Jamal Moubayed, one of the last clock repairers, in his workshop in Tripoli, in June 2026. (Credit: Rayanne Tawil/ L'Orient-Le Jour)
Even amid the bustle of the souk, you can almost hear the seconds ticking away: the steady tick-tock of clocks draws passersby toward a cramped wooden workshop where watch faces are stacked one atop another and tiny metal parts lie rusting across a worn workbench. In this organized disorder sits a man who has occupied the same chair for 40 years, doing what he loves most: repairing time.Outside, the narrow alleyways of Tripoli echo with passing cars and motorcycles, merchants calling out to passersby, and metal shutters creaking. Inside his workshop, time moves differently. It slows down. It breathes, waiting to be repaired."My name is Jamal Yasir Moubayed," he tells us. "I am 61 years old."A childhood measured in hours"I learned the trade when I was young. I was about five or six years old," he recalls, his...
Even amid the bustle of the souk, you can almost hear the seconds ticking away: the steady tick-tock of clocks draws passersby toward a cramped wooden workshop where watch faces are stacked one atop another and tiny metal parts lie rusting across a worn workbench. In this organized disorder sits a man who has occupied the same chair for 40 years, doing what he loves most: repairing time.Outside, the narrow alleyways of Tripoli echo with passing cars and motorcycles, merchants calling out to passersby, and metal shutters creaking. Inside his workshop, time moves differently. It slows down. It breathes, waiting to be repaired."My name is Jamal Yasir Moubayed," he tells us. "I am 61 years old."A childhood measured in hours"I learned the trade when I was young. I was about five or six years old," he recalls,...
