The Maltese community in Australia is fast losing its one great national identity – the Maltese language. Second and third generation Maltese-Australians continue to integrate so well in this vast and varied land of opportunity that they understandably find it difficult to retain a good grasp of the vernacular that was spoken by their parents and grandparents when they came here. Today, most, albeit regrettably, actually find they have no time for it.
There is, however, a lingering attachment to the language among the ageing population of the Maltese communities in places like Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide and Perth. They have never completely severed the roots from which they came when seeking refuge in Australia to find work at a time when work in Malta was strictly reserved for well-connected Nationalists, members of no-less-connected influential business families and pitiful lackeys of the pre and post-British presence on the island.
The core to this wondrous continuing story is the sadly much-maligned, traditional Ghana singing that, against all odds, has continued to thrive here. Rival Ghana clubs with spacious and well-run facilities have been set up in the bigger cities and Ghana sessions are regularly held at various social and artistic activities throughout the year. Of course you cannot have Ghana without the Maltese language, a fact of life that provides a most welcome new lease of life that however can only last as long as those who sing it, or play along with it, survive.
There is a feeling of sadness mixed with a sense of realism in all of this. As I seek to explore this cultural enigma, with the help of my friend and mentor on the subject of Maltese Ghana, the Melbourne-based writer and broadcaster Manuel Casha, himself an accomplished guitarist and avid researcher on this musical genre, I have unexpectedly come face to face with what is certainly the tail end of the emotional tremor that ripped through the Maltese nation’s fabric as a whole with the passing away last August of the island’s one and only world-recognised statesman Dom Mintoff.
Most Maltese of a certain age living in Australia still regard Mintoff as the man who gave them and their families hope, and when they finally decided to seek a future Down Under, his “Malta First and Foremost” slogan crossed the oceans with them. It was proudly and warmly carried in their bosoms.
Many here in fact still talk of Mintoff’s one and only visit to Australia when he was still Leader of the Opposition, saying the welcome accorded to him then has never been surpassed. At least this is the impression I got this week in Sunshine, the Maltese heartland of Melbourne’s western suburbs, where Mintoff’s successor, Eddie Fenech Adami, in his capacity as Prime Minister many years later, was also warmly greeted. For some bizarre, if light-hearted, moments, I almost expected “Sunshine”, the cute little dog EFA was presented with, to jump out at me from every corner of this hot and sunny side of the State of Victoria.
People are still sharing and exchanging CD copies of a Ghana tribute to Mintoff on his death sung by Mikiel Cutajar “Is-Superstar” in the village of Zejtun. Cutajar is related to former Ghana legend, Mikiel Abela “Il-Bambinu”, and particularly known for singing the long “kadenzi” (cadences) so beloved, but rare, in the Ghana community in both Malta and Australia.
In his as yet unpublished book on Ghana, Manuel Casha says: “The Maltese language has been served well by the ghannejja in keeping its purity of form and expression. One of the sacrosanct rules in Ghana singing is that no foreign words and expressions are acceptable. As a result, the Maltese language has kept its purity in the Ghana fraternity and to a degree, remains frozen in an era long past.”
I came across the continuing story of this “Mintoff” Ghana tribute on the wing of yet another sad occurrence. Some time ago, Ghana enthusiasts in Melbourne were saddened to learn that one of their greatest favourite “Aussie” voices, George Aquilina “Nofsillejl”, had been curtailed due to an unfortunate stroke that has affected the use of his right arm and speech. Unfortunately, no worse affliction could befall someone so closely and intimately involved in the art and culture of Maltese traditional music.
George Aquilina is around 80 years old. Hailing from Qormi, he is, again according to Manuel Casha’s forthcoming publication, considered “among the most prolific of all fatti singers”, always singing his own writings and “often a commentator on the life of the Maltese community around him in both Malta and Australia”.
He will hopefully continue to meet this new challenge in his life with the typical fortitude and determination of so many Ghana singers of the past, people who came from the darkest and poorest alleyways of Malta and Gozo, who felt downtrodden and despised, who chose singing and playing music as a weapon against a society that so bluntly and unkindly preferred to ignore them and to condemn them to a life of social and emotional misery.
That Nofsillejl is bravely staging this one last stand was clearly manifested to me this week when he replied to Manuel Casha’s recorded message of encouragement and good wishes for Christmas and the New Year with – you’ve guessed it – a CD dubbing of Cutajar’s moving Ghana tribute to Dom Mintoff. Zejtun met Melbourne across the long span of melancholy that this whole episode brings with it.
It was the only way he could reply, really. The Ghana singer who, for many decades, has enthralled thousands with his stories of woe, humiliation and human despair, sometimes even resorting to wit and a touch of humour, is now struggling to regain use of his arm and unable to utter a single word, let alone singing it out.
The story of Ghana, of the Maltese language in Australia, of George Aquilina “Nofsillejl”, of Mintoff’s Malta, and of the Maltese overseas, continues here, happily unabated but still on borrowed time.