PAKISTAN: Horse-drawn ‘Tonga’ Won’t Go without a Whimper

By Zofeen Ebrahim Reprint | | Print |

Zofeen Ebrahim

KARACHI, Pakistan, Apr 13 2003 (IPS) - Imran’s salt-and-pepper hair belie his 20-something age, but he blames it on the "tension-ridden life the poor are destined to live".

Driving a ‘tonga’, a two-wheeled, horse-drawn carriage, between Empress Market and Jut Lines in this southern port city in Pakistan, he had little choice but to carry on after his father, also a ‘tonga’ driver, died and all economic responsibility fell on his inexperienced, 18-year-old shoulders.

Young Shafiq, in contrast, became a ‘tonga’ driver of his own volition, but now the enthusiasm after four years has all but waned. He does not find it enterprising enough.

"We have no time for all this," says 70-year old Haq Nawaz, more popularly known as Chakri Baba, who had to resign as a timekeeper as the Ranchor Lines ‘tonga’ stand is no more. Peering from behind thick, bleary glasses, he says: "All we are interested in is getting back our permits so that we have some recognition."

Imran, Shafiq and Nawaz are worried by what could drastically change their livelihood – the decline in the popularity and use of the ‘tonga’ here in Karachi and also in other cities and small towns. Increasingly, many consider them an eyesore, an inconvenience because it is slower than other means of travel, a sign of backwardness, and the cause of traffic jams in streets busy with cars and motorised vehicles.

But while ‘tongas’ are vanishing as a means of public transport, it will not disappear without a last whimper.

When Karachi used to have a tram service, horses used to draw the tram buggies. Even after partition in 1947, it was the most popular means of transport until the invasion of the auto-rickshaws, then the Suzuki pickups, the vans and the coaches.

"This route between Empress Market to Just Lines had 200 to 275 horses when I started 50 years ago, now not more than 13 to 14 are left," says Jamil Ahmed, another ‘tonga’ driver.

Until some five years back, when there was a permit system for the ‘tonga’, people like Ahmed could ply their carriages on certain routes, for which they paid a certain fee. The permit came with certain facilities, including a place to stay and wait for customers, and they could, in case of a complaint, seek redress by the court.

Haq Nawaz wants the old system back, when they paid taxes "for which we got shelter and water for our horses. There was a stand here so that the horses could have some respite from sun and the rain."

Now, the stand is no more. But the ‘tonga’ drivers still wait for passengers, thus encroaching on the road along with the four-seater auto rickshaws and other big and small public transport.

"We are forever being harassed by the police and the shopkeepers nearby to move away. But where do we go? We don’t have stands any more," beseeches Haq Nawaz. "I, along with other drivers, have even been put behind bars for this."

When things get too grim, the ‘tonga’ drivers disappear for sometime, but are soon back to take up their position beside their mechanised counterparts.

Their grouse, say the drivers at the Empress Market stand, is that the only shelter they had was pulled down about a year back by the authorities.

While the stand has been there since partition, ”now the DSP (deputy superintendent police) who lives adjacent to the stand got it demolished as he says a ‘tonga’ stand near his residence does not look nice," says Imran.

"Most of the horses we buy are of Kabuli (Afghani) origin and cannot bear such heat. With the result they die, " he adds.

According to a 2000 study conducted by the non-government Urban Resource Centre, at one time there were 35 to 36 ‘tonga’ stands in Karachi.

But over time, city authorities either removed these stands, or the auto-rickshaws and taxis started to park their vehicles there.

The municipality also used to provide water for the horses from a dried-up water tank, a ‘sabeel’, but drivers these days have to pay two rupees to get water for the horse and another 10 rupees to tie them up in an open area.

Most drivers bought horses on loan, which cost them 14,000 rupees (242 U.S. dollars). The same amount goes into buying the carriage. So, the whole paraphernalia costs up to 30,000 rupees (519 dollars), and the monthly installment on the loan comes to 1,000 rupees (17 dollars).

That may not be much to others, but ‘tonga’ drivers earn only 200 to 250 rupees (3.46 to 4.32 dollars) per day – 120 rupees (about 2 dollars) go into buying horse feed, and 10 rupees (17 cents) as rental space for tying the horse for the night.

”If you have ready cash, you can buy the horse for 7,000 to 8,000 rupees, but who has so much cash when every day is a struggle?" says Jamil Ahmed.

According to the URC study, some ‘tonga’ drivers who do not own their horse and carriages and have to pay 70 to 100 rupees every day to the owner.

None of the current routes include posh residential areas like Clifton, Defence, and Karsaz. Instead, the ‘tongas’ ply the routes in the more congested city centre areas.

The vehicle is used more frequently by women, domestic workers and the very poor.

"There was a time when I would have City Court lawyers sitting on my ‘tonga’, now one would rather die than be seen taking this means of transport," says Haq Nawaz.

A grandmother sitting on Jamil Ahmed’s two-wheeled horse carriage says of the ‘tonga’: "This is the cheapest transport by which to get home.”

”He rides for free," she says, pointing at her seven-year-old grandson. ”Besides, we didn’t have money to pay for the auto-rickshaw.”

”The other the advantage is that unlike the rick, the ‘tonga’ is allowed to go into the bylanes and narrow alleys and we will have to walk less, and after spending half a day in this heat at the hospital I, for one, am very tired," says the old woman.

The going rate is two rupees per passenger, half the price of a rickshaw trip of the same distance.

"Perhaps the only disadvantage is that it goes at its own speed, and you cannot hurry," says Jamil Ahmed, shooing away the flies sitting on his horse.

After being in this for over 50 years, Jamil Ahmed still hates this occupation and the fact that he married early. ”I must’ve been 15 when I started this and got married at 20. I wish I was a government servant, life would’ve been slightly better,” he says glumly. "Look at the younger lot, even they don’t treat you with respect."

Over the past five decades, he has had to buy 20 to 25 horses but the carriage has been the same one his father bought. Asked why the beast of burden dies so quickly, he answers simply: "Overwork and heat." None of his four sons have joined him in ‘tonga’ work – and Jamil does not want them to.