In Times of Crisis... Glory for the Cobbler and Tailor

Lebanese citizens are waiting for conditions to improve, hoping that things will not worsen. Until the Day of Judgment, they seek ways to avoid becoming displaced and naked in their own country, and what to wear to cover their bodies. Their first refuge is the cobbler and tailor. It is not a trivial matter that the price of a shoe has reached one million lira, and a thin shirt is priced at 300,000 lira, while some employees earn no more than three million lira if they are lucky. This situation has revitalized the tailoring profession and increased the number of visits to cobblers, despite their scarcity. Patching remains cheaper than buying new clothes, providing "hope" for Fahd, a retired man whose pension does not exceed 40 dollars and who is responsible for four people. Where can he buy any clothing? He urges his wife to sew up the worn-out items. Many women create fashion from their old clothes. Hanan, who is of retirement age, looks for work but cannot afford to pay for tailoring or cobbling services, so she resorts to quick fixes for shoes, her only concern being to secure food. Tags decorating clothing in shops that reach two hundred dollars intimidate those who work, as they do not even consider buying anything new.

As indicated by the fingers of citizens in Jounieh, if you want to know more about how people live in this situation, they point you to a building where the cheapest tailor charges ten thousand lira for repairs, even if it's just a "zaf" (a quick fix). The conversation here varies between a basic fix and other matters. Eli, one of the citizens on the street, comments that repairing clothes is costly, almost equivalent to buying new ones, criticizing the situation since salaries are paid in Lebanese lira, which do not exceed one and a half million lira, while prices for clothes and the cost of labor—whether tailoring or cobbling—have risen significantly.

The Jounieh cobbler jokes about pricing based on the wealth of his clients, noting that the price for the wealthy differs from that for the poor. He emphasizes that matters are not predetermined; prices vary according to need and the issue at hand. He does not dream of charging fifty thousand lira for a single piece, as at that price, no one would come into his shop, and he wants to work but cannot "chase" the dollar. Despite these prices, bills are rising, and his body suffers from the extensive work, still not being able to make ends meet.

A customer mentions that the cheapest shoes cost ten dollars, while repairs, regardless of how high the costs rise, are acceptable to her. This cobbler earns the nickname "Old Timer" from his customers, as he is one of the few who have survived in the trade alongside another cobbler (Aoude) on the cobblers' street in Jounieh and its surroundings. The story of this street was shared by Tony the Shami, a long-term tenant of a shop he inherited from his ancestors. This shop, once used for manufacturing shoes, employed a cobbler. These shops were owned by a monastery in Bzumar, which would place orders from manufacturers, and nothing was damaged for 40 years. Tony reminisces about stories of his father, who would design shoes with his own hands, crafting robust footwear, to the extent that one of the monks once visited him and reminded him that what he was wearing was made by his father.

Gradually, he recounted how the market became flooded with imported and ready-made goods, reducing the number of skilled professionals in the trade, who now hardly exceed the fingers of two hands. We searched in Kesrouan for another cobbler due to their rarity and rising demand for their services, but found only one in Sarba. The owner of a shoe repair shop shares how he learned the trade by observing in Jounieh and silently transferred the skills to his shop while working at the municipality. Today, amid this crisis, he has become a refuge for residents of Jbeil, Kesrouan, and Metn, stating that he works "cleanly" to continue and spread his reputation, asking: "Who still throws anything away?" He has even perfected repairing school bags, which cost millions.

In Bourj Hammoud, where every alley has a story, seamstresses and tailors abound, serving both the rich and the poor. Mary describes how the prices of materials used, from threads to zippers to buttons and all work tools, have surged, and according to her, these materials "run out," meaning they do not last long. Given the high workload, she estimates that 90% of citizens do not throw away their clothes; most visitors carry "pants," and she does not charge more than 30,000 lira for patching, while basic alterations start from twenty thousand lira and up. However, she feels compelled to work because the economic situation has changed drastically, and when conditions worsened, she decided to open a "livelihood door" from nine in the morning until six in the evening to generate some income for the family to pay bills. She believes her decision was wise.

In another corner, there is an elderly uncle over seventy, widowed, who also found an opportunity to expand his work when the economic situation worsened for the Lebanese. After his wife's death and his son's salary decreasing, he opened a shop. Between every two words, he points out that he is alone, and working helps alleviate his solitude and boredom at home. Despite his age, he describes himself as a "bulldozer," capable of "handling work." When his workshop occupied one of the corners of his home, he only knew a few customers, but today his reputation is widespread because he is fast and meets everyone's needs. Today, most orders are for repairing school clothes, as they are the most expensive for parents who exchange them among themselves; nevertheless, although his prices are "burned," customers still negotiate with him. Hagop, the cobbler, complains about "the nitpicking" of citizens who argue with him over twenty thousand lira for inserting a heel, especially since the heel costs twelve thousand lira. He wonders what is left to him: eight thousand lira. He questions how he can pay his bills, his medications, and eat and drink. Thus, everyone finds themselves in a vicious cycle, waiting for a solution from somewhere, a solution that keeps the specter of hunger and nakedness at bay.

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