The secretary of the Koperattiva tal-Barklori, Walter Ahar, recently used some very harsh words to condemn the powers that be for their complete lack of interest in saving one very important item that forms part of Malta’s rich cultural heritage – the dghajsa, our very own traditional passenger boat that has graced the waters of Grand Harbour and the surrounding areas for centuries.
Mr Ahar rightly accused them of boasting about the “implementation” (sic) of the Grand Harbour Plan, while at the same time “no consideration is being given to the role of the few Maltese dghajjes still plying round the Three Cities.” He insisted that the proud owners of these craft go to great extremes and expense “to keep their boats in shape and in line with the traditional wooden art expended through the ages to make this artefact truly worthy of our culture, especially complimentary to the rich history of the Cottonera.”
Even worse, according to Mr Ahar the Malta Maritime Authority is adding insult to injury by issuing permits to “whoever wants to jump on the bandwagon and make a quick buck by producing fibreglass models to substitute for the traditional wooden Maltese dghajsa.” He denounces this practice and, no doubt from an informed position, claims that the owners of the genuine Maltese traditional dghajjes are facing unfair and deceitful competition” and that “immediate action should be taken to stop this abuse.”
Well, I can assure Mr Ahar that no Cabinet minister has lost his appetite and gone on overtime to see what he can do since the publication of his heartfelt appeal. The barklori are few in number and, strictly according to the expired thinking of the party in power, probably belong on the other side of the political fence. For them, the Cottonera is yet another topic for some opportunistic electioneering, with cut-and-paste projects being presented in the media and inside expensively-hired camps the same way other never-realised projects, such as the Number 1 Dock project, were presented in previous elections. Who cares about the dghajsa is, no doubt, the official rationale. But many of us who have lived with it, seen it produced, enjoyed its elegance and marvelled at its speed on Regatta Day, know full well this is a jewel that must be saved, not only from pathetic plastic competition, but, sadly, from possible oblivion.
With the end of the Royal Navy in Malta and the introduction of better means of both sea and land transport decades ago, the dghajsa was already facing an uncertain future. The tourism industry, however, was expected to give it a new lease of life, but it was so initially concentrated on the northern sandy beaches, the sun and the sea, that no one bothered to even think about it. It is only now, with our incoming tourism at a crisis point, that we have seen a move towards other aspects of the industry, such as the introduction of the new selling points of history and culture by way of creating the niche markets that go with religious and cultural tourism.
Sadly, we have a government that prefers to keep shooting itself in the foot by saying one thing and doing another. The horrendous onslaught on our cultural and natural heritage is a case in point, with government ministers first publicly supporting controversial development projects – Ramla l-Hamra, ix-Xaghra l-Hamra, Hondoq ir-Rummien, Ta’ Cenc etc., etc. – that were immediately shunned by the vast majority of people, and then quickly shying out of them as soon as they realised a general election is just round the idiomatic corner. In this scenario, one can only imagine how far down on their list of priorities the dghajsa remains, alas.
One of the most precious and most cherished publications on my home bookshelves is an early edition of the Concise Oxford Dictionary which features the Maltese word “daisa” (for dghajsa) that had been imported into the English language by the thousands of British servicemen who had been here and made full use of our traditional boat to and from their ships. Only one other Maltese word ever made it into the same dictionary: “Sahha” (goodbye), again a naval importation that may have been somewhat helped and abetted by regular visits to The Gut in Valletta and other red-light districts in and around Grand Harbour.
The real dghajsa, however, and not its fibreglass imitation, is a resilient fighter. I have seen it, albeit somewhat gaudily decorated with Christmas lights, in Spinola Bay happily ferrying tourists about to the sound of a rather strange selection of music varying from the classical and the operatic to national anthems and Elvis Presley. I have personally given Fredu, the dedicated barklor/commentator/disc-jockey responsible for the rides, a good collection of Maltese traditional guitar music which, I think, is more appropriate.
Initiatives such as this at St Julians and the barklori’s custom in Grand Harbour can only help prolong the survival of the dghajsa. The 8th September Regatta and the districts that take part in it have helped immensely by making sure that new dghajjes are built, even if the master builders today can be counted on fewer than the fingers of one hand. Why has no five-hour-a-week University professor or paid-up heritage defender ever come up with the suggestion that dghajsa-building becomes part of the teaching of traditional crafts, like lace-making and glass-blowing? Why do we, as a nation, have to be so intellectually lazy when it comes to saving such parts of our heritage as the dghajsa and the national language?
Walter Ahar and his fellow barklori are doing a wonderful job and they should be encouraged and not hindered by such crass and insensitive methods as the competition from a hapless new generation of plastic dghajjes. Competition from the motorboats and the organised-tour craft is a reality one has to live with. A dghajsa ride is so unique and pleasant enough to be able to meet that kind of modern challenge. But fake dghajjes run by fake barklori is another story.