Elias “Abu Elias” Arayrou, a 65-year-old claymaker, flipped through an old magazine article about his small seaside shop in Tripoli. Photos inside his shop showed clay vases, cups, and water pitches filling the store, leaving barely enough room for customers to walk through without bumping into something.

Now, though, Abu Elias stands in a nearly empty shop. Only a few shelves bear a handful of small bowls and water pitchers. “I had clay products for décor, daily use, etc.,” Abu Elias told explained, “but unfortunately nowadays it’s all been replaced. People [these days] are usually just purchasing water bowls and pans.”

Dust lines the floor and the shelves with few people entering his store anymore except for the occasional tourist looking to buy a souvenir before they return home.

Security Concerns

Just a few minutes down the street is Othman Abdo, another claymaker who goes by Abu Abdallah.

While Abu Elias has a more obvious storefront, Abu Abdallah’s remains hidden unless one can read the fading paint on the wall that points to his closet-sized clay “factory” down a narrow alleyway.

Only a small fan provides the occasional cool breeze as the 60-year-old masterfully uses his hands to craft water pitchers amid the sweltering summer heat and humidity.

Like his colleague Abu Elias, he sees little business although he works every day from dawn until dusk. 

Despite the decline in demand for clay products, the two men refuse to give up their work as they view it as a duty to maintain the tradition of clay work in Tripoli.

“The important thing right now is not the people but holding onto the legacy and heritage of pottery here in Mina,” Abu Abdallah said, referring to an area bordering Tripoli.

As the economic crisis has wrought a toll on the country and people have increasingly struggled to make ends meet, there have been consistent concerns that the security situation could deteriorate. In recent years, many have faced capital controls preventing them from accessing their savings, a situation that even prompted a string of bank holdups in which people tried to take their own money. 

Meanwhile, as tensions between Israel and the Lebanese armed group Hezbollah spike, many countries the world over have warned against travel to Lebanon and urged their citizens to leave the nation. A potential war could make matters worse for already strapped individuals like Abu Elias, who depends on tourism for income. 

Living Amid Crises

Working in clay has a long history in Lebanon, and the sculptors of Tripoli have earned a reputation of particular regard for their work.

However, as the years went by, people started to turn to cheaper plastic or even glass products with clay becoming increasingly pushed to the side.

Abu Elias recalled a visit several years ago by a German tourist who wanted to buy a water pitcher.

The German found the craftsmanship so impressive that he wanted to buy one for his Lebanese friend who was with him, Abu Elias recalled. But the friend refused.

“He just wants to see the water he drinks,” Abu Elias said. “He prefers plastic.”

Then came the popular uprising in 2019 and, soon after, the devastating economic crisis that the World Bank described as being one of the worst the world has seen in over a century.

Lebanon’s national currency, the lira, rapidly devalued: although it used to be 1,500 lira to $1, it is now sitting at around 89,500 to $1.

Money dried up as more and more people could increasingly buy less amid the skyrocketing inflation and were more focused on buying only the bare essentials so that they could at least survive.

The crisis hit Tripoli especially hard.

Poverty and Unemployment

While it is Lebanon’s second-largest city, Tripoli is also one of the most impoverished and neglected with the central government in Beirut paying little attention to the plight of its citizens.

Even parliamentary members representing the city paid little heed to their constituents except for when election season rolled around and they needed to muster up the votes to remain in their seats.

With around half a million residents, poverty rates in Tripoli remain high. According to estimates, more than half of the population lives in poverty, while around the same number are enduring unemployment.

Those problems persist today. Abu Abdallah said he recently saw four children who had nowhere else to go sleeping on the side of the road.

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, it brought Lebanon to a grinding halt. Amid the economic hardships that followed, small businesses and artisans, such as the claymakers, struggled to get by.

“Life Here Isn’t Easy”

Only three claymakers remain in Tripoli. Abu Elias and Abu Abdallah both say that they do not make enough to live a normal life.

“My kids help me. I cannot live with the profit of what the clay makes. One purchase of clay a day will not help me pay my house bills,” Abu Elias explained, adding that most of his orders come from outside of Lebanon, in particular from European countries, where there is a growing trend of using clay cups and bottles due to supposed health benefits.

The price for clay products remains low with Abu Abdallah charging around 10,000 Lebanese Lira ($0.11) for the head of the ubiquitous arghileh, also known as a hookah or shisha, and 50,000 Lira ($0.56) for a cup or water pitcher.

“I tend to price them low so the customer would remain interested in my products. Otherwise, if I choose to higher the price, dealers would be discontent and no one will buy anymore. Especially since they charge about $2.50 in order to make a profit,” Abu Abdallah said.

Still, both men insist that they have such a deep love and passion for their work that, even with the decline in demand for clay and the multiple crises, they would not do anything else.

“Life here isn’t easy. Sometimes advertisements help me get my products to a wider audience,” Abu Abdallah said. “In the end, we are like trees: we need to take root and live wherever we are planted.”

Love of the Art

Neither Abu Abdallah nor Abu Elias started their careers in clay work, although both of their families worked in it.

Even though they learned the craft at a young age, they initially decided to go off and do other things. Both, in the end, could not help but return.

“At first I was studying, then pursued a career in my own studies, then after my father got old and could not work anymore in the clay industry I took over,” Abu Elias said, noting that he is a fourth-generation claymaker in his family. “He mentioned that the store is available, and why would he close it rather than letting me work in it.”

Despite coming back so the store would not go to waste, Abu Elias is happy with his work, even if there is not that much money anymore.

One of his proudest achievements was when he taught a woman from Beddawi, an area north of Tripoli, how to work with clay. The woman now has her own shop where she sells clay, carrying on the tradition.

Hope

For Abu Abdallah, clay has a spiritual element to it that has had a grip on him since he started working in the field 10 years ago in search of finding calmness and peace.

It is a battle to maintain the tradition of Mina and to promote locally produced products rather than deferring to imported ones from China and India, Abu Abdallah explained.

“We are living in a society where everyone is trying to overcome or beat the other but if love and kindness were to prevail these very issues would be resolved just like when our forefathers used to work together and help each other out,” he added.

Both men are hopeful that clay could see some sort of revival in the future, even if it is not widespread, not so they could see increased profits but so that the love and appreciation for the craft could continue once more.

Even if there is no shift towards using clay once more, Abu Abdallah says that he would continue working in clay as one’s individual happiness should come before everything else.

“I am happy in my life,” he insisted. “When you don’t want to respect your lifestyle then you enter a state of delusion like a dream. So we must take pride in what we do.”

Abu Elias echoed a similar sentiment.

“I’m happy in my own store even if I’m not making a huge profit. At least I’m working and having fun in the business I love,” he said.