People of Tanzania - Claudius, the Bajaj Driver
By now, I am certain there are thousands of travel blogs out there, including this one. They all differ with their topics, and rightly so. The focus can be on best countries for safaris, beach resorts, extreme sports, you name it. I have always thought that a vital ingredient of traveling is people themselves. In this post, I will introduce one of them.
Claudius is a 36 year old Bajaj driver from Arusha. Like many people, he came to the major African hub with a dream and a plan to achieve it. For twelve years, he's been driving a Bajaj, in itself a low paying profession. Over the first seven years, he would barely make money. He figured that he would need twenty-five trips to pay for renting the Bajaj and still have an acceptable sum left over that would help him pay his bills. He would start work at seven in the morning and continue until he felt he had met his objectives for the day, which would usually be at seven at night. His dream was to own his own Bajaj one day, which he accomplished after eleven years of hard work, in most cases 84 hour work weeks. If you're counting, that means twelve hours a day, seven days a week. Hardly the schedule you would expect from a New York City cabdriver.
Two years ago, after thousands of miles driven, thousands of dollars paid to the man, and thousands of dollars earned, he was able to buy his own Bajaj. But this one was not going to be your average Bajaj, no sir. If he was going to be own boss, Claudius and Claudius alone would decide not only what he would look like, but his vehicle as well. In the streets of Dar es Salaam where hundreds of Bajajs rattle and relentlessly roar, Claudius decided he would stand out among the crowd.
Claudius himself wears a floppy hat to not only 'protect himself from the sun', but to complement his white shirt and tie that he proudly wears over his pinstriped pants and dark but scuffed work shoes. Not only would he present himself as a Bajaj driver but as a chauffeur in the throbbing metropolis that is Dar es Salaam.
Then there's the Bajaj itself: pitch black, with two Tanzanian flags flying over each side window above the cab. Simple but clever little adornments to stand out from the rest of the crowd, one that will especially please the tourists, as he explains. The tourists are his bread and butter. After all, they pay better and tip you as well. Time has proven him right here.
But Claudius has decided to give the passenger more bang for his buck, or shilling. The cab is equipped with a musical system, and the speakers are strategically hooked up in the back where the passenger can hear local African music blasting through them. Usually, this will be 'Bongo Flava', Tanzanian hip hop with a flash of R&B and taarab thrown in for good measures. The lyrics, needless to say, are in Swahili. Nothing will get you going more quickly in the morning than one of Claudius' tunes turned up to the max.
All right, so there will always be little setbacks, like a broken windshield that will have to wait until it can be fixed. For now, multiple layers of scotch tape hold it in its place. But Claudius continues to take pride in his Bajaj the way a sailor would in his ship, even if there is a tattered sail fluttering in the wind. The image of the chauffeur Bajaj driver serves Claudius well. Of course, it helps that he has workable English for the tourists who press him for any additional information about the city and his country.
And what comes next for Claudius? Why, another Bajaj, he says. It will be his turn to rent it out, his turn to help tutor the next generation of drivers while stashing away some much needed capital. He now knows Dar better than his own hometown, has driven every street, paved and unpaved. And yet, it will be back to Arusha once it's time for him to retire. He doesn't use that term 'retire', more the expression 'return home' or 'get older', but I think we get the meaning.
In the end, give the man credit. In the grim profession that can be bajaj driving, he has decided to tackle Dar head on. And with a smile. That's what I call entrepreneurship.
Claudius is a 36 year old Bajaj driver from Arusha. Like many people, he came to the major African hub with a dream and a plan to achieve it. For twelve years, he's been driving a Bajaj, in itself a low paying profession. Over the first seven years, he would barely make money. He figured that he would need twenty-five trips to pay for renting the Bajaj and still have an acceptable sum left over that would help him pay his bills. He would start work at seven in the morning and continue until he felt he had met his objectives for the day, which would usually be at seven at night. His dream was to own his own Bajaj one day, which he accomplished after eleven years of hard work, in most cases 84 hour work weeks. If you're counting, that means twelve hours a day, seven days a week. Hardly the schedule you would expect from a New York City cabdriver.
Two years ago, after thousands of miles driven, thousands of dollars paid to the man, and thousands of dollars earned, he was able to buy his own Bajaj. But this one was not going to be your average Bajaj, no sir. If he was going to be own boss, Claudius and Claudius alone would decide not only what he would look like, but his vehicle as well. In the streets of Dar es Salaam where hundreds of Bajajs rattle and relentlessly roar, Claudius decided he would stand out among the crowd.
Claudius himself wears a floppy hat to not only 'protect himself from the sun', but to complement his white shirt and tie that he proudly wears over his pinstriped pants and dark but scuffed work shoes. Not only would he present himself as a Bajaj driver but as a chauffeur in the throbbing metropolis that is Dar es Salaam.
Then there's the Bajaj itself: pitch black, with two Tanzanian flags flying over each side window above the cab. Simple but clever little adornments to stand out from the rest of the crowd, one that will especially please the tourists, as he explains. The tourists are his bread and butter. After all, they pay better and tip you as well. Time has proven him right here.
But Claudius has decided to give the passenger more bang for his buck, or shilling. The cab is equipped with a musical system, and the speakers are strategically hooked up in the back where the passenger can hear local African music blasting through them. Usually, this will be 'Bongo Flava', Tanzanian hip hop with a flash of R&B and taarab thrown in for good measures. The lyrics, needless to say, are in Swahili. Nothing will get you going more quickly in the morning than one of Claudius' tunes turned up to the max.
All right, so there will always be little setbacks, like a broken windshield that will have to wait until it can be fixed. For now, multiple layers of scotch tape hold it in its place. But Claudius continues to take pride in his Bajaj the way a sailor would in his ship, even if there is a tattered sail fluttering in the wind. The image of the chauffeur Bajaj driver serves Claudius well. Of course, it helps that he has workable English for the tourists who press him for any additional information about the city and his country.
And what comes next for Claudius? Why, another Bajaj, he says. It will be his turn to rent it out, his turn to help tutor the next generation of drivers while stashing away some much needed capital. He now knows Dar better than his own hometown, has driven every street, paved and unpaved. And yet, it will be back to Arusha once it's time for him to retire. He doesn't use that term 'retire', more the expression 'return home' or 'get older', but I think we get the meaning.
In the end, give the man credit. In the grim profession that can be bajaj driving, he has decided to tackle Dar head on. And with a smile. That's what I call entrepreneurship.
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