Once Upon A Time on a Little Island Far Far Away

by Mercy Ikuri (Kenya)

Making a local connection Malta

" Have you ever met someone with whom you clicked so instantly that, were you back in kindergarten, you would have straight-out asked them to be your friend in the way that children so innocently and effortlessly do? ...Yeah? Good. Because that's the only way I can explain how Chris, David and I ended up as where-one-of-them- is-you're-sure-to-find-the-other sort of friends after just two weeks of working together. "Are you ever coming in?" David calls out from the shallows, his Maltese lilt beautifully glazing over his words. I return his infectious smile and nod assuringly. In big, black, bold calligraphy, I am writing " we cease to gape at what we get used to" in my journal. The squeals of children splashing about in the water steal my attention for a moment. Many more groups of friends and families are streaming down the city's streets which slant into the sea. I'll tell you this; the heat here easily pushes you into the arms of the sea. Not that you need that much motivation. I run a hand across my toasted neck. The afternoon sun feels as if it is right behind me, looking over my shoulder. I give up on my plans to paint by the seaside. An hour later, having swum to our hearts' content, we feast on the Maltese "pastizzi" and "ftira" sandwiches that David had so thoughtfully stocked up on and explore the coastline. This is Gozo, Malta's sister island. It is only nine kilometers across and yet the number of renowned people that visit this piece of paradise is as long as it is impressive. I give the landscape a sweeping glance. The houses here blend in with the same limestone colour under your feet. The camouflage is so uncanny that had David told us of a legend where the houses simply grew out of the ground I would have believed it. "There's the 'Dwejra'. They shot a Game of Thrones episode there", David beams. The 'Dwejra ' or Azure window is a majestic masterpiece where erosion etched out a large chunk of a piece of the land that jutted out into the sea, leaving a window-esque space. David tells me it might have taken Mother Nature five centuries to complete. I fish out my sketchpad and set about making a rather dismal copy of her prowess. At sunset we find oursleves back in Valletta. The particular street we stroll through is lined with stalls of all kinds and it is a sort of polyglot's paradise, to boot. Though English and Maltese reign supreme, from Greek and Italian to Armenian and French, the sellers here will entreat you in whatever language you speak. We head over to a masterful caricaturist and try to learn some Hungarian from him as he quickly cartoons our cheery selves. Afterwards, we walk past a cake and coffee shop and stop short. The colourful sign at the door reads; " You can't buy happiness but you can buy cake and that's pretty darn close" so we stepped in to find out for ourselves." I finish reading my four-year old journal entry and glance over to the newspaper article that prompted my trip down memory lane; the Azure Window had collapsed into the sea in 2017. Other coastal historical treasures were also facing a similar fate due to fiercer winds and waves as well as rising sea levels. "There once was snow where now there is sand." The words slowly drift into mind and I try to remember where I'd read the line. In my mind I see the 'Dwejra' plunging into the depths of the sea, taking centuries of memories with it. I flip to a new page in my journal and start writing as other words rush into mind. "It's increasingly becoming possible that there are generations that will only hear of some of the things we enjoy today and never get to experience them. This is perhaps why a traveller often inadvertently becomes a storyteller and why the death of an old man was likened to the burning of a library in traditional African societies." "But perhaps this is Mother Nature's art of construction by subtraction," I try to console myself.