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DARK MODE
GIG WORKERS
Upwork in South Africa: The copywriter working 20 hours per day
Domestic work in Vietnam: The 5-star butler who naps on the steps
Clickwork in Brazil: A mom balancing endless gigs with childcare
Ride-hailing in Pakistan: A driver’s endless struggle for a clean car
LIFE AS A GIG WORKER
Upwork in South Africa: The copywriter working 20 hours per day
Busani Moyo fears AI could soon wipe out his job, so he’s been trying to learn how to use ChatGPT to his advantage.
Rest of World/Shutterstock
By KIMBERLY MUTANDIRO
27 SEPTEMBER 2023 • JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA TRANSLATE
LIFE AS A GIG WORKER From ride-hailing in Pakistan to domestic work in Vietnam, here's what a day looks like for platform workers.
For the past seven years, 47-year-old Busani Moyo has spent his working hours from his home in Johannesburg, eyes glued to the computer as he attempts to keep up with a relentless stream of writing gigs. He tries to write up to 1,000 words per hour, avoiding any distractions. He often works 20 hours per day.
He has never missed a deadline.
“That is how l have managed to sustain some of the best companies [as clients] on Upwork,” Moyo told Rest of World. “Over the years, I have turned into an Upwork expert.”
Web content creators in South Africa have been turning to gig work as conventional jobs become hard to find. The pay is low, but it’s in U.S. dollars, which has been a surprising benefit for South Africans: Over the past two years, the exchange rate for a dollar has climbed from below 14 rand to over 18 rand. This has ensured Moyo’s earnings increase over the years, even as he charges the same amount for projects.
105
The number of employers Moyo has connected with through Upwork.
Moyo began taking on gigs to write PR and marketing copy in 2016, after he left a job as a marketing content writer for a mining company. He created a profile on Upwork, where the rates were as low as $2.50 an hour at the time. But he didn’t have any better alternatives — other platforms like Freelancer and Paydesk paid similar rates, he said. Moyo decided to just keep going.
Through Upwork, he eventually landed a gig with a U.S.-based digital marketing agency, where he built websites and optimized them to rise to the top of Google’s search results. Three years later, his contract was terminated and he was back on the gig platforms.
Moyo said he has connected with 105 different employers via Upwork. Some of his clients work with big tech brands such as Amazon and Microsoft, and he has made marketing and PR content for these companies. But the gigs never last long, and he always has to keep an eye out for the next one.
“Many people have told me that l have a crazy working schedule because I work from 8 a.m. to 12 midnight, Monday to Sunday. But that’s the only way l can achieve my goals,” he said.
He said he enjoys the entrepreneurial spirit of finding work through Upwork, but still hopes to secure permanent employment.
Moyo’s daily routine
8 A.M.
Breakfast
9 A.M.
Start work, check emails, and apply for jobs on Upwork
1 P.M.
Lunch
2 P.M.
Back to work
4 P.M.
Gym and bath
6 P.M.
Back to work
10 P.M.
Study
12 A.M.
Daily reading
12:30 A.M.
Sleep
Freelancers in South Africa work for as little as 155 rand an hour on average, according to the Southern African Freelancers’ Association (Safrea). In its 2023 rate card, the group advocated for freelancers like Moyo to earn up to 550 rand per hour. In a 2019–20 report, Safrea also noted that only 3% of its members get work through gig platforms like Upwork and Fiverr.
Moyo said he now worries that the rise of AI could wipe out his jobs entirely.
“We are in a new age where AI is taking over and our jobs as content creators are at threat,” he said. “I have been teaching myself how to use new AI tools such as ChatGPT and Chatbot to stay on track with new digital technologies.”
So far, the AI tools have been a benefit — they allow Moyo to take on more writing tasks. But there’s nothing stopping the companies that hire him from learning the same trick, he said.
Kimberly Mutandiro is a Labor x Tech reporting fellow at Rest of World based in Johannesburg, South Africa.
LIFE AS A GIG WORKER
Domestic work in Vietnam: The 5-star butler who naps on the steps
She cooks, cleans, and has a key. But she also naps in stairwells and eats in hallways.
Rest of World/Shutterstock
By LAM LE
13 SEPTEMBER 2023 • HANOI, VIETNAM
When she was younger, Bui Thao My tried every job she could think of that didn’t require a degree or an investment. From laboring on a factory floor to selling snacks outside a school and running a street food cart, she did it all. Throughout her various jobs, she longed for a stability she struggled to find.
Things took a turn in 2012, when My came across a recruitment ad by JupViec, then a newly founded agency that connected domestic workers with clients. Over a decade later, My is one of the top-performing workers for the company, a gig platform that now offers in-home services such as cleaning and cooking.
“My principle is, I always love myself. I never let myself go hungry at work,” the 45-year-old My, who always has a snack in her bag, told Rest of World. She had just finished a cleaning gig in downtown Hanoi. “So even 10 years into the job, every day is a new day to me. I’m always happy and full of energy.” For JupViec’s clients, My not only cleans and cooks, she also does laundry, shops for groceries, and occasionally even offers to ensure their kids do their homework.
My is among the thousands of domestic workers in Vietnam. There is no comprehensive data available on how many of them work for gig platforms, but around 19% are tied to service providers, according to a 2021 report by the International Labour Organization.
My’s company, JupViec, has 3,000 workers across the country’s major cities. In 2016, it launched its own app, and required all workers to use it. My, who then only earned enough to make ends meet, couldn’t afford a smartphone. JupViec gave her one and deducted its cost from her monthly earnings.
3,000
The number of workers housekeeping service JupViec has in Vietnam.
“Everything became much more convenient,” My said. Gone were the days of accepting new gigs via what she calls a “black-and-white” phone, and organizing shifts with a diary and paper map.
Now, Google Maps shows her the way, and the weekly schedule is just a few taps away on her phone. As JupViec’s business grew, so did My’s earnings. In the early years, she accepted every job that came her way, even if it was on the other side of the city, required working 30 days a month, and paid less than a dollar per hour.
My now earns as much as 150,000 dong ($6.3) per hour. The five-star-rated gig worker also enjoys the perks of her rank and seniority: She now limits her gigs within an 8-kilometer radius of more affluent neighborhoods, and is able to take on a “normal” workload of up to 10 hours a day. But what My appreciates most is the stability. The majority of her clients have signed six-month or even annual contracts. “I know the passcodes to their homes,” she said. “It’s like I’m their butler.”
My’s Daily Routine
6 A.M.
Wake up, eat breakfast
7:15 A.M.
Commute to work
8 A.M.
Start morning shift
12 P.M.
Eat packed lunch
1 P.M.
Nap on the staircase of an apartment building
2:15 P.M.
Start afternoon shift at second house
3:30 P.M.
Check on client’s kids, make sure they do their homework
4 P.M.
Prep dinner for client
5 P.M.
Eat a snack in the hallway of the apartment building
6 P.M.
Start evening shift at the final house
8 P.M.
Commute home
My attributes her success to her professionalism: She double-masks, and packs three sets of uniforms to change between shifts. She said she watches her breathing and pace while she cleans to avoid any injuries.
“First and foremost, I’m from the working class. I don’t have anything to give to my clients but honesty and hard work,” My said. “So my clients appreciate me.” Generous clients tip her with food, fresh produce, and even appliances, such as a used washing machine. For years now, she has hardly had to spend money on groceries or home appliances for her own family.
Many clients have also nudged her to quit the app and work directly for them, promising a higher rate. But My always refused, to her clients’ frustration. “They said I was stupid — so be it.”
With JupViec, she knows there’s a company she can depend on, she said. Bypassing the app could expose her to risks like clients who refuse payment after work, do drugs around her, or even sexually harass her. She said she has seen it all, and wouldn’t want to face it alone.
Lam Le is a Labor x Tech reporting fellow at Rest of World based in Hanoi, Vietnam.
LIFE AS A GIG WORKER
Clickwork in Brazil: A mom balancing endless gigs with childcare
Through platforms like UHRS, Amazon Mechanical Turk and Appen, a clickworker takes on a job consisting of hundreds of quick, repetitive tasks.
Rest of World/Shutterstock
By LAÍS MARTINS
30 AUGUST 2023 • SÃO PAULO, BRAZIL
Sônia Coêlho hears the sounds of browser notifications even in her sleep. Sometimes it’s only her imagination; other times, it is an alert about available gigs. No matter what time it is, she quickly jumps out of bed and gets to work.
Coêlho is a 45-year-old microworker from Foz do Iguaçu, a Brazilian town on the border between Paraguay and Argentina. Through platforms like Amazon Mechanical Turk, Appen, UHRS, and Telus, she takes on projects consisting of hundreds of quick, repetitive tasks. One ongoing project involves checking social media advertisements to verify whether they are selling what they say they are; another consists of calling businesses’ phone numbers listed on Google to see whether they are active. The microwork platforms pay in U.S. dollars, and the tasks are worth only 2–10 cents each. Coêlho does an average of 90 tasks per day to make a reasonable wage.
10 to 12 hours
The average amount of time Coêlho spends on microwork platforms per day.
“I feel hostage to the screen,” she told Rest of World. “At the same time, I can’t leave this because the job market doesn’t seem to have a place for me where I can make similar earnings.”
Coêlho accidentally stumbled across microwork on Facebook. In 2013, she joined several groups on the social media platform, completing online surveys in exchange for a few cents. She soon learned about the existence of microwork platforms, where similar tasks paid more. At first, microwork was a bit of extra cash. But when she was fired from her day job as a technical assistant at a computer repair shop in 2016, it became her only source of income.
Coêlho’s daily routine:
7.00 A.M.
Wake up and check WhatsApp and email for gigs
11.00 A.M.
Take a break to care for children and drop them off at school
1:55 P.M.
Start working again
6:00 P.M.
Pick kids up from school
6:30 P.M.
Dinner
7:45 P.M.
Back to work
12:00 A.M.
Log off and go to bed
An estimated 9.1 million Brazilians are currently unemployed, according to the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics. In July 2022, 1.5 million were working for or on digital platforms, according to a study by the Federal University of Paraná.
Coêlho works 10 to 12 hours per day, every day of the week. She spends the rest of her time on housework and caring for her 13-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter, who has ADHD and attends therapy twice a week. Weekends are when she can put in the most hours, since her husband is home and can look after the kids and the house.
When she first began microtasking, Coêlho would work up to 18 hours per day. She realized it was too much one day when her son approached her with a handful of coins. “He asked me how much one hour of my time was worth because he’d pay to spend some time with me. This broke my heart and I started taking it slower,” she said.
Microwork has become tougher in recent years. Projects that used to pay $8 an hour now pay $3.50, said Coêlho. She estimated that in the past, her average monthly income was around $800. “Today, if I’m able to make $300 in a month, it’s a big victory,” she said.
Coêlho wants to finish the law degree she had started years ago. “For me, it’ll be a personal achievement; I don’t see myself being a lawyer,” she said. But she doesn’t dismiss the possibility of using her knowledge of Brazil’s legal system to advocate for online platform workers. “Perhaps, in the future, we might find a way to regulate microwork in Brazil,” she said.
Laís Martins is a Labor x Tech reporting fellow at Rest of World based in São Paulo, Brazil.
LIFE AS A GIG WORKER
Ride-hailing in Pakistan: A driver’s endless struggle for a clean car
This inDrive worker says he is tired of passengers treating his car like a donkey cart.
Rest of World/Shutterstock
By ZUHA SIDDIQUI
16 AUGUST 2023 • KARACHI, PAKISTAN
Muhammad Umer dropped out in his second year of university. His grades weren’t great, and he didn’t see the point in trudging along further. With no college degree, jobs were hard to find, but he needed money. Umer decided to put the rusty bike in his garage to use, and became a ride-hailing driver.
That was five years ago. Now, the 30-year-old from Islamabad calls himself a ride-hailing veteran. He has sampled nearly all the ride-hailing platforms Pakistan has to offer, and currently works with inDrive, the newest kid on the block. He earns about 100,000 rupees ($350) per month, which he uses to support his wife and daughter. Umer has also upgraded his vehicle — from a rusty Suzuki bike to a shiny silver Suzuki Mehran hatchback that he washes each morning, rain or shine.
$350
Umer’s average monthly income from ride-hailing work.
“[Cleaning] sets my heart at ease,” he told Rest of World. “If my car is dirty, I don’t feel like driving it. If I don’t feel like driving it, why will my passengers want to sit in it?”
There were 1.5 million platform workers in Pakistan in 2022, according to estimates by Fairwork and the Centre for Labour Research. They make up nearly 2% of the country’s total labor force. Studies have found, however, that Pakistani platform workers face serious challenges on a daily basis — from road safety issues to crime and violence. The gig platforms have failed to provide adequate safety measures.
As a ride-hailing driver, Umer’s car is everything to him. He calls it his rozgaar — the source of his livelihood. But passengers, he said, are often inconsiderate. “They treat our cars like donkey carts. They throw all sorts of shit in them.”
Umer’s Daily Routine
10:00 A.M.
Wake up
10:30 A.M.
Wash the car
12:30 P.M.
Pick daughter up from preschool
1:00 P.M.
Have lunch
2:00 P.M.
Set out for work
6:00 P.M.
Pause for chai or a quick snack
11:00 P.M.
Drop off last passenger, head home
On excruciatingly hot days, Umer starts late and works until 2 a.m.
Once, a woman left a soiled diaper under his seat; it stank up the car. Another time, a passenger was applying nail polish during her commute when the car went over a speed bump, and the nail polish spilled onto the car seats. Umer said it cost him 20,000 Pakistani rupees ($70) to get the seat covers changed.
“We go to such great lengths just to earn an income. We clean people’s vomit off our car seats,” he said. “I’ve had folks who leave my car dirty, who are eating and throw [wrappers] in the car, [and they] don’t even tell me that they’ve left wrappers behind. And then the person who I am going to pick up next comes up to me and says, ‘Hey, someone left dirty wrappers in your car.’”
Earlier this year, when the Pakistani government shut down the internet for four days, Umer found himself without work. He tried to find a Wi-Fi signal at houses and shops when he dropped off passengers. “I needed to earn money, right? I couldn’t afford not to earn,” he said.
Umer’s close friends are also ride-hailing drivers. They’re a group of six men from Islamabad, all roughly the same age. Earlier this year, after an inDrive driver was shot dead by a passenger in Lahore, they set up a system to ensure their safety, particularly when it came to picking up suspicious or irate passengers at odd hours of the night: They now share their passengers’ drop-off location and pictures of their identity card in a WhatsApp group chat, and turn on live location sharing. “It’s not much, but it gives me peace of mind,” Umer said. “We keep checking in with each other, and if something happens, God forbid, at least there is a way to track us.”
Zuha Siddiqui is a Labor x Tech reporting fellow at Rest of World based in Karachi, Pakistan.
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