Ball game from Myanmar fights for survival in nation under turmoil

The essence of Chinlone

"Once you get into playing the game, you forget everything," says 74-year-old Win Tint. "You concentrate only on your touch and your style."

Chinlone, Myanmar's national game, dates back centuries. Branded a blend of sport and art, it is often played to music and practiced differently by men and women.

The styles of play

Male teams in skimpy shorts stand in a circle, using stylized strokes of their feet, knees, and heads to pass the ball in a game of "keepy-uppy," with a scoring system impenetrable to outsiders. Women, on the other hand, play solo like circus performers—kicking the ball tens of thousands of times per session while walking tightropes, twirling umbrellas, and perching on chairs balanced atop beer bottles.

The dedication of young players

Teen prodigy Phyu Sin Phyo hones her skills at the court in Yangon, toe-bouncing a flaming ball while spinning a hula-hoop—also on fire. "I play even when I am sick," says the 16-year-old. "It is important to be patient to become a good chinlone player."

Challenges facing Chinlone

However, play has plunged in recent years due to the Covid-19 pandemic, the 2021 military coup, and the subsequent civil war. Poverty rates are soaring, and craftsmen face difficulties sourcing materials to make the balls.

Finding respite in the game

Despite these challenges, the rising and falling rhythm of the game offers its practitioners a respite. "When you hear the sound of kicking the ball, it's like music," Win Tint, vice-chairman of the Myanmar Chinlone Federation, told AFP. "So when you play chinlone, you feel like dancing."

Variations across Southeast Asia

Different versions of the hands-free sport known as "caneball" are widely played across Southeast Asia.

Regional variants

In Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia, players kick and head the ball over a net in the volleyball-style "sepak takraw." In Laos, it is known as "kataw," while Filipinos play "sipa," meaning kick. In China, people kicking around weighted shuttlecocks in parks is a common sight.

Historical roots

Myanmar's iteration of chinlone dates back 1,500 years, according to popular belief. Some cite a French archaeologist's discovery of a replica silver chinlone ball at a pagoda built during the Pyu era, which lasted from 200 BC to 900 AD. Initially, it was a casual pastime, a fitness activity, and a source of royal entertainment.

Modernisation of the game

In 1953, the game was formalized with rules and a scoring system as part of an effort to codify Myanmar's national culture after independence from Britain. "No one else will preserve Myanmar's traditional heritage unless the Myanmar people do it," said player Min Naing, 42.

The spirit of Chinlone

Despite ongoing conflict, players still gather under motorway overpasses, around street lamps blighted by wartime blackouts, and on dedicated chinlone courts—often ramshackle open-sided metal sheds with concrete floors.

The joy of playing

"For a chinlone man, the day he plays is always a happy day. I am happy, and I sleep well at night," says Min Naing. "On the days I don't play, I feel I am missing something."

Concerns for the future

Win Tint is worried about the declining participation rates. "I worry about this sport disappearing," says master chinlone ball maker Pe Thein, toiling in a sweltering workshop in Hinthada, 110 kilometers (70 miles) northwest of Yangon. "That's the reason we are passing it on through our handiwork."

Craftsmanship and quality

Cross-legged men shave cane into strips, curve them with a hand crank, and deftly weave them into a melon-sized ball with pentagonal holes, boiled in a vat of water to seal its strength. "We check our chinlone's quality as if we're checking diamonds or gemstones," adds the 64-year-old Pe Thein. "As we respect the chinlone, it respects us back."

The struggles of ball makers

Each ball takes around two hours to make and earns business-owner Maung Kaw $2.40 apiece. However, supplies of the best-quality rattan he covets from nearby Rakhine are dwindling due to fierce fighting in the state between the military and opposition groups. Farmers are too fearful to venture into the jungle battleground to cut cane, endangering his profession.

"It should not be that we have players but no chinlone makers," says the 72-year-old. "I want to work as well as I can for as long as I can."