Natasha Meli Daudey appointed Malta’s new UN representative

Natasha Meli Daudey Appointed Malta’s New UN Representative: A Sliema Girl Takes Manhattan

The WhatsApp groups of Sliema’s tight-knit community lit up before the official press release even dropped: “U ejja, our Tash is going to the UN!” By lunchtime, the village band club had already rehearsed a celebratory marċ, and the kiosk by the ferries was giving out free pastizzi in her honour. Yesterday, Prime Minister Robert Abela confirmed what every auntie on the Strand already knew – Natasha Meli Daudey, 39, born and bred on Triq it-Tuff, has been appointed Malta’s Permanent Representative to the United Nations.

A diplomat who speaks four languages, Daudey is no stranger to high-stakes negotiations, but locals remember her first for negotiating extra ħobż biż-żejt portions at the parish festa. “She was always the kid organising charity swims to Comino,” recalls neighbour Doris Borg, still misty-eyed. “Now she’s organising nations.”

From Junior Eurovision to Global Stage
Daudey’s rise is peppered with classic Maltese milestones: St Dorothy’s convent school choir, debating society wins at Junior College, and that pivotal year on Erasmus in Madrid where, she admits, “I learnt to argue in Spanish after one too many sangrias.” After reading law at the University of Malta, she joined Foreign Affairs in 2008, cutting her teeth on EU accession files before postings in Brussels, Geneva and, most recently, Washington D.C. Colleagues describe her as “Malta’s Swiss-army knife – compact, versatile and always prepared”.

Yet the appointment carries deeper resonance. Malta’s last two UN envoys hailed from Valletta and Gozo respectively; Daudey is the first from Sliema since 1964. Cue bunting along the seafront and a surge of Sliema-branded merchandise – even the local water polo team is debating a commemorative cap.

Cultural Significance: “She Sounds Like Us”
In a country where dialect can change between villages, Daudey’s Sliema lilt is instantly recognisable. Radio talk-show host Andrew Azzopardi noted, “Listeners hear her English and Maltese sentences collide like rush-hour traffic at the Strand, and they feel represented.” More importantly, Daudey has never hidden her working-class roots – her father drove a yellow-stickered Karozzin taxi, her mother baked qassatat for the parish fund-raisers. That relatability is potent.

“Young girls in Għaxaq and boys in Żebbuġ now see diplomacy as something that happens after school club, not after boarding school in the UK,” says educator Ramona Falzon. The Education Ministry has already invited Daudey to beam in from New York for a series of virtual career talks.

Community Impact: Pastizzi, Pride and Practical Change
Within hours of the announcement, Sliema’s council declared 15 June “Natasha Day”, promising beach-clean-ups and a pop-up kiosk selling her favourite ftira toppings (tuna, capers and a whisper of ketchup – controversial but authentically hers). More substantively, her alma mater, St Dorothy’s, has launched the “Daudey Fund”, aiming to send two state-school students a year on UN youth delegations. The first recipients, 17-year-olds Yasmin from Marsa and Luke from Rabat, fly to New York this September. “We’re not just celebrating one of our own,” headmistress Maria Camilleri beams, “we’re widening the door she walked through.”

Daudey herself, speaking from her soon-to-be-vacated office in Balzan, sounded characteristically grounded. “I’ll miss waking up to the sound of the 5:30 a.m. fishing boat engines, but I carry Malta’s contradictions with me – the warmth and the stubbornness, the ability to fit a village square into a tweet.” She also hinted at priorities: climate-driven migration, Mediterranean security and, cheekily, “ensuring UN cafeteria finally serves decent Maltese bread”.

As the sun set over Balluta Bay last night, the band struck up again, this time a slower waltz. Elderly men raised plastic cups of Kinnie, teenagers filmed Instagram stories, and someone projected the Maltese flag onto the old Chalet façade. In that moment, Sliema wasn’t just celebrating a new job; it was reclaiming a narrative – proof that a small-island voice, shaped by sea-spray and festa fireworks, can resonate inside the glass corridors of global power.