Shahnaz Aliyya Nurfauzi likes playing traditional Indonesian games more than anything she might find on a mobile phone. The seven-year-old from Jakarta likes engklek , which is similar to hopscotch – she needs only chalk to draw columns and numbers on the ground – and engrang batok , involving a balancing act on halved coconut shells. Aliyya was taught how to play her new favourite games by volunteers from Jakarta-based Komunitas Temen Main (Playmate Community), who encourage children to enjoy traditional games to promote community harmony. In recent years, children around the world have turned to video games for entertainment, often playing alone and indoors, hunched over a mobile phone. Aliyya, though, likes getting active with her friends. She has the most fun “winning”, “jumping, because I love jumping”, and “falling, especially when the floor is slippery”. A part of Indonesia’s cultural history, traditional games reflect the country’s communal spirit. Mostly played on neighbourhood streets by groups of children who use modest props or none at all, the games are among the few remaining connections shared by almost all Indonesians. Until the introduction of the internet and mobile phone games, and more recently the dangers of the Covid-19 pandemic, children in the Southeast Asian country’s affluent neighbourhoods played the same games as those who lived in slums, with the same rules and the same basic tools – including chalk, rubber bands or discarded coconut shells. Mikayla Himawan’s favourite pastime involves a few beans and shells. The 10-year-old’s school in Jakarta introduced students to traditional games, and she now has a passion for congklak , played on a board with beans and seashells. She enjoys it because it requires tactical thinking and quick hand movements. “I love thinking of ways to win a game,” she says. Indonesian teacher turned tailor cashes in on cat fashion craze The customs come in many shapes and forms; from benteng , or fort, a storm-the-castle game that requires nothing but a place to defend from invaders; galah asin , where teams take turns trying to cross lines drawn on the ground and guarded by opposing players; and main karet , rubber-band play, where participants must hop between ropes made from rubber bands. Traditional games are still played on the streets and on vacant plots of land during Indonesia’s Independence Day celebrations, and adults play too. “I’m the champion of sack-race and pillow fighting,” says 36-year-old Ari Ho, a father of two, half-jokingly. He’s won two races during Independence Day celebrations in his suburban neighbourhood of Serpong, outside Jakarta. For another of the contests, participants stand on a tree trunk suspended over a pool or small river, trying to knock each other off into the water below – to the rousing cheers and laughter of neighbours. Ari’s nine-year-old son Sky has his own favourite game, makan kerupuk , speed eating a deep-fried cracker hung on a rope without using his hands. An avid mobile gamer, Sky has found traditional games are at least “equally fun as Roblox”, a popular video game platform. “When there are lots of friends around, playing games is more fun,” he says. Mustofa Sam, 28, is the community development strategist at the Kampoeng Dolanan community, in Indonesia’s second largest city, Surabaya in East Java, where traditional games are making a comeback. “The 1970s to the ’90s were the golden age of traditional games, a time when both children and adults loved playing them,” he says. “It was through traditional games and toys that societies developed their communication and interaction skills. Many got to know their distant neighbours from kilometres away because they played games together.” The leaders of Indonesian communities that are promoting traditional games, including Kampoeng Dolanan, say that modern gadgets have made it possible to communicate in previously impossible ways, but they can limit physical contact with other people. Kampoeng Dolanan’s volunteers go on road shows around Indonesia, on motorcycle rides to Bali, Solo, Yogyakarta, and other towns and cities to teach these games to the communities. They take the yapolo , a version of a spinning top, from Yogyakarta; ke’kea from Surabaya, which entails knocking over the opponent’s spinning top; a hide-and-seek meets capture-the-flag game called lehong from Aceh; and the stick-and-shield fighting game of balogo from Kalimantan. Mustofa says there is a huge range of Indonesian games, from mind games to physical play, with versions that use bamboo and coconut-shell “stilts”, such as egrang bambu and egrang batok kelapa , to panjat pinang , where players try to climb up a greasy pole for rewards. There are those that require physical concentration, like gepuk bantal , pillow fighting while balancing on a pole, and rangku alu – where players sing and dance while jumping over moving bamboo sticks. Yet not everyone is a convert, and naysayers insist traditional games can be a waste of time. Mustofa recalls being “kicked out five times” by neighbourhoods when he and his colleagues were trying to promote the games. Not everybody wanted their kids playing outdoors all day. According to Aghnina Wahdini, 23, from Bekasi in West Java, the co-founder of Komunitas TGR (Traditional Games Return), they can be rewarding in many different ways. When we play, we learn to interact without anything between us and the other person. The world needs people who can take action in real life. Remember, many are loud on the internet, but say nothing in the real world Mustofa Sam, community development strategist at the Kampoeng Dolanan community “There is a storytelling aspect to it, from when the game begins until it ends,” she says. “There’s a historical value, as well as morality, philosophy, togetherness. Kids learn how to accept defeat and victory, how to strategise, how to work in teams.” She praises the physical aspects of competitive games such as engklengan and benteng , because they promote “knowing oneself, knowing God, and knowing your environment”. Aghnina says visiting a rehabilitation centre for children convicted of offences was memorable, and she and her friends made it clear that every child should be able to play. “Not only kids who go to school can play, but every child,” she says. Komunitas TGR volunteers have also visited centres for autistic children – “where we learned about being patient” – and districts that had recently endured national disasters. The idea was to give children “psychological first aid” by playing games with them. Elsewhere in Indonesia, Komunitas Hong runs a visitor park in Bandung, West Java, which accommodates up to 100 people. Established in 2005, the park is often used for outings and tourist visits, and has more than 250 traditional toys and games from the region as well as over 200 from Java, and 50 from Lampung, Sumatra. These communities insist they are not anti-technology, and with their presence on platforms including Instagram and Facebook, they embrace the role social media has in introducing more people to the idea of traditional games. “The only thing we ‘push’ in regards to traditional games and toys is the ‘learning to be human’ aspect of it,” says Kampoeng Dolanan’s Mustofa. “When we play, we learn to interact without anything between us and the other person. The world needs people who can take action in real life. Remember, many are loud on the internet, but say nothing in the real world.” Evin Jevani, 30, from the Komunitas Temen Main (Community Friends Play), also says some traditional games have educational value, such as dakon , a tactical game where players fill holes in a board with seeds, which teaches players about wealth management. “It shows that no matter how little we have, everything we save eventually becomes a hill,” she says. The Javanese guessing game cublak cublak suweng , meanwhile, demonstrates the value of integrity and keeping your word, she adds. “It is just like the Indonesian culture of gotong royong [different people working together for the greater good].” The song sung during the game is based on a poem by Sunan Giri, a revered Islamic saint, and has lyrics praising modesty, trust and honesty. Hidayat Burhanuddin, 32, from Komunitas Anak Bawang, (the Community of Little Friends), which also promotes traditional games, says infrastructure development has contributed to their decline. “The large number of developments in the city or the village makes traditional games difficult,” he says. “Tools and materials usually available in the wild become difficult to find because their availability in nature is also decreasing.” He adds that space to play is also shrinking. “Our main hope is that the pandemic ends soon so we can play these traditional games again and celebrate their legacy. To play without limits, running and laughing freely together.”