Saudi's First Female Skydiver Took One Jump & Never Looked Back

CairoScene

08-07-2025

Some days, freedom is five uninterrupted minutes away from the glaring blue light of a screen. Other days, it's finishing a shift and walking home with nothing but the sound of your own feet. Sometimes it's that rare moment between obligations when the world stops tugging at your sleeve, and you remember what it feels like to just exist - unobserved, unmeasured, unbothered. The split second before you do something reckless just because it's yours to do.
Now imagine that that feeling in its highest possible form. Not metaphorically. Literally. Between land and sky, in freefall, 15,000 feet in the air. That's where you'll find Razan Al Ajmi, the founder of the Saudi Skydive Agency, a judge for the Saudi Federation for Hiking and Climbing, a licensed skydiving instructor, and Saudi Arabia's first female skydiver. But before all that, she was a girl staring at a photo on Instagram thinking, "How do I do this?"
Right now, Al Ajmi is building a new generation of Saudi women flyers. And yes, she's doing it at the age of 27. But for now, let's rewind to when she first took flight.
Before Al Ajmi ever considered taking off to the skies, she was forced to rest at home after a climbing accident sidelined her for months. Unable to relax, she was doomscrolling on social media until she came across a photo. 'I didn't plan to be a skydiver,' Al Ajmi tells SceneNowSaudi. 'One day I saw a picture of someone skydiving in Saudi and I messaged the photographer asking, 'What is this? Can I try?''
That text led to a link, which led to a camp hosted by the Ministry of Sports, where Al Ajmi made her first jump. It was visceral. Wind tearing at her cheeks. Organs floating. The ground rushing up. On landing, dirt crunching under her boots, she rushed to her instructor with a certainty: 'I want to continue.'
'From the first jump, I felt freedom,' Al Ajmi says. 'Not in the parachute. Not in the plane. Just my own body, flying. Then I continued practicing until I found that skydiving is not just a sport. It's a life for me'
Before skydiving, Al Ajmi tried everything - gym, hiking, climbing - but none of it gave her what she was chasing. It gave her something that lit up the next part of her life. A sense of self, a sense of purpose, a kind of clarity most people don't stumble into until much later, if ever.
The confidence it sparked didn't fade. Instead, it transformed into a mission.
'I want to show people how amazing this sport is. Especially women. We grow up with all these fears - we're taught not to take the first step. But skydiving taught me how to decide. How to act strong. It changed my personality, my way of thinking. And I want other women to feel that.'
Al Ajmi started skydiving in 2021, in the chaotic afterglow of COVID lockdowns. 'That time changed a lot of people,' she says. 'When you jump, you feel freedom. But when you can't practice it, you really feel like you lost it.'
Looking to become a licensed skydiver, Al Ajmi had to travel to train due to the lack of facilities in Saudi Arabia at the time. But, travelling needed funding, so she leaned in and worked to fund her training. Comfortable family? Yes. Handouts? Never. 'My choices? My responsibility. I will not make excuses for not pursuing my dream.'
Al Ajmi worked wherever she could - one of her first jobs was at a furniture store. It wasn't just about funding her training. It was about resisting the quiet cultural pressure women often face when pursuing something so physically and publicly bold. The comments came often: 'Why work? Just stay home.' But Al Ajmi had a goal. She saved what she earned, paid her own way, and kept showing up, training across the GCC, Spain, France, and Russia. In just two years, she completed nearly 500 jumps.
Along the way, Al Ajmi competed in several skydiving competitions, but the most recent, in Bahrain, felt especially charged. The room was heavy with male scepticism. She jumped. She landed. She won first place. And the silence that followed? That said everything.
It was never just about the jump. It was about making it possible for others to jump too. "I was working and training at the same time. But I don't want other people to face the same challenges," Al Ajmi says. "That's why I became an instructor. So I can be the source I never had.'
Al Ajmi now trains skydivers across Saudi Arabia. She says the passion is palpable - especially among girls and kids. 'They want to fly. They want to prove they can do something hard. I see it in their eyes. And it makes me feel like, okay, they need me. I need to do my best for them.'
Skydiving, she insists, isn't about being physically strong. It's mental. 'A small movement in the air changes everything. Just moving your fingers slightly left or right, you feel it. Before I jump, I stretch, I breathe, I plan. In the sky, there's no music, no phones, no noise. Just focus.'
Al Ajmi sends her 'I'm jumping today' texts early. Then it's coffee, parachute check, warm-up. 'I avoid anything that could bother me. I don't need to know about problems before I fly. When I land, then I go back to life. But during the jump - it's just sky.'
One of Al Ajmi's proudest moments came in 2023, when she jumped in carrying a massive Saudi flag weighing nearly 20 kilos. 'It wasn't easy. But I said, no, I will do it. And I did. Two weeks later, I was still saying it to myself: 'I did it.''
Al Ajmi is training future instructors now. And dreaming of blooming Saudi drop zones, international events on home turf, and a national women's team that lives beyond her. 'It's not just about us,' she says. 'It's about the concept. About showing the world that Saudi women can fly.'
When asked what advice she'd give to girls like her - girls with dreams that scare their families, their teachers, their inner critic- Al Ajmi doesn't hesitate.
'Always try before making any decision. And always do more than you think.'