End of the Road? Phasing Out Jakarta's Bajajs

End of the Road? Phasing Out Jakarta's Bajajs
Catriona Richards | March 11, 2012


The government plans to clear city streets of the iconic orange bajajs by 2013 and to replace them with cleaner and newer blue ones, but has not yet devised a plan about what to do about the existing drivers. (JG Photo/Safir Makki)

6:30pm Mar 11, 2012


In a year’s time, Jakarta’s orange bajajs — those three-wheeled, smoke-belching buggies of banged-up steel — will be banished from the city’s streets for good. Drivers of the so-called “red bajajs” will be forced to pay up for the cleaner blue model, or move on. It’s good news for air quality in the polluted city, but a sad farewell for drivers who have lived their lives through the windshields of these iconic vehicles.

After decades serving the public, fleets of red bajajs are now being pulled from the streets by the Jakarta Transportation Agency as part of a plan to rid the city of the polluting menace by 2013. In the past month, red bajajs have already been unceremoniously loaded onto the backs of trucks and taken to a crusher in Pulogebang, North Jakarta. The agency claims to be holding up its end of the bargain by taking the old red bajajs off the streets, but takes no responsibility for the next step of the transition, blaming the tax office for slowing the process by charging a 45 percent “luxury goods” tax on blue bajajs, powered by compressed natural gas (CNG).

Nobody, it seems, is paying attention to the protests of the drivers themselves, caught in the middle of the administration’s dream and their own everyday reality.

Working Harder

A red bajaj driver who has been transporting passengers around Central Jakarta for 20 years says he’s definitely worried about the change. Sukir, a man in his late 60s, already works 12 hours a day to pay the rent on his bajaj and send some money back to his family in Berebes, Central Java.

He hurries to his feet when approached by potential customers, abandoning his bowl of mie ayam and brushing the oily cracker crumbs from the back seat. A bowl of noodles is a cheap meal in these parts — in fact, without a side of white rice, it is not considered a meal at all.

“Where to?” Sukir asks, shy to negotiate a price before knowing what route he has to take. Bajajs are banned from entering main roads like Jalan Jenderal Sudirman or the grand boulevard running past Taman Suropati in Central Jakarta. But everywhere else, they are free to cut across four lanes of peak-hour traffic, or maneuver their way through quiet backstreets and alleyways.

As his bajaj cranks to life, Sukir steers away from the towering Matraman mosque and out onto the main street, one bare foot resting near the handlebars. His voice rises to a shout as the engine shudders noisily and the vehicle’s steel shell begins to rattle in its frame, held together by knots of plastic string.

“I work from 5 in the morning to 5 at night,” he says. “Next year, when the red bajajs are banned, I will have to work even harder.” Sukir pays Rp 45,000 ($4.95) a day to rent his bajaj from a man he has never met — he just hands the money over to a clerk at the rental agency. A tank of fuel for the day costs Rp 50,000, and anything left over from the day’s takings is sent home to his family. On an average day, with one customer an hour paying just over Rp 10,000 for a short trip to the market or train station, he takes home around Rp 30,000. The new bajajs, Sukir says, cost more than Rp 100,000 a day to rent. Short of taking passengers 24 hours a day, he’s not sure he can make the payment.

Steam rises from the rain-soaked streets as Sukir rounds the corner toward Cikini station.

Place in History

Parked along the zebra-striped curb are rows of Metro Mini public buses, banged together in the same dimpled, orange panels as the old bajajs. The Metro Mini and the bajaj are two of a kind, and as much a part of the Central Jakarta landscape as the old Dutch architecture, lush parks and wide streets.

The bajaj has been a familiar feature of the area since the 1970s, when it was introduced to replace the old becak, or pedicab. Exported to Indonesia by India’s Bajaj Auto company, the vehicle was seen as a modern alternative, offering passengers shelter from the elements under a canvas roof, and giving drivers’ legs a break from pedaling. But long after the gasoline-guzzling, two-stroke variety was banned from India’s major cities, the old-school bajaj continues to shuttle its way around the streets of Central Jakarta, leaving a trail of noxious fumes.

The Near Future

Careering down Cikini’s main drag, a row of colonial-era shopfronts loom into view, leaning into the street with their hooded rooftops. Sukir loops back toward the station and stops outside a stall selling freshly cut flowers.

Even then, he is reluctant to set a fare for the trip.

“It’s up to you,” he says.

At Cikini station, commuters are huddled under the eaves inspecting wicker baskets and handicrafts to avoid the rain. The new, blue bajajs are lined up there alongside the red. The drivers haggle for customers, promising a sheltered ride.

A family of three approaches the first blue bajaj in line, but rejects the suggested fare as “too expensive.” With a grin, the driver admits that after switching from red to blue he sometimes charges an extra Rp 2,000 or so, to make up for the difference in rent.

The next customer, a student from the University of Indonesia, is happy to pay the fare.

“If I have a choice, I’ll take a blue bajaj,” says student Audia Medina, 20. “It’s not as shaky and not as noisy, either. The drivers are just the same. The only difference is the bajaj.”

Another blue bajaj screeches to a halt outside the station, a stereo in the back seat pumping dangdut music, the Indonesian lyrics wailing over an Indian-style beat. Driver Dasuki flings open the door to reveal a “welcome” sticker fastened to the vehicle’s clean interior.

Taking off down the street, he only has to make himself heard over the music, not the sound of the engine.

“Passengers prefer the new bajajs,” he says, turning down the stereo. “They are clean, safe and comfortable.”

Dasuki, a man in his late 30s, has been driving bajajs almost as long as Sukir, a total of 18 years. Previously the driver of a red bajaj, he switched to blue just a few years ago and is glad he did. He now works only half a day, from 3:30 in the afternoon until late at night, and pays Rp 70,000 in rent for the vehicle to a friend from his hometown of Indramayu, West Java. A full day, he says, costs Rp 110,000. With natural gas costing only Rp 15,000 for half a day’s work, he makes Rp 50,000 or more daily, to send to his wife and two children back home.

Dasuki takes pride in his vehicle. Aside from the stereo, he has added multi-colored stickers to the blue body, a string of silver beads along the windshield and a total of five rear-view mirrors.

“Look,” he says, pointing to a plastic packet dangling in the back. “I even have air freshener.”

Dasuki says he charges fares according to the distance of the journey and the estimated wealth of the passenger — that means a discount for children and the elderly, and a premium for foreigners and office workers.

At this rate, he has paid the school fees for his eldest daughter all the way up to senior high school. She has already been offered a scholarship to study science in Bogor, Dasuki says, but the living costs will be too high for him to support her there.

Nevertheless, the future looks bright for Dasuki. Until the change comes next year, his blue bajaj gives him an advantage over the older vehicles, as passengers choose a smooth, quiet ride over a noisy, bumpy one.

But for drivers like Sukir, who are afraid of going into debt with the new vehicles, it’s still a rocky road ahead.

Arnie Widodo contributed to this story.
Jakarta Globe