Big Tom the Maltese donkey finally moves: How Marsa’s stubborn celebrity sparked island-wide joy

# Big Tom finally finds his mojo: How Malta’s most stubborn donkey became the island’s unlikeliest celebrity

**By [Hot Malta Staff] | Tuesday, 11 June 2025**

Marsa’s Sunday market used to be famous for two things: knock-off Ray-Bans and the unmistakable sound of Big Tom’s theatrical braying. For seven years the oversized donkey—part tourist photo-prop, part neighbourhood nuisance—has stood at the same dusty junction, ears flattened, refusing to budge for anyone except the carrot lady from Żejtun. This week, something shifted. Big Tom moved. Voluntarily. And in true Maltese fashion, the whole island is treating it like festa fireworks.

“Kif? He walked three metres without a bribe?” asked 83-year-old Ġanni ta’ Ċikku, who has sold pastizzi opposite the animal for two decades. “That’s like seeing a PN-PL coalition. Miracolu!”

Local legend claims Big Tom arrived in 2018 after a farmer from Rabat lost a bet on the Malta-England match. Others insist he was abandoned by a Russian influencer who discovered Airbnb doesn’t accept livestock. Whatever the back-story, the donkey quickly became a four-legged metaphor for the nation’s stubborn streak: loveable, exasperating, impossible to ignore.

Children christened him “Big Tom” because, at 1.6 metres tall, he blocks the entire pedestrian crossing when he decides to nap. Attempts to relocate him to the animal sanctuary in Żurrieq failed spectacularly; Tom simply lay down in the motorway slip-road until traffic police reopened his favourite patch of asphalt. Even the hunting lobby stayed quiet—everyone recognised that shooting the country’s most obstinate mammal would be worse than touching the Triton fountain naked.

Then, last Saturday evening, social media exploded. A 19-second TikTok shows Tom trotting—actually trotting—towards a group of Ukrainian students playing ħabbata (traditional Maltese drumming) beside the market’s vegan stall. Ears forward, tail up, he nuzzles the smallest drum and lets out a satisfied grunt. The clip has 1.2 million views and counting, soundtracked by a remixed version of “Viva l-Malta” that’s already blasting from Paceville bars.

Within hours, someone erected a hand-painted sign: “Big Tom’s Mojo Zone – Carrots €1, Selfies Free”. Mayor Aaron Aquilina visited, praising the donkey for “exemplifying Marsa’s resilient spirit”. One entrepreneurial teenager set up a mobile pastizzi cart called “Tom’s Trotters”, selling carrot-flavoured pastries that taste suspiciously like regular peas. Meanwhile, NGOs are debating whether the sudden fame counts as animal exploitation or wholesome community therapy.

“Malta is stressed—construction dust, utility bills, Eurovision disappointment,” explains sociologist Dr. Dorianne Bonello. “Big Tom’s tiny rebellion reminds us we can still surprise ourselves. Even if movement is only three metres, it’s movement.”

The shift has tangible ripple effects. Market vendors report 40% higher footfall; tour operators now run “Big Tom Walking Tours” culminating in carrot-feeding photo ops. The Malta Tourism Authority is considering a bronze statue—“interactive, like the Love sign in Gżira”—while activists warn against turning a spontaneous moment into another souvenir trap.

Yet the donkey’s newfound swagger is also reshaping local habits. Children who once pelted him with crisps now arrive with carrot sticks and lectures on dental care. Elderly Marsa residents, historically divided along political colour lines, share benches to debate Tom’s preferred brand of hay. Even the ubiquitous roadside hunters have paused, if only because Big Tom’s fan club planted potted geraniums where cages used to stand.

Back at the market, Tom blinks against the June sun, indifferent to his insta-fame. A toddler waddles forward, offers a wilted leaf, and receives a gentle nuzzle. “Mummy, he moved!” she squeals. Yes, he did. And for a small island perpetually arguing about everything from tunnel routes to tuna quotas, that small step feels like a communal exhale.

As the church bells strike seven and the scent of rabbit stew drifts from nearby apartments, one thing is clear: Big Tom hasn’t just found his mojo—he’s handed the island a rare, uncomplicated joy. In a week, we might return to fuel prices and festa politics. But today, Malta celebrates a donkey who decided life is worth the trot.