She 'put puts' along in a man's world

By Laila Nasry and Ruhanie Perera

Her day is spent on busy roads, her sights set on the traffic ahead. She faces endless smoke and petrol fumes and copes with quarrelsome passengers with a smile. While driving, she is used to being met with looks of surprise but many also turn around and give her a 'thumbs-up' signal in approval.

Agnes Panavannege is probably Colombo's first woman trishaw driver. In April '98, this middle-aged mother of three mortgaged the title deed of her property, borrowed money from a friend, sold her motor bike and bought the trishaw that has now become her source of income- her lifeline.

Her day begins at dawn when she leaves her home at Gampaha for Colombo to start her rounds by eight. In the mornings she travels to the city with her husband who takes the wheel, for her trishaw stand is conveniently located close to the flower shop where he works on Deans Road, Maradana in front of the Eye Hospital. She shares her trishaw stand with three other men, whom she says, are extremely considerate and co-operative, even chivalrous. "Since I am a woman they make sure that I get the first hire for the day," says Agnes with a big smile.

The fares for different destinations are decided by the four of them. But Agnes believes she must be of service to those in difficult circumstances and is willing to reduce her charges for those in need. On one occasion, she took passengers who had met with an accident, free of charge from Gampaha to the hospital.

It was a friend who taught Agnes to drive and paved the way for the new chapter in her life. Having learnt to drive a car Agnes wanted to go a step further. In 1983 she got her licence for heavy vehicles. As she couldn't get a job to her liking, she purchased a motor bike and started a small business delivering Thala, milk toffee, and other sweetmeats to the food shops down Deans Road, in the process getting to know many people in the vicinity. After some time, finding this business not lucrative, she decided to sell her motorbike and go in for a Garuda trishaw. This proved to be a wise move for now she earns around Rs 500 to Rs 600 a day, on good days even Rs 700.

Though her days are long and tiring, Agnes takes only Sundays and Poya days off. Even then, if her neighbours or relatives want a ride, she is ever obliging.

The mother of three, she has a daughter aged 28 and two sons of 26 and 24. The eldest two are married and live close by and the younger one is unemployed. Thus it is he, who takes care of the household chores while she and her husband are away at work. When she gets home by 7.30 p.m, the food is cooked and the house cleaned. "All I have to do is to have dinner and pet my two Alsatian dogs," she says. Her family approve of her choice of career and they are extremely supportive, she adds.

But it is a male dominated world, Agnes concedes. Her first encounter with male chauvinism was when a fellow driver threatened her, saying "men should be the ones driving and taking hires". She complained to the police and was not bothered anymore, the offender being banned from operating from any stands in the vicinity. What she dreads most though, are the drunken passengers or those who look like shady drug dealers. Here she offers various excuses and politely declines the hire.

But being the sole female trishaw driver does have its plus points. When her trishaw breaks down, the other drivers are quick to come to her rescue, she says. There is hardly any rivalry between them and on occasion they direct their hires to her. The police too are supportive and full of praise for a person whom they see as working hard for her living, she says. "Bambalapitiyata yanne keeyak ganne wada? Asuwak denna. Asuwak vadi, hatak dennam. Ha, naginna." (How much is it to Bambalapitiya? Eighty. That's too much, how about sixty? Alright get in.) The endless haggling is an everyday burden to almost all taxi drivers, but very few of them drive away after a hire, like Agnes-with more than the agreed fare in her purse and a big smile on her face having heard the golden words "oya maru salli thiyaganna." (Keep the change).

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