In this photograph taken on September 29, 2024, livestock vendors along with their donkeys are seen at the Sunday animal market in Karachi. – AFP
Once the backbone of Pakistan's commercial hub Karachi, droves of braying donkeys are now facing a decline due to rising maintenance costs and the city's rapid expansion. Jittering donkey carts have long been crucial for aftermarket transport from southern Karachi's wholesale bazaars, nestled in narrow streets inaccessible to regular vehicles. For low-income workers, these beasts of burden offered a path to financial stability—their resilience, low overheads, and essential role ensured a modest and stable income. However, punishing inflation has driven up feed costs, while the city's explosive growth, accommodating around 50 times more people than before Pakistan's independence, has stretched the animals' limits.
"We continued the work of our fathers, but I want my kids to study and do something else," said Mohammad Atif, the warden of a donkey named Raja, meaning "King." The 27-year-old spends up to 750 rupees ($2.70) daily on hay for Raja, a cost that used to be just 200 rupees. Atif also pays the same amount for a plate of food he shares with a colleague on increasingly slow days. "Now you can't make a living in this line of work," Atif told AFP in the colonial-era Bolton Market, where everything from spices and water to cutlery and construction equipment is sold. A good shift may earn him up to 4,000 rupees, far short of the expenses for his dependents and donkey.
According to government estimates, there are just under six million donkeys in Pakistan, one for every 40 people in the country. Local animal broker Aslam Shah told AFP that the majority are in Karachi, which has grown into a megacity of over 20 million people following mass migration during the partition of Pakistan and India. However, Shah, 69, said donkeys are no longer in demand at the Sunday animal market. "Sometimes weeks and months go by without us selling a single one," he said.
Bolton Market comes alive at mid-morning as shopkeepers open their shutters, and housewives in apartments above lower baskets from their balconies to collect orders of foodstuffs. As customers prepare to leave, post-sale negotiations begin on who will haul shopping away. But most donkey carts are empty, with their owners and animals idle. The carts were once so prevalent on roads that the government issued them licence plates. But the metropolis has expanded with expressways and overpasses off-limits to animal carriages.
"I have been told there is lots to carry and that I would have to travel to the other side of the city to deliver goods," said 21-year-old Ali Usman, envious of a three-wheeled motorised rickshaw being loaded with rice sacks. "It will take me three to four hours," he said. "In this time, the rickshaw will have made two trips so the work has not been given to me." Noman Farhat, a wholesaler at Empress Market, built in 1884, said he tries to give some work to donkey owners every day—a small act of mercy despite their impracticality. "They are a part of our culture, and I would be loathe to see them go out of business," he said.
One Karachi animal welfare activist, who asked to remain anonymous, said increasingly long journeys and poor road conditions are exhausting the animals. "Due to a lack of resources, donkey owners use rope or a piece of cloth in place of proper harnesses leading to severe chaffing and skin wounds," she said. Mistreatment can also cause muzzle mutilation that restricts eating, she added. However, some remain steadfast in their belief that donkeys will remain integral to Karachi.
"Despite the harsh conditions they often face, these animals are an essential part of the informal economy," said Sheema Khan, manager of Karachi's Benji Project animal shelter. "It is still the cheapest form of transport," she said. At a wholesale market, pointing to his two sons and grandson loading rice and wheat onto their carts, Ghulam Rasool is inclined to agree. "This work will never end, it will endure till doomsday," said the 76-year-old. "So what if there are two or three days of no work? There will always be someone who needs us."
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