'Becak' still riding high far from Jakarta's congestion

By Jonathan Agranoff

GARUT, West Java (JP): Midnight, in a west Javan highland town. All is peaceful. The shops which, during the day were a hive of frenetic activity, have now long shut their doors to the darkness of the night.

Street vendors, whose goods were displayed along the length and breadth of the pavement have long since rolled up their mats and gone home.

Even the dogs have finished scavenging and disappeared until sunrise.

Everything is silent, that is, save for the tell-tale 'clack, clack, clack' of the spring steel bar on the becak's wheels, advertising a comfortable ride home for anyone with aching legs.

It also represents a form of transport that has been a part of the Javanese landscape for hundreds of years and one of the oldest in the world.

The becak, which is one of the many different types of trishaw has evolved into many different designs, shapes and styles of decoration, but essentially shares the same basic concept of a three wheeled frame, passenger seat and seat for the driver to pedal on.

In Indonesia they are an integral part of village and town life, but over the years have disappeared from the center of fast-lane cities like Jakarta.

So rapidly and uncoordinated has Jakarta's traffic increased, that the government blamed the becak for eternal traffic jams, and many becaks were literally turfed off the roads.

As car numbers grew, so the becak was pushed further and further to the edge of the city. Protests from becak drivers were met by having their machines unceremoniously thrown into the sea.

Nevertheless, becaks still thrive in their millions at the edges of cities and prosper in the countryside.

The life of a 'becak'

The average life span of a becak is well over 25 years if well looked after and serviced, therefore the market for new becaks is small.

They are frequently repainted in bright new colors and serviced almost daily after their ordeal over rough roads, potholes and through floods.

In fact the becak's life often exceeds that of its driver who's work is so physically exhausting that he is usually worn out by the age of 40.

Should a becak suffer a serious road accident, radical surgery and rescusitation is still possible, more for the becak than its driver.

In this event, it comes to one of the few becak factories. They undertake almost any job, from commissioning a brand new 'designer' vehicle, to the overhaul and rebuilding of a wreck.

Most repair work undertaken is of the roof canopy, as this is specialized workmanship and, as any becak driver knows, a leaking roof in the rainy season will not attract many passengers.

From a side street under a bridge beside the river in Java's royal city of Yogyakarta, there comes the noise of men hard at work. Bangs, clangs, the sawing of steel and the ringing of bells, all behind the wrought iron gates of the Cenderawasih Becak factory.

Sparks fly from the blue flame of a welding torch and cats wander through, their tails narrowly avoiding spontaneous combustion in the oxyacetylene flame.

An old wreck is being rejuvenated with an iron-work job, whilst another is having its rust sanded off for repainting.

Standing out proudly in the front is a spanking brand new becak, smooth bright red paint glinting in the sun and smelling sweetly of new rubber tires and a beautifully worked canvas hood, oiled and polished, and almost a shame to take it onto the dirty roads.

Becaks are hand-made and each is therefore unique. The part of the becak most individualized is the extravagantly painted artwork over the wheel guards.

This is usually of a misty mountain scene with a blue river winding through a landscape of mountains, a deep blue sky and wispy clouds.

Others have pictures of animals or carry slogans. The design also identifies the craftsmen, such that the Cenderawasih factory in Yogya carry one of four unique motifs so one can trace the artwork back to the original painter and factory.

In addition, many drivers write their own slogans and many plying Yogya's roads boast their affiliation with tourists, carrying the words: 'Alice Springs', 'California Taxi' and 'Full AC'.

In Jakarta, they bemoan the driver's hard life in the slums and carry slogans like: "Cinta putus, aku biasa. Rem putus, aku mati !" ("To lose my love, I'm used to. To lose my brakes, I'm dead !")

Becak paintings are indeed another form of expressionist art in Indonesia, and yet to be collected.

As anyone who has purchased a new car knows, getting it legally on the road is no easy matter, especially in bureaucratic Indonesia. Like any road vehicle, the humble becak is no exception when it comes to the paperwork, police permit and registration.

Until about 16 years ago, before motorbikes took over the roads and back lanes of the country, becak drivers had to undergo a driving test and had their own highway code which also specified that they had to carry a light on the front and back.

To get a license, one had to demonstrate steering ability; (a special skill that few drivers of modern motor vehicles seem able to demonstrate).

This test alas no longer exists, but every new becak still has to be registered with the police and carry an ID card, the STNKB 'Surat Tanda Nomor Kendaraan Becak' which carries the name and finger print of the driver.

Brand new becaks come complete with ID card and vehicle certification, all included in the 'on the road' price (around 1 million rupiah now).

Becak drivers are a sturdy breed. They pedal their vehicles through blazing heat, monsoon rains and up hills to earn a living which can range from US$2-6 a day, although some lucky entrepreneurs can do a thrifty trade in the competitive tourist market.

However, few drivers own their own becak since by definition, those who drive them are poor and are unable to buy them outright.

Instead, they must pay a sizable proportion of their income for the rental, and if business is bad they may not even break even with the rental cost.

Life can be very hard for becak drivers, not only because of the physical exhaustion of their heavy loads, but there is also a Mafia on the streets.

Competition is fierce, especially where there are more becaks than passengers. As a result, a strict code of conduct exists where drivers may not pick up passengers on another becak's territory, and there are rigid day and night rotas.

A driver who trespasses on another's territory does so at great risk to himself and his becak, and fights are common.

A trespasser who steals someone else's business would be lucky to escape with just his becak destroyed, as one Yogya driver told me "I once picked up a passenger by accident on someone else's patch. Three others chased me towards the river but I got away. I won't make that mistake again".

At dusk, in the evening rain of a Javanese town, a becak, it's black hood and the plastic sheeting drawn down against the hard rain, a wiry but strong old man lies curled up in his sarung, settling down for the night after a long and exhausting day. A well earned rest for one of the hardest working men of Indonesia.