Some 200,000 street vendors in Bogotá (according to the state statistics agency DANE) shape our urban landscape. While many operate from small stands selling chewing gum sticks, individual cigarettes and cell phone ‘minutes,’ there are those who sell clothes and sweets curbside. And the city wouldn’t be the city without them. Sidewalks become a parade of colour and sound where vendors use megaphones to sell “a mil” ($1000 pesos). And if you can sell songs on a bus, why not chickens from the back of a car?
Strolling through my barrio I encounter two men in their small mint green Renault 4 and in the luggage space lined with tin foil, about twenty plucked and headless chickens. Having only finished primary school and now both in their forties, they didn’t have many options. They started pushing poultry as avocados just weren’t profitable enough.
Like many Bogotanos with little formal education, Victor and Hernando turned to street vending, selling poultry from their car, as a way to make ends meet.
The two men leave their houses before dawn not knowing when they’ll be back. Rumbling from barrio to barrio, they do most of their sales in the estratos 3 and 4, as it is easier to sell because “in the higher social levels, their work isn’t accepted,” claims Victor. On a good day, they take home $30,000 pesos. “It depends on the weather and the day of the week,” says Hernando. The only thing that worries this team are the Transit Police and Pico y Placa, a driving restriction based on license plate numbers.
In the north of the city, I meet “King of Coffee” – Alexander Reyes. From his emblematic Willys Jeep and draped with a light ruana, straw hat and carriel (typical leather bag) he resembles a countryman from Colombia’s coffee region. When he offers a tinto to his regular customers, you catch a glimpse of his braces. In his late twenties, he comes from Vióta, Cundinamarca, and claims he fell in love with coffee “as a boy.”
When he quit his job at Bavaria, he decided to earn money from brewing coffee, so he invested in a coffee machine and a car. In contrast to Victor and Hernando, he works on his own always at the same place at the same time. “Two Germans are visiting me once a week. Even though they barely speak Spanish I know exactly how they like their espresso,” he comments with pride. Alexander loves to be surrounded by people, and he usually is. There is barely a minute when he doesn’t ask if a client wants his coffee dark or light. “To secure the quality I buy whole beans and grind them on my own.” He earns close to $50,000 pesos a day and with this money, supports his siblings and his daughter’s education.
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On the next block, I meet Felipe. Like other back-of-car vendors, he sells leather wallets and belts because they are “products that never go out of fashion.” In his forties, this Boyacense left his hometown in search of a better life in the city. The car, which he still has to pay off, is his shop. “I do not use it for anything else.” With his spouse and his three children, he lives in the south, where he buys his merchandise. “The advantage is the presentation of my goods,” claims Felipe as he organizes wallets in neat rows. He has been earning $30,000 pesos a day for years and sees himself as a successful entrepreneur.
Bogotá is home to countless “tinto” vendors, but Reyes stands out with his traditional outfit and unique mobile coffee shop.
White T-shirts seem to be popular street items in the affluent Chicó neighbourhood, and Nelson sells 3 for $12,000 pesos. He claims to have paid off his car and brings in between $100,000 pesos and $150,000 everyday. His back-of-car economy banks on balmy weather.
Andrés and Pablo are men who ply their trade in the Parkway and have chosen ice cream as their business since “everybody loves ice-cream.” Every 20 minutes they stop in a barrio, announce their flavours of maracuya or “brawnie” via megaphone. On Sundays they opt for Bosa and other barrios in the south, as family day is good for the bottom line. These brothers, who before sold guava bocadillos and traditional sweets from a rented car, found themselves working in a hot market that gave bittersweet results, so they opted for cups of Rica Crema, a cheaper alternative to corner store ice cream.
The ‘back-of-car’ economy runs with the times, as increasingly midlife professionals find themselves out of work but with wheels. From the weekend merangue served from an SUV, to the roving chickens in a Renault, Bogotá’s street economy rarely seems to stand still.
