A CMO’s Journey in Myanmar

There’s a peculiar silence that settles over Yangon just before dawn. The city holds its breath, temples glowing softly in the half-light, tea shops still shuttered, the Irrawaddy river moving in slow, heavy silence. In those quiet hours, before the first phone call or crisis of the day, I sometimes ask myself: What exactly am I doing here?

As an Indonesian stepping into the role of Chief Marketing Officer for a telco in Myanmar, I thought I understood complexity. I’ve managed large teams, launched products across a sprawling archipelago, wrestled with regulators and competitors. But Myanmar… Myanmar is a different kind of puzzle altogether. Here, the rules aren’t just different. Sometimes they don’t exist at all, or they change overnight without warning.

The Ground Beneath You is Never Still

The first lesson you learn here is that nothing is truly stable. Politics isn’t background noise. It’s the weather system you live inside. A storm can arrive overnight, a new decree, a network restriction, an entire region suddenly declared off-limits because fighting has flared up again. I’ve had revenue drop from certain area in a single day because a township went dark.

Our field teams sometimes travel into areas where the road may not be safe, the tower might be gone, and the local authority might not even exist anymore.

When you plan a campaign here, you don’t just set dates and budgets. You plan alternate routes, backup generators, and crisis communications for the day the power goes out, because it will go out. Always expect the unexpected.

There’s a hum you get used to, the low growl of diesel generators in the background of every store, office, and cell tower site. That sound is the real heartbeat of our operations.

Marketing Without Media

In most markets, you think about how to reach consumers: TV, digital, influencers. In Myanmar, you also think about how to avoid certain attention.

There is no free press here in the way we take for granted elsewhere. News is managed, narratives are carefully controlled. A social media campaign can disappear overnight with a single government order. Some days, Facebook is up with VPN. Other days, it’s not. Sometimes you can access TikTok, all of a sudden you can no longer access the social media you’re trying to shift attention to.

Imagine being a CMO where even your digital channels are as fragile as the weather.

Creativity here isn’t just about clever copywriting or stunning visuals. It’s about survival. It’s about finding safe, culturally respectful ways to tell stories when the usual tools aren’t available. Sometimes that means leaning on hyper-local methods, temple fairs, community gatherings, word-of-mouth — like stepping back in time while somehow racing into the future.

Speaking Without Speaking

When I first arrived, I thought English would be enough. It wasn’t. Myanmar has dozens of languages and dialects, each tied to complex identities and histories. A single word can mean different things in Yangon than in Mandalay.

What works in a Shan village might fall flat — or offend — in Sagaing.

Marketing is, at its core, about empathy. But empathy is hard without shared language. I’ve learned to rely deeply on local teammates who translate not just words, but nuance, tone, and unspoken signals. It’s humbling. It reminds me that leadership isn’t about being the smartest person in the room, but about listening carefully to those who see what you cannot.

Family Business Meets Corporate Machine

In multinational corporations, decisions flow through well-defined processes: PowerPoints, committees, KPIs. Here, ownership is more personal, intertwined with family, relationships, and face. Decisions may be shaped by trust, loyalty, and sometimes by things you don’t see, family dynamics, old alliances, quiet rivalries.

At first, this drove me mad. I wanted clarity, speed, predictability. Over time, I’ve come to appreciate that this way of operating has its own strengths.

When relationships are strong, execution can be lightning fast, no need for endless approvals. When they’re weak… you can be stuck in limbo for weeks.

It’s a dance, not a process chart. You learn to move with it or you don’t survive.

The Day Must Be Auspicious

One of my more surreal lessons came while planning our brand launch. We had the perfect date: logistics aligned, invitations sent, vendors ready.

And then, a quiet voice from the local team said, “That day is not auspicious.”

I laughed, thinking it was a joke. It wasn’t.

In Myanmar, astrology isn’t just personal, it’s woven into business decisions. Store openings, marketing campaigns, even SIM card promotions… all can be timed according to the stars. When your surroundings is in a flux of uncertainty, it is to the sky, the stars and the spirit people looking for guidance.

Launching on the wrong day isn’t merely unlucky; it can hurt morale, reputation, even sales. So we changed the date. Not because I suddenly became a believer in astrology, but because leadership is about respect. Sometimes, you move mountains for a reason you don’t fully understand, because for your team, it matters deeply.

The Consumer at the Center

Through all this chaos, one constant remains: The Customer.

Myanmar’s people are hungry for connection, to family abroad, to opportunity, to information. For many, the phone in their hand is their lifeline. That’s why, even in the hardest moments, the work feels meaningful.

When we restore service to a blackout-hit village…
When a student uses our internet to attend an online class for the first time…
When a small shopkeeper begins accepting mobile payments…

It matters.

The challenge is building trust in a market where trust has been broken so many times.

Where power cuts are normal.
Where rumors spread faster than facts.
Where foreign brands are eyed with suspicion.

Marketing here isn’t about clever slogans. It’s about showing up consistently, delivering on promises, and being visible in the community, not just as a company, but as a partner in people’s lives.

Living With Uncertainty

Some days, this role feels like crossing a rickety bridge over a river in monsoon season. You can’t see the other side clearly, and the planks beneath you sway with every step. But if you stop moving, you’ll never get across.

I’ve learned to hold plans lightly. To have backup plans for my backup plans.
To celebrate small wins. A cleanly run brand launch, a successful tower rollout, a campaign that resonates, a team member who grows into a leader.
And to remember that, despite everything, there’s beauty in the chaos:

• The pagodas at sunset. Myanmar sunset is really something else.
• The laughter of the team sharing a cup of coffee or tea after a long day.
• The knowledge that, in some small way, we’re helping this country stay connected to the wider world.

Being a Telco CMO in Myanmar is like playing chess on a board where the pieces change shape mid-game. Political upheavals, power outages, superstition, family politics, war zones — they all weave into the tapestry of daily life.

It’s exhausting, yes.
But it’s also profoundly human.

I came here thinking about market share and ARPU.
I stay because every connection we build carries a story: of resilience, of hope, of people reaching out through the static to say, “Can you hear me now?”

And as long as I can answer yes, it’s worth it.