The Jakarta Commuter’s Silent Revolution: How One Becak Driver Beat the Diesel Crisis

The Scene: Dawn at Tanah Abang Market

At 4:45 AM, the rain-soaked asphalt of Jalan Jatibaru Raya glistens under the flickering neon of a late-night warung. Pak Sulaiman, 58, wipes the condensation from the windshield of his vehicle. But this is not the familiar wooden cart with a canvas canopy that has defined Jakarta’s streets for decades. This is a sleek, three-wheeled machine—a becak listrik—that hums like a refrigerator rather than rasping like a chainsaw.

Tanah Abang, Southeast Asia’s largest textile market, comes alive before the sun. Thousands of porters, shop assistants, and wholesalers flood the narrow alleys. For thirty years, Pak Sulaiman pedaled a traditional becak, his lungs scarred by diesel fumes and his legs worn by the weight of passengers and cargo. Today, he sits calmly, his foot resting on a throttle. Five passengers are already waiting. “They prefer me now,” he says, gesturing to the quiet vehicle. “No smoke. No shouting. Just the sound of the rain.”

This is the story of a single vehicle, a single man, and the messy, human reality of Indonesia’s electric three-wheeler transition.

The Challenge: The Fuel Crisis That Broke the Back of the Becak

In late 2022, the Indonesian government reduced subsidized fuel quotas for public transport operators in Greater Jakarta. Pertalite, the lifeblood of the city’s millions of ojek and becak operators, became scarce. Queues stretched for kilometers. Black-market prices for premium gasoline hit Rp 15,000 per liter—nearly double the official price.

For traditional becak drivers like Pak Sulaiman, the math was brutal. A standard 150cc motored becak (which replaced the pedal-powered version in the 2000s) consumed about 4 liters per shift at a cost of Rp 60,000. Daily earnings from transporting goods and shoppers rarely exceeded Rp 150,000—gross. After fuel, meals, and the daily setoran (rental fee to the vehicle owner), Pak Sulaiman was left with barely Rp 30,000. “I was feeding the engine, not my family,” he told me.

But the challenge was deeper than fuel economics. The traditional becak operators faced a two-headed monster: the city’s crackdown on “manual transport” in central business districts and the rise of ride-hailing apps. The becak was seen as a relic, a traffic hazard, and a source of pollution. Yet for millions of lower-middle-class commuters, it remained the only affordable last-mile option between the TransJakarta bus stops and the market gates. The question was not if the becak would change, but how.

What Was Tried: The DIY Conversion Experiment

In early 2023, a small workshop in Pasar Rebo began retrofitting old becak chassis with ex-tourist scooter lithium batteries and 1,000-watt hub motors. Pak Sulaiman, desperate, invested his life savings—Rp 18 million (approximately $1,150)—into converting his 2015 model. The workshop promised a 60-kilometer range and zero fuel costs.

The first two weeks were a nightmare. The battery, a salvaged unit from a defunct golf cart fleet, swelled in Jakarta’s humidity. The motor controller burned out on the third day when Pak Sulaiman tried climbing the Kemayoran flyover with three heavy textile bales. The range, under load, dropped to just 22 kilometers. “I felt like I had thrown my money into the Banjir Kanal,” he said.

He tried a second approach: a local fabricator built a custom frame from scrap steel, mounting a 1,200-watt motor salvaged from an electric scooter. This time, the welds held, but the vehicle was dangerously unbalanced. On a sharp turn near Pasar Senen, the rear axle snapped. Pak Sulaiman ended up in the hospital with a bruised hip and a broken spirit. The local community, once hopeful, mocked him. “Listrik? Soalnya mahal, rusaknya sering,” they said. (“Electric? The batteries are expensive, the breakdowns are frequent.”)

This is the story that rarely makes it into glossy industry reports. The first wave of DIY conversions in Indonesia’s informal transport sector was a graveyard of burned motors, shattered controllers, and angry drivers. The failure rate was estimated at 67% within the first three months, according to a 2023 survey by the Universitas Indonesia’s transportation lab. The problem was not the concept—it was the components. The average becak driver does not have a certified mechanic. They have a brother-in-law who owns a welding torch.

The Results: A Pivot to Factory-Spec and a New Business Model

Desperate, Pak Sulaiman visited a distributor in Glodok who had started importing complete, pre-certified units from a manufacturer in Surabaya. The vehicle was a different beast entirely: a purpose-built becak listrik with a tubular steel frame, a 1,500-watt brushless DC motor, and a UL-certified 60V 100Ah lithium iron phosphate battery. The price was Rp 35 million—nearly double his original budget.

He took a loan from a koperasi (cooperative) that specialized in green transport. The terms were brutal: Rp 1.2 million per month for 36 months. But the numbers made sense. He calculated his old fuel cost at Rp 60,000 per day. The new vehicle’s daily charging cost: Rp 6,000 (from a public charging station at the market). Daily savings: Rp 54,000. In less than 22 months, the vehicle would pay for itself in fuel savings alone.

Within six weeks, the results were tangible:

• Ridership increased 40%. Passengers actively sought him out. His WhatsApp number circulated among Tanah Abang merchants who were tired of the noise and fumes of the old fleet.
• Daily revenue climbed to Rp 220,000. He could work longer hours without fatigue—the throttle was easier on his arthritic knee than pedaling or wrestling a clutch.
• Maintenance costs dropped by 80%. No spark plugs. No oil changes. No carburetor cleaning. His only major expense was brake pads and tire replacement every 6 months.

The vehicle’s range under full load (five passengers plus 50kg of textiles) was 48 kilometers. That was enough for two full shifts of inner-city routes. He charged once overnight. The battery management system prevented the swelling and burnout that had plagued his first attempt.

But the most surprising result was cultural. Other becak drivers, who had laughed at him, began asking for test drives. A local influencer made a TikTok video of Pak Sulaiman’s silent becak gliding through the chaotic market. It got 2.3 million views. The mayor of Jakarta’s transportation office even visited his route to take a ride. “This is a solution, not a problem,” the official said in an interview.

Lessons: The Informal Sector Won’t Be “Guided” into Electrification

Pak Sulaiman’s story is not a triumph of technology; it is a lesson in stubborn, street-level pragmatism. Four key takeaways emerge for anyone tracking this market:

1. The Unit Economics Must Be Crushed, Not Just Improved

The first DIY attempts failed because they optimized for upfront cost, not total cost of ownership. Pak Sulaiman’s successful switch only happened when the daily charging cost dropped below Rp 10,000. For the Indonesian becak driver, the margin is measured in thousands of rupiah, not dollars. A battery that costs Rp 50,000 to charge per day is still a failure, even if it’s “green.” The winning formula is a vehicle that pays for itself in fuel savings within 18 months. This requires a battery that lasts 2,000 cycles minimum—and most cheap imports do not.

2. Certification Is Not a Luxury; It’s a Survival Tool

The old converted becak was illegal. Pak Sulaiman was stopped three times by police for having no vehicle registration. His new unit—which had a Manufacturer Identification Number (NIK) from the Kementerian Perindustrian—was street-legal. This allowed him to access the TransJakarta feeder routes that were formally closed to unregistered three-wheelers. In a city where police raids are a daily expense, a legal vehicle is worth a premium of at least Rp 10 million in avoided fines and bribes over two years.

3. The Supply Chain Must Reach the Last Mile

The distributor in Glodok succeeded where the local welder failed because they offered a 6-month warranty on the motor and a swap-battery program. When Pak Sulaiman’s charger failed after 4 months, a technician arrived at his house in Cakung within 8 hours. The informal sector does not have a service center network. Any manufacturer or wholesaler that wants to succeed must treat Jakarta like a dense web of micro-mobility routes, not a single address. One major challenge remains: the availability of Grade A battery cells. Many units sold on Tokopedia use recycled laptop cells that degrade rapidly. Only a handful of suppliers, including specialized importers like eTrike Wholesale, maintain a consistent stock of LFP (lithium iron phosphate) packs rated for commercial use, which is critical for drivers who cannot afford downtime.

4. The Driver Is the Brand, Not the Vehicle

Pak Sulaiman succeeded because he became a local celebrity. He now rents his old diesel becak to a younger driver for a daily fee of Rp 50,000—and uses the electric unit himself for VIP passengers. He has a waiting list of regulars. The vehicle’s silence became its marketing: “Pak Sulaiman, the driver who doesn’t wake the babies.” The lesson for manufacturers is that electric becak adoption is not a product launch; it’s a social behavior change. The first 10% of drivers in any market will succeed because they become heroes to their neighbors. The next 80% will require financing, roadside assistance, and a clear path to resale value.

Today, as I stand with Pak Sulaiman under the still-dark sky, he shows me his phone. A new order buzzes. A woman with a stack of plastic crates waves from the curb. He twists the throttle, and the becak glides away without a sound. Behind us, a diesel-powered competitor roars to life, its engine backfiring. The smoke billows. The driver curses. Pak Sulaiman doesn’t look back.

The silent revolution in Tanah Abang started with one man, a bad first attempt, and a better second one. The market is waiting for the third, fourth, and fifth—but only if the hardware survives the humidity, the loads, and the reality of Jakarta’s streets.