sun. A person who does not ask what is great in the world, but what is good.
And what is good happens here. In the dust. In the silence. In a child’s smile.
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