An Ode to Transworld: Skateboarding in Kenya, My Grandmother, and the Magazine in between

“We want to expose as many humans as possible to skateboarding.”
– J. Grant Brittain, Transworld Skateboarding (Oct. ’98)

When I remember my grandmother, a few things come to mind first: the anticipation once we turned onto her street, that basement full of toys, a pantry stocked with cookies, her house brimming with laughter, and Transworld Skateboarding magazine. After my freshman year of high school, my family moved from Birmingham, Alabama to Nairobi, Kenya. When I was that age, the transition to a foreign country meant two things – losing my friends and, maybe worse, losing skateboarding.

At 34, I would hope to visit a new country, especially one in such a different part of the world, with gratitude and fascination. At 16, I saw only the rough pavement and no skateboarders. In 2019, perhaps it’s difficult to convey the sense of isolation one might feel moving across the world 20 years ago – there was almost no online skateboard content, social media was still years away, and even e-mail was relatively new. Of course, all of that assumes access to the internet, which was not a given either. Add to this the insecurity of trying to navigate not just high school but a different culture, and you have me at 16.

In stepped my grandmother. Understanding me, perhaps in the way that only a grandmother can, she spent the $50 a year (about $75 today, adjusted for inflation) on an international subscription to Transworld. Living in a third-world country, the mail service was erratic. Sometimes the mags arrived a month apart; sometimes I sat empty handed for months on end. I still remember my disbelief when I received a Transworld two days in a row. The euphoria I felt when I held that second issue is something that I may never feel again – both because our access to media has changed so dramatically and because age and experience have a way of tempering our passions.

Ultimately, the 12 issues of Transworld that arrived each year were my connection to the world of skateboarding, a world that helped give my life structure, meaning, and community. And year after year, my grandmother silently renewed my subscription – sending me a life vest from 8,000 miles away.

And moreover, TransWorld wasn’t just the magazine that happened to be sent to me; it was the magazine that I needed to read. When I flipped open a Thrasher (whose positive contribution to our culture is immeasurable, no doubt), sure I found a community, but it was a community with a very strict code of rules, rules that, as a soon-to-be-father, I now understand weren’t always healthy. Transworld’s message, on the other hand, always seemed simple and admirable to me, even in my youth – essentially, “if you skateboard, then you are one of us”. I loved finding a copy of any skateboard magazine, but it was Transworld that made me feel welcome.

It was also Transworld that allowed my grandmother to send me a magazine that even she could be comfortable with. It’s easy to scoff at that sort of sentimentality, a viewpoint that I can understand – the rebellious nature of skateboarding is a large part of what makes it so appealing to us. However, I have also watched enough friends and young people walk down a dark path, and responsibility looks a good deal more important once you get older and become the one who is responsible.

Now that I am older, of course I understand that my plight as a high school skateboarder in a third-world country was far from difficult. I had a loving family, a roof over my head, and plenty to eat. Hell, I lived down the street from the biggest slum in East Africa, and I still thought that I had been handed a bad card. It’s hard not to look back with a measure of shame at a 16-year-old who seems, well, to be acting kind of spoiled. I’ve lived long enough now to understand that Kenya is an incredible country, and my time there was one of the best things that could have happened to me. I’ve also lived long enough to know that Nairobi has some truly impressive skate spots (man do I miss Uhuru Park) and that the country’s skate scene is still growing steadily.

Still, all of that mattered little during the immaturity of my youth. What mattered was skateboarding and community, and Transworld gave me both with open arms.

A week ago, many of us got a card in the mail noting that, after 36 years, it’s over for Transworld print magazine. And aren’t we lucky? The remainder of our subscriptions will be fulfilled with “Men’s Journal” where we can “discover tips, guides, and expert advice on fitness, gear, adventure, style and more”. We’ll save for another time the discussion about print being dead and what Transworld could or could not have done differently. In this moment, what matters is that Transworld – and all of the people who labored to make it happen over the years – are given a bit more respect than the new owners, American Media, Inc. (who also own The National Enquirer, to give you an idea), could muster.

What mattered was skateboarding and community, and Transworld gave me both with open arms.

To the people who worked at the mag, to the photographers, to the skateboarders whose work graced its pages and my high school bedroom walls – thank you for everything that you did for skateboarding. You gave me a sense of community, one that was quite literally “transworld”, all the way from San Diego to Nairobi. More importantly, you gave me a symbol of love from my grandmother, one that remains with me even now – two decades since the move and six years after her passing.

Transworld was more than a magazine, and you made magic.

Hit Wesley up: wesley@racketmag.com
Follow Wesley: @theatomicdustbin
Follow his Transworld nostalgia project: @skateandcreate98