From the Parking Lot to the Palm of Your Hand: How We Built GigU With Drivers, Not Just for Them

Our journey started far from the app stores. In 2018, we were running physical support hubs for app drivers in Rio de Janeiro. We offered what no one else did at the time: a safe place to rest, hot meals, and services like car washing and phone charging. In time we grew to 12 locations, serving thousands of drivers every week. We weren’t just offering amenities—we were listening.

Then came 2020. The pandemic hit, and with lockdowns and health concerns, we had to shut everything down. But what could have been the end of our story became a turning point. Being close to gig workers every day taught us something no spreadsheet or market research ever could: that these workers were navigating complex platforms without support, guidance, or protection. They were figuring everything out alone, ride by ride, day by day.

That insight became our north star. We pivoted from physical spaces to building technology—with the same mission: helping gig workers thrive. We launched an app focused on boosting earnings, reducing risks, and giving drivers more control. Tools like the Cherry Picker, which helps drivers choose the best rides, and the Secret Camera, which protects them during trips, came directly from the conversations and frustrations we had witnessed first-hand.

One of those moments still sticks with me. I was serving lunch to José, a regular at our first hub. As we talked, another driver, Antonio, walked in, clearly frustrated. He had only completed two rides that day, and one ended in a heated argument with a passenger over the route he took. What really worried him, though, was that he was falling behind on his daily earnings goal.

José overheard and said, “Why don’t you come sit here? Let me tell you what you are doing wrong.” At first, Antonio looked even more annoyed. But curiosity got the better of him, and he sat down.

What followed was unforgettable.

José started asking questions: Where do you live? What time did you start today? Which neighborhoods have you been in? And then, like a mentor, he started offering advice. Which trips to decline. Where to position yourself during peak hours. How to avoid problematic passengers. Antonio listened, wide-eyed, absorbing it all. At the end, I joked, “Looks like you’ve got a fan, José.” He turned to me and said something I’ll never forget:

“You know, this work isn’t simple. None of these platforms care whether we succeed or not. We have to teach ourselves. I just don’t want him to take as long as I did to figure it out.”

That one moment guided almost every decision we made after that.

It reminded us that behind every app login is a human trying to make a living—and that they’re stronger when they’re not alone. So we built GigU not just as a tool, but as a companion. And while we’ve grown into a tech company, our roots remain firmly planted in real human relationships.

Today, those lessons are more relevant than ever. Gig workers in Brazil, the U.S., Portugal, or France may speak different languages and drive on different roads—but their challenges are remarkably similar. They want predictability, safety, and tools that help them make smarter choices. That’s why we’ve built and continue refining our tools by staying close to our users, no matter where they are. We’re constantly learning from them—through DMs, support chats, calls, and voice notes—just like we did over lunch back in Rio.

And the impact is growing. In just our first 30 days in the U.S., we’ve reached over 7,000 active users—and that’s just the beginning. We’re expanding fast, but we’re doing it with intention. Our goal isn’t to become just another app in a crowded store. It’s to be the co-pilot every gig worker can rely on—helping them earn more, stay safe, and take back control in a system that wasn’t designed for their success.

Even as we scale, our essence remains the same: stay close, listen first, and build with empathy. This blog is part of that commitment. It’s a new space for conversation, transparency, and connection—because we’re still here, arms open, ready to listen. Just like José and Antonio were.