High in the mountains of Iran, I was in July 2004 invited to join the Qashqai nomads in one of their oldest traditions: Choob Bazi ("stick playing") – the stick dance – what I at that time pronounced the “Choopy dance”. They told me it was a kind of dance, but it felt more like stepping into a fight.
Choob Bazi is a traditional part of the nomads’ ceremonies and weddings, particularly in the southern Khorasan region. Performed by men, typically two opponents at a time. The dance combines elements of dance, martial arts, and game-playing, used to raise a warrior's spirit and demonstrate strength and skill. It features men holding two pieces of wood – could be two short, or one short and one long, which they strike together in rhythm with traditional music. This creates an intense performance often with sudden jumps and turns.
I showed up during a wedding. The party went on. The women began gracefully, singing and moving with elegance – shouting something sounded as “killillillilliiiiiiiiiii”! Then the men stormed in, swinging short and long sticks, striking with force and screams. Sometimes I could hear the sound BANG when they smashed someone by the stick.
The Choob Bazi is for real men. It makes the men ready for real fighting. This must be the most brutal dance in the world. It goes like this: two men fight in a ring. They make different quick moves to confuse the defender or bring him out of balance. Their equipment symbolises their traditional weapons. The stick symbolises the sword, and the pole symbolises the spear or the shield.
After a while, I was challenged. Just tried once with the Lori tribe so my experience was limited. I did my best to prepare - watched the men, studied their movements, and learned a little of their technique. Still, when my turn came, I didn’t feel ready. As the guest of honour, though, there was no escape. Suddenly,
I was standing into the circle – tribe members flocked around me. The ground shook with stomps and wild kicks, the music and laughter around rose. My heart raced, my breath grew heavy in the thin mountain air, and my legs turned to stone - yet I pushed on, until I nearly dropped. In that circle, I felt the tension of their tradition - the warrior spirit hidden in rhythm and song.
Sometimes these fierce dances, or games, turn brutal - knees smashed, rivals clashing, and fights break out. But with me, they held back. Instead of rivalry, they showed respect, pulling me into their world with care.
Beyond the performance, Choob Bazi carries history, pride, and the spirit of ancient battles turned into art. This ritual has survived for centuries, also mentioned in Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh, the great Persian epic (Persian poet Ferdowsi between c. 977 and 1010 CE). As I experienced, together with the nomads, it was both celebration and test - a way to show skill, courage, and joy.
Though dancing was forbidden in Iran after the 1979 Revolution, this tradition lives on among tribes like the Qashqai, Lori and Bakhtiari. Their sticks clash to the sound of drums and epic songs, carrying forward a spirit too strong to silence.
The Qashqai nomads were warm and welcoming, and their laughter filled the air as they turned the game into pure joy - especially with me caught in the middle of the action.
For me, it was more than a dance. It was a trial, a welcome, and a glimpse into the soul of a people who turned wood and rhythm into living fire. The Choob Bazi is not for ballet dancers. Don`t forget to take care of your knees! Would you dare step in?
Stein Morten Lund, July 2004
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