The global skateboarding crew reshaping Muslim sisterhood

On a sunny afternoon at a skatepark in Lahore, Pakistan, Sumayya Batool pushes off across the concrete, her shalwar kameez – a traditional loose fitting tunic and trousers – catching the wind behind her. She’s one of the few women there. Between runs, a young girl approaches her – she says she wants to skate too, but her father worries people will shame her and that the sport will affect her modesty.

“I told her, standing there in my hijab and modest clothes, that’s not how it works,” says Batool matter-of-factly. ​“There’s a lot of taboo around not only skating, but girls doing something out in public.” Batool is one of Pakistan’s few female skaters in the public eye, and videos of her skating have introduced people to not just a Muslim woman skateboarding, but one actively encouraging others to take up the sport. 

“Mothers would come to the skatepark with their daughters and say, ​‘I saw your video and wanted to bring my daughter to skate,’” she says.

• Read next: Dropping in at Lahore’s first ever public skatepark

It’s not easy pushing against the status quo, and Batool didn’t do it alone; the skateboarding collective that helped her become more visible as a skater was founded in London, thousands of miles away. Named after the Arabic word ukti, meaning ​‘my sister’, Skater Uktis began in 2020 in London as a way to inspire Muslim women to skate and build community in a sport where their representation was minimal. 

“Stepping into a skatepark without seeing anyone who looked like us made the space feel distant,” says Hafsah Mohammed, one of the collective’s co-founders. ​“That changed when we started going as groups. Skating alongside people who shared an identity made the environment feel safer, more joyful, and more possible. That small circle of like‑minded friends became the seed for a wider community.”

Despite being a volunteer-led collective with limited resources, Skater Uktis has continued to grow in the six years – a reflection of how deeply its organisers and members value the spaces they are creating. What started as local meetups in London has grown into an international movement spanning 30 countries, with in-person skate sessions held across the Philippines, Iraq, Malaysia and beyond. Their story was even documented in Mehek Azmathulla’s 2024 short film Skater Uktis, which followed members across Nigeria, Palestine and Birmingham on their faith and skating journey.

• Read next: Meet the crew who introduced skateboarding to Palestine

“From the 2024 film to the countless meetups and international connections, it’s been incredible to witness how something that started so small has grown into a global movement.” says Mohammed.

For Batool, discovering Skater Uktis helped change the conversation within her own home. Convincing her parents to let her skate wasn’t easy, but seeing other Muslim women skate while remaining connected to their faith helped reassure her parents. ​“When I told my mum I was going to be a Skater Uktis rep she was very proud. It gave her comfort that I’m not doing something so crazy,” she says.

That reassurance is now something Batool wants to offer other girls through her role as a representative. ​“Skater Uktis fills a huge gap,” she says. ​“We use social media as much as possible to raise awareness and fight the taboo.” She organised her first skate meet just over two years ago during Ramadan and now has a group chat with over 100 girls where they talk about skateboarding and plan meetups. ​“If there isn’t space for women, we have to make it,” she says.

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Meanwhile in Jenin, Palestine, Nadeen Alhamad found a different kind of freedom through skateboarding. ​“I feel like I could fly with happiness,” she says. She had always wanted to skate, but only had the opportunity in 2019 when foreign volunteers brought boards into the country.

That feeling of freedom and self-expression was especially important with life under occupation, with skateboarding representing much more than a sport. ​“Skateboarding reflects resilience – navigating the challenges of movement and daily life, from checkpoints to concerns about safety, simply to reach a place where we can skate freely together.” 

As there weren’t so many female skaters in Palestine, Alhamad speaks of how precious it was to get together with other women, an experience which motivated her to become a representative for Skater Uktis five years ago. ​“We skated together, shared our experiences and challenges, and talked about meeting again, even though each of us came from a different city. Being part of a Muslim female skateboarding community makes you feel less alone.” 

• Read next: In Baghdad, skater girls are reshaping Iraqi womanhood

Outside of physical meetups, online spaces have become a way of staying connected and working on the faith-based side of being a Muslim skater. Every week, the collective meets on Tuesdays over zoom for ​‘Spiritual Sessions’, which is a time to discuss mental health, collective resistance, and everything in between. Community is intrinsically tied into the fabric of the collective, and each week a theme and speaker are chosen to engage in a discussion with the international community, whether it be about perseverance when skating or reminders of faith. 

“We always say skateboarding is 90% mental and 10% physical,” says co-founder Mohammed, explaining why the Spiritual Sessions are so vital to the international community. ​“Skating forces you to confront your own limits, your fears, your hesitations, your self‑doubt, and every time you push past them, you learn something new about your strength.”

Zaina Bhurgari, the Skater Uktis representative in Illinois, tells me the sessions became an important source of community during a period when she felt isolated, and helped her build friendships when there weren’t so many Muslim skaters around her. ​“It’s what keeps me connected to the worldwide community,” she says gratefully.

• Read next: In Palestine Skating Game, rollerblading is resistance

That sense of being connected to something bigger is what unites the Skater Uktis community. Nida Ahmad, the Colorado representative of Skater Uktis, tells me she picked skateboarding back up in her 30s and would drive two hours every week to skate just so she’d be amongst other women. Having safe spaces to gather together continues to give Ahmad strength when Islamophobia continues to rise globally.

“Sport is political,” says Ahmad. ​“Especially through the lens of a Muslim woman, whose body is constantly surveilled and policed, showing up is a form of resistance, through motion, joy, and community.” 

At the heart of Skater Uktis, resistance exists in everyday acts, whether that be learning a new trick or being visible in spaces where women have not always been expected to belong. ​“That moment when the wind hits your face and you feel the board glide is liberating,” Mohammed says, fondly. ​“It’s a reminder that freedom can be found in movement, in breath, and in small victories no one else sees.”

She continues: ​“No matter what is happening around us, there are parts of ourselves that no one can take away.”

Zahra Onsori is a freelance journalist. Follow her on Instagram.

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