The Jakarta Post - Weekender

I lie on the roof of the train staring at the thick black cable racing by a mere three feet above my head. It carries within it my death. If I reach up and touch it, my hand will disintegrate into shreds of bone and skin. If I sit up and the wire brushes the tip of my skull, it will split my head in two like a hot machete slicing through an overripe melon. For these reasons I remain lying there, afraid to move.

It Takes a Special Kind
Of the commuting millions in Jakarta, those who ride on tops of trains certainly are the most adventurous. For them, it’s not as simple as taking a bemo or waiting for a TransJakarta bus. Their method of travel requires them to dodge rail cops, scramble up the sides of 100-ton trains, brave torrential downpours, strong winds, lightning storms, acrid garbage smoke and the inescapable sun.

So why do they do it?

“It’s free,” says one young woman at the Palmerah station in Central Jakarta. “To ride inside is Rp 2,000.”

Would she consider riding on top?

“No,” she chuckles, ‘it’s dangerous and I’m afraid. Anyway, women can’t do it, we’re not strong enough to get up there.”

I tell her I plan to try riding on top and offer to give her a helping hand but she declines.

Many of the people I speak with agree that while riding on top certainly saved money, the danger outweighs the economic benefits. When asked if he would do it, a middle-aged matchstick seller lounging nearby replies in English, “No, no, I’m afraid, I want to be alive!” When informed of my plan to attempt a train-top ride, he says, “You must have a brave heart. If you don’t have a brave heart, don’t do it -- you die!”

His words echo in my head as the train pulled up.

A Failed First
I watch as dozens of young men clamber aboard. Some scurry up the outside wall using the window as their pushing off place. From there they grasp a thin lip of metal near the top of the train, just below the arching roof, and haul themselves up. Others climb up between cars using jutting chunks of steel for hand and foot holds.

I opt for the back of the train. I watch as three guys swiftly ascend. A few guys hanging on the back see me and urge me on. I hesitate and then leap on. Others wait behind me as I climb up. Three quarters of the way I am stuck with no hand holds. The train starts to move. The guys on the roof yell at me to jump down. The guys below me yell at me to go up. The train begins to pick up speed and I quickly descend, pausing at the bottom and then leap off to the safety of the platform.

A Successful Second
Disappointed, but with a racing heart, I wait anxiously for my next chance. I take the interim opportunity to ask about the rail cops. It turns out that, as it is a Saturday afternoon, the cop box was closed and there were no officers.

“What happens,” I ask a cigarette seller, “if the guys on top think a cop might catch them?”

“They run,” he replies. “If the cops catch them, they fight. If they don’t want to fight, they have to pay the ticket price.”

Twenty minutes later my second chance arrives. Already loaded with people on top and inside, the hundred or so waiting on the platform cram themselves inside or climb, by whatever means available, to the roof. The platform is empty; the train is ready to go; I am frozen in my tracks.

A man sees me contemplating the ascent and yells, “No, don’t do it! It’s too dangerous!” Those on top yell the opposite. My heart is racing; a hundred spectators watch; the train shudders; I take a deep breath and leap onto the metal bracing between two cars. The guys above cheer me on as I haul myself to the top. I scurry on my stomach to a free spot and lie breathing heavily; two seconds later we pull away.

Six Inches from Death
Meet Jerry. He’s a 23-year-old magazine seller who commutes by way of train-top every day. He’s cheerful, talkative and happy to have me sharing a chunk of rooftop with him.

As we speak he occasionally tells me to duck, sometimes even pushing my head down as the thick, black, humming cable comes dangerously close, and with it more than 1,000 eye-popping volts.

Jerry seems unconcerned – but then he’s much shorter than me. He tells me he has seen at least 10 guys accidentally touch their heads to the power cable and die instantly, their heads split, their electrified bodies dropping to the tracks below.

Incredibly we watch a seller strolling among the roof-top riders offering chips. As the train curves along the tracks, the wire’s path sweeps across the roof top. Many duck, many remain aloof, I cram my head between my knees.

No Choice
Unlike me, the guys that ride on the roof aren’t necessarily thrill seekers, in fact many would prefer to ride inside the train. They agreed though that it’s much better to be on top than to be crammed inside like cattle. With low paying jobs and thin profit margins, others just can’t afford a seat. Regardless of how they came to be there, these men have a very uncommon commute which sets them apart from the rest of us.

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