Morocco's Abdulkader Al Shawi Writes a Story for Himself

Morocco's Abdulkader Al Shawi Writes a Story for Himself
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Morocco's Abdulkader Al Shawi Writes a Story for Himself

Morocco's Abdulkader Al Shawi Writes a Story for Himself

Le Fennec Publications has released a new book by Moroccan writer Abdulkader Al Shawi. The book is, as described by the writer, a self-visualization entitled “Al Tayhaa.”

On the book's back cover, Al Shawi wrote: “My guide in this book is clear. I mean I wrote it without planning or organization. There weren't any precedencies that made me chose. My incentives are so foggy. I know that the reader won't blame me if I told him that I wrote this story to myself to narrate its writing isolation. Therefore, in the final pages, I found myself totally convinced with what I wrote in the first pages – with the introduction I didn't write. The conclusion of this conviction is, and I am quoting Manuel Alberca here: ‘This is me, and not me. I resemble to myself but I am not me. But, be careful, because I might be me.’”

Commenting on the book, critic and translator Ibrahim Al Khatib noted that it is not a narrative or critical text, or a political analysis, but a “recurrence of a writing record recalling past memories, approaching the lives of some writers and examining their ups and downs, along with exploring the backgrounds of many positions and meetings. It also investigates the contexts of some of the writer's published books, or looks into the emotional resonance of various trips he had embarked on.”

“The book features a foreword, which, according to the writer, is not an introduction. But it reviews the background of writing about the past, in which the writer wonders about the connection between writing and lying and honesty, and its association with the time of writing, which is now,” added Al Khatib.

“The book features independent paragraphs with no titles or punctuations that separate their spaces. Their order is not chronological, as indicated by the dispersed dates and the non-organization of the narrated facts.”

Al Khatib noticed that the book, with its diverse material, is a “back and forth trip in the life of Abdulkader Al Shawi and its major events, that extend from his childhood in Bab Taza, his education in Tétouan then in Rabat, before starting his career in Casablanca, his pursuit of politics and writing.” It also takes “a look at the writer's relationships record, and the list of his friendships known for their geographical richness, whether in Morocco or abroad.” The book can be described as a “sequel or a narrative addition to his memories and readings.”

Al Shawi was jailed for 15 years, between 1974 and 1989, because of his political activity, before serving as the Moroccan ambassador to Chile. He wrote and published his first poetic texts, stories and literary articles in Moroccan and Arabic magazines and newspapers in 1968. Then, he published many works about literary and intellectual studies, in addition to many narrative works he debuted in 1986 with “Kan wa Akhawataha,” followed by “Dalil Al Onfowan” (1989), “Bab Taza” (1994), “Al Saha al Sharafiya” (1999), “Dalil al Mada” (2003), “Man Qal Ana” (2006), “Boustan al Sayida” (2018) and “Marabe' al Salwan” (2020).



Ancient Myanmar Ball Game Battles for Survival in Troubled Nation 

This photo taken on May 8, 2025 show a man weaving cane into a chinlone ball, used in the ancient Myanmar game considered a blend between sport and art, at a workshop in Hinthada township in the Irrawaddy delta region. (AFP)
This photo taken on May 8, 2025 show a man weaving cane into a chinlone ball, used in the ancient Myanmar game considered a blend between sport and art, at a workshop in Hinthada township in the Irrawaddy delta region. (AFP)
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Ancient Myanmar Ball Game Battles for Survival in Troubled Nation 

This photo taken on May 8, 2025 show a man weaving cane into a chinlone ball, used in the ancient Myanmar game considered a blend between sport and art, at a workshop in Hinthada township in the Irrawaddy delta region. (AFP)
This photo taken on May 8, 2025 show a man weaving cane into a chinlone ball, used in the ancient Myanmar game considered a blend between sport and art, at a workshop in Hinthada township in the Irrawaddy delta region. (AFP)

Mastering control of the rising and falling rattan chinlone ball teaches patience, says a veteran of the traditional Myanmar sport -- a quality dearly needed in the long-suffering nation.

"Once you get into playing the game, you forget everything," says 74-year-old Win Tint.

"You concentrate only on your touch and you concentrate only on your style."

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

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 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 bottles.

Teen prodigy Phyu Sin Phyo hones her skills at the court in Yangon, toe-bouncing a burning 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."

But play has plunged in recent years, with the Covid-19 pandemic followed by the 2021 military coup and subsequent civil war.

Poverty rates are shooting up and craftsmen face increasing problems sourcing materials to make balls.

But 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."

- 'Play day is happy' -

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

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.

Myanmar's iteration 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 in the Pyu era of 200 BC to 900 AD.

It was initially practiced as a casual pastime, a fitness activity and for royal entertainment.

But in 1953 the game was given 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.

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

"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 it, I feel I am missing something."

- 'Respect the chinlone' -

But Win Tint is concerned that participation rates are falling.

"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."

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."

Each ball takes around two hours to make and earns business-owner Maung Kaw $2.40 apiece.

But supplies of the best-quality rattan he covets from nearby Rakhine are dwindling.

There is fierce fighting in the state between the military and opposition groups that now control almost all of it.

Farmers are too fearful to plunge into the jungle battleground to cut cane, says Maung Kaw, 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."