Riding out hardship, Indonesians risk death on train roofs
JAKARTA (AFP) — Hunched forward as an electrical cable weaves overhead, 19-year-old Bram says he has seen two people killed while riding on the roof of packed trains in and out of Indonesia's capital.
Like thousands of poor workers here, Bram is part of a weekly ritual in which the risk of death is traded for a cheap ticket and a bit of personal space on the overloaded weekend trains from Jakarta to its sprawling surrounds.
Trains with as many as 1,000 men -- never women -- riding on top have become a common sight in the 10 lean years since the Asian economic crisis toppled the authoritarian regime of late president Suharto and brought widespread poverty.
A new, raucous democracy has seen money return to Jakarta for some in the form of malls and luxury cars. But for most in this city of more than 12 million, making ends meet is still a tough daily grind.
On the train, Bram says, those moving around on the roof are the ones who tend to be hit by the live overhead cables, which zigzag and drop as the train moves along the tracks.
"They just fall straight down," Bram says of the bodies, his knees drawn up and feet gripping the train's sloping roof as it bounces past freeways, burning garbage and the open drains of Jakarta's slums.
Asked why he takes the risk, Bram gestures down to the packed carriages below. "It's too full in there," he says.
Hopping aboard a Saturday afternoon train out of Jakarta is easy enough at Kebayoran Lama, a dusty station in the shadow of luxury apartment towers that merges with a market of peanut sellers and tanks of eels.
The arrival of a train spurs passengers to press from the platform in through open doors and windows. Those waiting to jump on the roof hold back until the last minute before using the windows and hands of those on top to scramble up.
Nimung, a gap-toothed labourer from the village of Parung Panjang who estimates he is in his sixties, says he's seen around five people killed for each of the 20-odd years he has ridden in and out of the capital.
According to Ahmad Sujadi, a spokesman for state rail company PT Kereta Api, 26 people were killed riding train roofs in greater Jakarta in 2007.
An average of one death every two weeks means clean-ups are well rehearsed.
A staff member will report a death to the company's operations centre, which cuts the corridor's electricity, stops the train and calls the police to retrieve the body.
"We have to be like that, clean up like that, look after the body," says Sujadi, adding: "It's a real bother, giving an explanation to police."
The 1997 economic crisis heralded the start of mass train roof riding in Jakarta, Sujadi says. And with little infrastructure developed since then, the practice has become entrenched.
"This habit has already become the culture This is a culture that has to be cut back," he says
A new crackdown came into effect this month, he says, with security guards fanning out to stations with spray tanks filled with coloured water strapped to their backs, which they use to squirt jets at roof riders, dying their clothes.
The marked passengers can then be caught later, he explains, and made to pay fines -- which have been introduced for the first time.
But even with such efforts, Sujadi concedes enforcement will be difficult.
A key problem at many stations, he says, is that staff sell illegal tickets to ride on the roof, and pocket the proceeds.
While a regular ticket out of town costs 5,000 rupiah (55 cents), the roof is only 2,000 rupiah.
On the roof of the 4:00 pm out of Kebayoran Lama, passengers readily produce the yellow tickets from their pockets, all of them exactly the same as genuine tickets.
And while it is a cheaper ride, 20-year-old Emi, who works in a clothes factory earning 900,000 rupiah a month, says he has been taking the roof for five years because it's more comfortable than the cramped and hot carriages.
He is aware of the risk, but says it's safe enough as long as you don't get up or move around.
Moving around, however, particularly for hawkers offering drinks and snacks to passengers, is part of the rooftop ritual.
One seller, wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with an energy drink logo scrambles toward the back of the train, unable to see the snaking and dipping of the cable behind his head.
Opening a sachet, he mixes the drink powder with water in a plastic bag, produces a straw, and hands it to a customer. The price is about the difference between a roof ticket and the safer, stuffier ride inside.
According to Sujadi and the passengers on the train, it's the hawkers who usually get killed.
