Maybe it’s time we changed our national insect from a honeybee to a locust, since it’s the latter that devours almost everything in its path

I’ve often written about the prospective ruin of Gozo; I didn’t expect it to happen so fast or to such cheery acclaim. Maybe it’s time we changed our national insect from a honeybee to a locust, since it’s the latter that devours almost everything in its path.

I am angry. But underneath that fury is a futile, frustrated sadness for our little sister island. Yet another of our spaces starting to heave under the weight of greed.

Gozo used to be a haven. Small but proud, it was the land where Calypso fell in love with Odysseus. When it was emptied of its men who went to Australia and Canada in search of work, it filled with quirky foreigners who loved the old limestone dwellings, full of character. They planted colourful flowers and painted their doors colours that had previously only been seen in other ‘exotic’ countries like Morocco. But most importantly, many of them respected what they found and were determined to protect it.

Then came the boom of the 1990s,

and more and more Maltese people wanted a piece of the pie. Through this, Gozo still remained a charmed place. Our seven-headed construction beast was still a baby then. Little did anyone know how insatiable its appetite would grow over the next 30 years.

I remember the one time of year when you had to queue for hours to get to Gozo – Santa Marija. Then the Maltese discovered the Nadur carnival, and it became twice a year, and now it’s every single weekend. My mother queued for hours just to visit her own mother this week. I drove to Ċirkewwa myself one random morning and turned back again when

I saw the throngs of people in front of me, and last week, a close friend did the same and missed seeing his distraught grandmother.

Triq it-Tiġrija has become permanently jammed: a few weeks ago, I was stuck there for half an hour, unable to move in any direction. I have slowly but surely come to a point where I dread the thought of visiting my extended family for a few hours because I feel like I’m journeying to Mordor.

I want to make it perfectly clear. I don’t blame the Maltese for coming. I don’t blame them for buying the only houses they could afford on the sister island because they became priced out of their own towns. I also don’t blame them for trying to seek peace and refuge in Gozo for a few days when its big sister has become so loud, ugly and expensive. The issue I have is that Gozo is being made as chaotic as Malta and I am furious at the authorities for allowing this to happen.

It remains incredible to me that despite the cautionary tale we are currently living in, the cranes keep coming to sleepy villages, bringing their dust, their noise and their so-called progress. I took a wrong turning a few weeks ago in one of the most picturesque villages Gozo boasts and I couldn’t believe the ugliness I saw before me. The jutting concrete was like a cancer choking the smaller buildings around it.

We are unworthy stewards, and if the world doesn’t end in a few short years because some old, demented fool, drunk on power, decides to push a button, our descendants will not thank us for what we have done and continue to do.

Look around you. Is this really what you want?