Dutch mum’s 60-second Maltese lessons take Malta by storm: 1.3 million views and counting

**‘Even my children’s classmates learn with us’: expat’s Maltese lessons go viral**

Sliema living-room becomes unlikely national classroom as 34-year-old Dutch mother’s free Maltese videos reach 1.3 million views in six months.

On a narrow street better known for overpriced gelato than language revival, Kim van der Klooster has accidentally become Malta’s most-watched teacher. What began as a WhatsApp voice-note to help her eight-year-old twins keep up with homework has exploded into a daily, 60-second phenomenon that even Education Minister Clifton Grima admits he “binges on the way to Castille”.

“One day my son came home crying because the class had sung ‘Ġuġu għandu ballun’ and he didn’t know the words,” the former Utrecht primary-school teacher laughs, stirring a pot of kawlata while her phone pings with 200 new follower requests. “I recorded a quick explanation of ‘għandu’ versus ‘għandi’, sent it to three other expat mums, and by supper the clip had 15 000 views.”

Six months later @MaltaWithKim counts 127 000 followers—more people than live in Birkirkara. Videos shot between laundry loads cover everything from the silent “ħ” to why “mela” can be a prayer, a swear or a full sentence. The hashtag #SpeakLikeALocal tops 4.2 million impressions, outrunning both #PastizziTok and #GozoWeekend.

Local linguists say the timing is no accident. “We’ve never had a moment like this,” explains Dr. Lara Sciberras, sociolinguist at the University of Malta. “After decades of English prestige, pandemic isolation made people realise language is identity. Suddenly a foreigner is giving us permission to treasure our own tongue.”

Indeed, Maltese comments outweigh English under every clip. Eighty-three-year-old Ġorġ from Żejtun posts daily corrections—politely—while teenagers request dialect battles: “Kim, teach us Gozitan next!” Even the National Literacy Agency has slid into her DMs, asking to repurpose content for state schools.

The impact is visible beyond algorithms. Toy shops report a 40 % spike in Maltese-language board games. The Valletta bookstore Sapienza sold out of children’s Maltese dictionaries for the first time since 2011. “Customers say, ‘My kids saw it on TikTok’,” manager Ramona Azzopardi grins. “We’re restocking weekly.”

Restaurants are cashing in too. Sliema café Mint plastered its menu with QR codes linking to Kim’s pronunciation guides; sales of ftira topped with kunserva surged 25 %. “Tourists love ordering in Maltese now,” waiter Miguel Camilleri says. “They feel like insiders.”

Yet the grassroots ripple reaches deeper. In September, Kim launched free Sunday classes in the band club of her adopted parish, Stella Maris. Folding chairs designed for festa committee meetings now host 45 nationalities. Classes open with the Maltese alphabet sung to the tune of “Brother John”; by week three, Brazilian au pairs and Bangladeshi chefs are debating whether “jien” or “jiena” sounds friendlier.

“Even my children’s classmates learn with us,” Kim smiles, pointing to a corner where two Maltese kids help Syrian refugees trill the “r” in “ħobż”. “The other day a Maltese mum told me her son finally speaks to his nanna in Maltese instead of answering in English. That’s the real metric.”

Not everyone is thrilled. Some Facebook purists accuse her of “dumbing down” a Semitic language older than the Knights. “I got death threats over ‘mela’,” she shrugs. “But most Maltese are protective in a loving way—they want their language to survive.”

Economists see a soft-power bonus. “Language is the new tourism frontier,” says Dr. Stephanie Fabri. “If visitors leave speaking ten Maltese words, they’re likelier to return. Kim is doing what €3 million ad campaigns couldn’t.”

Government is taking note. Parliamentary Secretary for Citizenship Alex Muscat confirms talks are under way for Kim to front a national “Speak Maltese, Share Malta” campaign targeting foreign residents. “She’s given us free branding worth millions,” he admits.

Back in the living-room, Kim’s twins practise rolling “ħ” while editing tonight’s clip. The caption is already drafted: “Lesson 182: how to wish someone happy birthday like you mean it.” In the comments, Maltese emigrants in Toronto and Melbourne wait patiently, hungry for the cadence of home.

For a country that exports sunshine and imports everything else, the maths is simple: one expat, two phones, 400 years of history, now trending. Mela—what took us so long?