Cambodian women enter male-dominated ring

Cambodian women enter male-dominated ring

Ker Munthit, Associated Press, Phnom Penh

The crowd roars in delight when the two fighters go into a clinch
and then crash to the floor, dragging down the referee as he
tries to pull them apart.

Scrambling back up, the two 17-year-old girls lash out with
arms and legs, trying to pummel the other into submission in
front of 300 spectators and TV cameras broadcasting the fight
live from a plaza normally used for rock concerts outside the
municipal television station.

"They were quite good and did really do their utmost," Lep
Savoeun, a 24-year-old male spectator, says after the 15-minute
match. "I wouldn't dare take on either of them because I don't
have the kind of skills they have."

In a country where women are traditionally viewed as
homemakers, a few women like these are elbowing their way into
the world of kickboxing.

A dozen women are among the 1,200 or so kickboxers training at
57 clubs across Cambodia, says Mel Kado, secretary general of the
Cambodia Amateur Boxing Association.

Although a small number, he believes it's an indicator of a
revival of female interest in martial arts. Many female
kickboxers competed in Cambodia's rural areas before 1975, when
the communist Khmer Rouge seized power and virtually eliminated
sports and all other forms of recreation.

Traditional activities like kickboxing began to resurface
after the Khmer Rouge were ousted by the Vietnamese army in 1979
and replaced by another Cambodian regime.

The sport recaptured its popularity over the last decade and
is still growing, with help from sponsored matches televised from
Phnom Penh, the capital.

Neighboring Thailand is better known worldwide for kickboxing,
which it calls "muay Thai," and it lays claim to being the
sport's birthplace.

But Mel Kado's association disputes that, arguing that
kickboxing dates from Cambodia's Khmer kingdoms of the 9th to
13th centuries, which encompassed parts of present-day southern
Thailand. It is among the fighting arts depicted in carvings on a
wall of the Bayon temple in the famous Angkor complex, the group
says.

At Troeung Sos Say's boxing club in downtown Phnom Penh, 20
male trainees exercise their leg muscles and practice footwork by
rapidly stepping in and out of old truck tires spread on concrete
floor. Two young women learn to kick and punch on two hanging
workout bags stuffed with scraps of cloth.

Mam Chanra, a 23-year-old garment factory worker, says she is
passionate about the sport itself, but adds that she also wants
to be able to protect herself after reading frequent newspaper
reports on rapes.

"This is a man's game, but a woman like me can also play. We
are equal like men," she says, her white jersey and blue trunks
soaked in sweat.

At the bout in front of the TV station, Ngeam Sarim, a 1.5-
imeter (five-foot) tall deaf-and-mute orphan, is fighting Sok
Srei Touch, a 1.45-meter (4-foot-10) vegetable seller's daughter.
Sok Srei Touch, in red trunks and T-shirt, manages to land some
kicks on her larger rival, dressed in dark blue trunks and light
blue T-shirt.

As the women whirl and kick, ponytails swinging, spectators
lay bets frantically. But when the five rounds of two minutes
each are over, the referee calls the match a draw.

"My student should have won on points because she landed a lot
of knees on the other girl," growls Ngeam Sarim's coach, Sao
Thin.

Later, in wooden changing room, where female and male boxers
mix freely, Sok Srei Touch isn't complaining.

"I'm so happy," she says, clutching 125,000 riel (US$31.25) in
prize money and 51,000 riel (US$13.75) in tips from fans and
admirers collected after the match, a total more than three times
what she got for a fight in her home province of Kampong Speu, 45
kilometers (30 miles) west of Phnom Penh.

It's a heady sum in a country where a low-level government
official earns about 70,000 riel (US$17) a month and a garment
factory worker makes up to 180,000 riel (US$45) a month.

"My hands are kind of shaking. This is the first time I have
gotten a lot of money," says Sok Srei Touch, none of whose five
siblings, including three brothers, share her fighting skills. "I
will give it to my mother to buy rice."