In brief
Bala Muhammad, affectionately known as Baba Bala, reflects on a lifetime devoted to repairing timepieces, recently burdened with dwindling clientele as mobile devices take precedence over traditional wristwatches.
Following years of robust business, the once-bustling watch-repair scene now faces extinction as Baba Bala confronts a future clouded by technological advancements. Baba Bala's tiny watch repair shop is a nostalgic reminder of a bygone era, nestled amid the lively streets of Kaduna. The 68-year-old craftsman listens to the persistent ticking of clocks while tending to tools and watches scattered throughout his space. Not so long ago, the workshops in the area thrived with activity and filled his coffers with a sufficient income. "There were times I get more than 100 wristwatch-repair jobs in a day," he reminisces, his voice tinged with melancholic pride, a stark contrast to the quiet days he now faces.The heart of his economic success lay in the rhythm of everyday life—people were fond of wearing watches, finding them indispensable to their style and routine. Now, with the advent of smartphones, the necessity has dissipated. "Some days there are zero customers," he laments. "Phones and technology have taken away the only job I know and it makes me very sad."For more than half a century, wristwatch repairing sustained Baba Bala and his family, allowing him to build a home and educate his children. His father, a skilled horologist, fostered his passion, traveling West Africa to fix watches. The legacy left a mark, creating a bond with timepieces that is precariously hanging on as modern conveniences overshadow the nostalgic art.He fondly recalls the affluent clientele he once attended to in Abuja, adorned in luxurious Rolexes that now feel like distant memories. With a worn Longines gracing his wrist, he finds comfort in how much watches once meant in Nigerian society. He fondly recalls a time when his father was known across cities for his skills, though the origin of those skills remains a mystery. "I started learning under his tutelage at the age of 10, and quickly found my passion and source of pocket money," says Baba Bala, recalling how he made an impression even on his teachers while schooling. Each tick of the watches signified not only the importance of time but also a connection to tradition, which now stands on shaky ground. The watch-repair landscape has withered—competitors have abandoned their shops or passed away. Isa Sani, another watchmaker, conceded in 2019, turning to farming as a sustainable option. Young locals, like Faisal Abdulkarim and Yusuf Yusha'u, display indifference towards wearing watches, favoring their phones to tell time.Yet, amidst the decline, hope flickers in the conversation with Dr. Umar Abdulmajid, who believes the emergence of smartwatches could breathe new life into the industry. However, Baba Bala, who returned to Kaduna two decades ago to be with family, struggles to adapt to this technological age. "This is what I love doing, and I consider myself a doctor for sick wristwatches," he declares.In a world that is changing rapidly, Baba Bala remains bound to his craft, waiting for customers who may never return. His loyal family frequents his store, and even as he fights the pangs of solitude, he is fortified by his children's support. His youngest son, Al-Ameen, displays interest in the trade, yet Baba Bala wishes for him to pursue his dreams of becoming a pilot. As he opens his shop each day, he finds solace in his routine—loyal to his tools, the ticking of clocks, and the memories of a time when watches ruled the pulse of life.
