Xemxija Blackouts: Historic Bay Village Fights to Keep the Lights—and Festa—Alive

Xemxija residents left fuming after repeated power cuts
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By Luke Briffa – 09:45, 14 June 2024, St Paul’s Bay

The summer sun had barely cleared the ridge above Mistra Bay when the lights in Xemxija blinked once, twice, then died. Again. For the third time in four days, the tiny seaside hamlet perched on the northern lip of St Paul’s Bay was plunged into darkness, taking with it fridges full of lampuki, the last two episodes of *Strada Stretta*, and whatever patience the village had left in reserve.

“This isn’t some back-of-beyond hamlet in Gozo,” fumed 67-year-old Marlene Pace, brandishing a candle like a microphone outside her shuttered townhouse on Triq it-Tuff. “We’re 200 metres from the main road to Mellieħa, and we’re living like it’s 1952.”

In a country where the word *xemxija* itself means “sunny place”, the irony is not lost on locals that their power supply is anything but reliable. Enemalta has attributed the latest spate of blackouts to an underground cable fault near the Roman apiaries—those 2,000-year-old beehive huts that lure tour buses and Instagrammers alike. Yet residents say temporary generators parked behind the Dolmen Hotel are coughing more smoke than current, and the utility’s SMS updates arrive two hours after the lights go out, usually just as power is restored.

The cuts have become a daily guessing game. Fishermen setting off at 4 a.m. return to find freezers defrosted and the day’s catch spoiled. At the family-run kiosk overlooking the bay, Joseph “Ġoxxi” Borg has started selling lukewarm *ħobż biż-żejt* because the toaster oven refuses to fire up. “Tourists ask if we’re having some sort of national emergency,” he laughs, but the humour is wearing thin.

Cultural calendar under threat
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In a village whose identity is stitched together by festa, the timing is disastrous. The Feast of St Anne, due in three weeks, usually sees the narrow lanes strung with 3,000 bulbs, brass bands marching from the parish square, and pyro-technicians rehearsing petards over the water. Organisers now fear the *marċ tal-banda* could be reduced to an acoustic stroll if the sound system keeps cutting out. “You can’t have *Innu lil Sant’Anna* accompanied by a backup generator that sounds like a fishing boat,” sighs Marouska Camilleri, president of the local youth section.

Meanwhile, the archaeological walking trail that winds past the Roman baths and Neolithic silos—one of Malta’s lesser-known open-air museums—has lost its evening luster. Without the soft spotlights that normally illuminate the honey-colored limestone, dusk visitors are choosing Paceville instead. “Dark heritage is not the kind we signed up to promote,” jokes a Malta Tourism Authority guide, half-seriously.

Community pulls together
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If there is a silver filament to the blackout, it is the sudden surge of neighbourliness. Families who hadn’t spoken since the 2019 *festa* rivalry are swapping phone numbers and WhatsApp groups titled “Xemxija Power Watch” have mushroomed. Pensioner Ġużeppi Micallef has taken to playing acoustic guitar on his balcony each sunset, serenading the street until the lights flicker back. Children who usually disappear behind PlayStation screens now chase each other by torchlight, their parents sharing bottles of *Kinnie* and gossip.

But solidarity only stretches so far. Business owners along the seafront are tallying losses: ice-cream parlours with melting inventory, Airbnb hosts facing refund demands, and the boutique hotel that promised honeymooners a jacuzzi with a view—now just a view of darkness. “We’re looking at €3,000 in compensation this month alone,” says hotelier Karl Grech. “Enemalta says ‘force majeure’; I say ‘force majeure needs a deadline’.”

Politicians, sensing the mood, have descended like seagulls on an open packet of Twistees. Opposition MP Stanley Zammit toured the bayfront with a camera crew, promising a parliamentary question. Tourism Minister Clayton Bartolo pledged an emergency fund, though details remain as murky as the unlit alleyways. Even the parish priest, Fr Karm, weighed in during Sunday Mass, urging “patience and prudence”, a plea met with more murmurs than amens.

Enemalta, for its part, insists the fault will be fully repaired “within 72 hours—weather permitting”. An engineer at the site told *Hot Malta* that crews are working 14-hour shifts inside Roman-era catacombs no wider than a *ħobża*. “We’re literally threading cable through history,” he said, sweat dripping onto 1st-century pottery.

As the sun set once more over the bay—turning the water the colour of warmed honey—the lights blinked on, then off, then on again. A cheer rippled down the street, half relief, half resignation. For now, Xemxija waits, candles at the ready, hoping that the *xemx* they’re named after can be matched by a current that stays switched on.