The recent chaos surrounding UDART in Dar es Salaam wasn’t just a transport meltdown—it was a masterclass in how to ruin a public-private pa...
The recent chaos surrounding UDART in Dar es Salaam wasn’t just a transport meltdown—it was a masterclass in how to ruin a public-private partnership. This is a slow-motion collapse that everyone saw coming, yet no one stopped.
UDART was born with promise. Phase One of the bus rapid transit system which was meant to revolutionise urban mobility.
In 2016, UDART rolled out 200 buses from China’s Golden Dragon—12-metre and 18-metre low-floor units built for high-capacity transit. They were sleek. Modern. Supposed to be the future. But beneath the surface, the rot had already begun.
The buses were designed to run on compressed natural gas (CNG)—cleaner, cheaper, and aligned with UDART’s business model. But others had other plans.
They ditched CNG and went for diesel, a move that instantly doubled operating costs. UDART was doomed to fail from the beginning.
The financial strain was compounded by fare disputes. UDART proposed a much higher fare per passenger, arguing that it was necessary to cover costs and service its debt. The government, prioritising affordability, capped the fare at Sh600, later raising it to Sh700.
But even this adjustment was insufficient. With diesel costs soaring and operational inefficiencies mounting, cash flow became critically constrained.
Yet the real haemorrhage came from revenue leakage. Initially, fare collection was automated, ensuring transparency and minimising theft.
But this system was abandoned in favour of manual cash collection—a move that made it possible for millions of shillings to disappear daily.
Then came the Jangwani disaster. In 2020, the Jangwani Depot—UDART’s main maintenance and parking facility—was flooded, disabling approximately 70 buses in a single event.
The depot’s location in a known flood-prone area raised serious questions about due diligence. But what’s more alarming is that these buses weren’t revived. Technically, flooded buses can be salvaged. Tow them out.
Dry them. Flush the electrical systems. Replace fluids. Typically, the cost would have been around $15,000 per bus. For 70 buses, the total would have been about $1 million—roughly 10 percent of the cost of procuring new ones. Yet no action was taken.
Thus, UDART’s financial health deteriorated rapidly. An estimated Sh150 billion loan from NMB Bank ballooned into a Sh250 billion debt burden.
The company failed to pay dues to the TPA, which blocked the clearance of newly imported buses meant to revive the service. With only 30 buses left operational, UDART could no longer generate enough revenue to service its loans or maintain basic operations. The company was functionally insolvent.
Eventually, the government was forced to act. Public outrage reached a boiling point, and transport paralysis became a political liability. The Prime Minister toured the network, promising change.
In a bid to stabilise the situation, 60 MOFAT buses (a new operator) were redirected to UDART, raising the operational fleet to 90—still less than half the original capacity. Finally, the government brought new leaders for UDART and DART management teams.
Yet even this intervention raises uncomfortable questions. UDART is 85 percent owned by the government and 15 percent by the Simon Group. On paper, it is a public entity.
In practice, it operated like a private fiefdom. Procurement decisions, fuel contracts, and revenue systems were all seemingly controlled by shadowy interests with little regard for public accountability. The governance model was flawed from the start.
This provides us with rich lessons on how to destroy PPPs. Make sure that there is no transparency whatsoever. Allow conflicts of interest to flourish unchecked. Ensure systems that ascertain revenue integrity are abandoned.
Ignore asset management—no due diligence and no maintenance. And through it all, make sure that the government watches from the sidelines, intervening only when the crisis becomes a threat to political stability.
Wasn’t this the plan all along? The decline had been evident for years. So why were decision-makers waiting? For UDART to fail—so alternative plans could be rolled out? And now, with new leadership in place, isn’t UDART a poisoned chalice? Given the current situation, how is UDART going to turn itself around?
The situation requires more than buses. It needs structural reform. The new leadership must be given autonomy to implement a turnaround agenda without interference. But they must also be held accountable: performance reports should be published and shared openly.
Fare collection must be fully automated: no more manual leakages. The fleet must return to CNG or transition to electric buses.
Above all, public transport must be treated as a service: we cannot allow quality to deteriorate until the situation becomes a threat to politicians before we act.
UDART’s story is not just about broken buses. It’s about broken systems. It is a story not just of misfortune but also of self-sabotage. And unless we change the rules of the game, even the best of people will find themselves in the same vicious cycle.
Charles Makakala is a Technology and Management Consultant based in Dar es Salaam
Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. (Syndigate.info).
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