BOV Locks of Love: How Bank Employees Are Weaving Hope Into Malta’s Cancer Care

**BOV Locks of Love: How Bank Employees Are Weaving Hope Into Malta’s Cancer Care**

Sliema’s Bank of Valletta headquarters usually hums with the rustle of statements and the clack of keyboards, but last Friday the ground-floor foyer echoed with a softer sound: the snip of scissors and the hush of anticipation. Thirteen BOV employees – tellers, analysts, IT staff and branch managers – lined up beneath the company’s blue-and-white logo and watched years of ponytails, curls and waist-length waves fall to the floor. By lunchtime, 220 centimetres of Maltese hair had been bagged, labelled and couriered to the Puttinu Cares wig-making workshop in Santa Venera, ready to be transformed into free, real-hair prosthetics for local cancer patients.

In a country where 1,800 new oncology cases are diagnosed every year – and where chemotherapy remains the frontline defence for aggressive leukaemia and breast cancers – the demand for natural wigs far outstrips supply. “Synthetic pieces cost the hospital €600 each and last six months,” explains Marica Cassar, Puttinu’s wig coordinator. “A custom-made human-hair wig lasts three years, breathes in our humidity and, most importantly, lets a woman feel like herself again when she walks into her village festa.” Cassar’s waiting list currently holds 42 names, ranging from a 9-year-old Gozitan girl battling Hodgkin lymphoma to a 67-year-old grandmother from Żejtun who refused to miss her grandson’s June wedding.

BOV’s “Grow, Don’t Throw” campaign began as an internal Earth-Day challenge in 2021, when staff were encouraged to ditch single-use plastics. Employee and avid gardener Claire Grech jokingly asked if “biodegradable hair” counted. The joke snowballed into a WhatsApp group called BOV Rapunzels, where staff shared shampoo tips, trim reminders and photos of awkward mid-grow mullets. “Every time someone asked why my hair was suddenly so long, I’d say it’s for Puttinu,” laughs Grech, who donated 28 cm on Friday. “By the end I felt like a walking charity billboard.”

The initiative taps into a deep Maltese tradition: the island’s oldest ex-voto paintings show women shearing their hair as thanksgiving for healing miracles. In 1951, Għarb villagers did the same when local nun Maria Adeodata was beatified, sending the plaits to Rome to be woven into liturgical vestments. Today’s BOV donors update the ritual with Instagram reels set to Dripht’s “Tribali” and TikTok clips filmed by colleagues on lunch break. “We’re literally giving a part of ourselves,” says IT developer Luke Azzopardi, the only male donor, who sported a man-bun for 30 months. “My nonna kept her rosary in her hairnet; I guess I’m keeping the faith in a different way.”

The bank sweetened the deal with an extra day of volunteer leave for anyone who met the 25-centimetre minimum, but organisers insist the incentive was never the driver. “Maltese employees rank second in Europe for corporate volunteering hours,” notes BOV CSR manager Roberta Bajada, citing a 2023 Deloitte study. “We just gave the hair a destination.” The company also covered the €45 per wig sterilisation fee, expected to total €585 for this batch.

Local salons quickly stepped in. Hairdressing chain Francesco Group closed three outlets on Saturday morning to offer free chic cuts to the donors, turning the usual €45 styling fee into a €600 charity voucher. “We’ve seen a 20 % spike in clients asking how to grow their hair strong enough to donate,” says stylist Kim Borg from the Sliema salon. “Argan oil is flying off the shelves.”

For patients, the impact is immediate. Marthese Camilleri, 38, of Marsascala, was fitted with a BOV-funded wig in March after aggressive chemo left her bald days before her daughter’s First Holy Communion. “I didn’t want Chiara’s photos to be of a sick mummy,” she says, voice cracking. “When I walked into the church, no one stared. That’s the gift anonymity gives you.”

Puttinu hopes the BOV example will spread. “If every company with 200 employees produced just two donors a year, we’d clear our waiting list,” Cassar says. The NGO will hold its next public hair-drive during the Nadur Carnival, turning the usually irreverent spontaneous float fest into a stage for solidarity. Until then, the 13 BOV plaits – ranging from chestnut to platinum – sit in labelled paper bags, ready to be washed, combed and wefted into someone’s second chance at dignity.

As Claire Grech left the foyer, her new bob still flecked with confetti-like strands, a colleague asked if she’d start growing again. “Already am,” she grinned, flicking what little remained of her ponytail. “See you in 2026.”