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The Last Typewriter Repairman of Moshi

Na Baraka Kileo ยท 30 Mei 2026

โŒจ๏ธ

The shop is two metres wide. It sits between a mobile phone dealer and a barbershop on a side street in Moshi, and it contains, at last count, forty-one typewriters: Olympias, Remingtons, a Cyrillic Optima that arrived by mysterious routes from the ruins of some embassy, and one enormous Imperial 66 that Method Urio calls 'the Land Rover' and refuses to sell.

Urio, sixty-three, apprenticed at fourteen. At the trade's peak he was one of nine typewriter repairmen in town. The other eight retrained, retired, or died, in roughly that order, as computers arrived through the nineties. Everyone advised him to switch to computers too. He tried, for one year, hated it โ€” 'a computer is repaired by throwing it away' โ€” and went back.

Stubbornness turned out to be a business model. Government offices in three regions still require certain forms typed in triplicate, and a typewriter with carbon paper does in one pass what a computer, a printer, and a photocopier need electricity to do. Magistrates' courts, land registries, police stations: all of them, somewhere in the back, have a machine that eventually needs Urio.


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