William Paley said that when you find a watch in the desert, you should infer the existence of a watchmaker. William Paley thought that this was a metaphor for God. He’s wrong. If you ever find, carelessly tossed in the Sahara, a hand crafted brass timepiece — its springs and gears humming with the energy of passing moments, exquisite hand painted dials dividing days into dozens, and its precision regulators still setting the beat for reality — you should infer me. I made it.
I know what you’re probably thinking: how, Gustav, does an example of your master craftsmanship arrive about thirty kilometers outside Timbuktu, and why is there such a large pile of them in one place? Well, if you’ll just take a second look, you might notice some minute details in these watches: some of them are numbered in Mayan numerals, some have only 57 seconds per minute and 22 hours in a day, a few have been carved into the shapes of famous world monuments and still others, well, you can use your imagination. This is no coincidence.
The answer to your question starts, perhaps, a decade ago. These days, with mass assembly lines overseas, there’s not many opportunities for a fifth-generation traditional watchmaker here in Sweden. And, since I had a bit of a falling out with my brother Sigurd involving a new apartment and a can of Surströmming, there wasn’t much room for me in the family shop. I’ve always had a passion for watches however, and after being hurled from Sigurd’s business, I had to pursue my calling on my own.
I spent a few years as a journeyman, travelling the world with my wares and tools looking for the odd customer. Eventually, I found a position with the Malian government making durable mechanical pocket watches for use by the forces stationed in Timbuktu. Batteries were expensive, and this gave me what I thought was the opportunity of a lifetime. A city of 50,000, ready for nothing but the best. Life went well for the first few years. I missed the snow of course, and especially the fish, but business was good, and I really got to know the local culture. Although the public bought my watches at a reasonable rate, it was still the armed forces, stationed against the rebel insurgencies in the north, that accounted for the majority of my sales. All that changed though when some disgruntled general took over in the capital building Bamako. Suddenly, the government forces’ organization collapsed and the northern insurgents overran the city. Soon, my watches were going into the hands of a new local government that was, well, just a bit more overbearing. People began disappearing mysteriously in the night. Arrests for minor crimes became more and more frequent, and the punishments harsher and harsher. I heard that one couple in a nearby town was even stoned to death.
One afternoon I heard gunshots on the street in front of the shop, and a few minutes later, when I had the courage to look up, saw the bloodied body of a young man being dragged down the dusty street.
I knew I had to resist, to fight for the liberty of my adopted neighbors. I did so in the only way I knew how. At first, it was just a few small deviations: a slightly loose spring, a bent hour hand, easy to explain away as mistakes or bad materials. It was a while before I started on my more elaborate pieces. But it made a difference: small groups of troops wasted precious minutes rendezvousing with each other, and slowly the international forces started gaining the upper hand.
My work couldn’t last long though: I often heard rumors about a crackdown on saboteurs, but it wasn’t until my neighbor, Oumar the candlestick maker, had his shop torched that I knew I had to leave. Under cover of darkness, I packed my remaining stock and valuables onto a couple of camels, dumped the incriminating timepieces well outside the city, and rode beneath the stars until I reached Burkina Faso.
The civilian government has returned to power now, and I’m thinking about going back to check on my friends in Timbuktu. I wonder how they feel glancing at these small acts of resistance in a moment of idle time?
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