If I’m honest, I almost didn’t write this post. In 2019 I experienced my first Holy Week in Birgu: bells ringing, flags flying, pageantry and processions. There was a palpable sense of a community united by shared traditions and beliefs. This year there was very little of that public display, and, although I know why it was necessary, I found it hard to hide my disappointment.
It’s not that the traditional activities didn’t take place. It’s that they all occurred without the active participation of the residents of the city, who were asked to stay at home. The churches were closed to the public and Mass was live-streamed to worshippers via social media.
Inside, however, the priests of St. Lawrence did not give up on their traditions. Starting on Palm Sunday, they maintained the kwaranturi, a forty-hour vigil of adoration at the altar. At the end of the kwaranturi the usual procession took place, carrying the Sacrament into Victory Square, but this year only three people participated and the square remained empty.
Other events were similarly sparse. On Good Friday there is usually a procession that winds its way around the streets of the whole city. A brass band plays and hundreds of local people of all ages create a pageant, enacting characters from both Old and New Testaments and carrying statues that demonstrate different events from the Gospels. This year there was no such procession. Instead the Arch-priest of the Church of St. Lawrence carried a crucifix around the city. He was the central figure in a parade of only three men. Ten metres ahead of him a man played a single hand drum. Ten metres behind a second priest marked the end of the pageant.
The traditions of Easter Sunday were also somewhat diminished. Usually a statue of the Risen Christ, L-Irxoxt, is carried around the city at shoulder height by a group of ten or so men, running in hundred-metre bursts. The residents of Birgu, and many of those who were born here but later moved away, gather in the square to welcome L-Irxoxt at the end of the first dash from St. Lawrence Church. This year there was no gathering and no running. The statue was instead placed on the High Altar of the church.
As on Good Friday, though, the clergy still came out of the church. Taking separate routes, two priests traversed the city, blessing parishioners who stood waiting at their door and windows, or on their balconies.
The thing that changed my mind about writing this post, however, was what happened on the night of Easter Saturday. Usually, the Eve of the Resurrection is marked by the century-old tradition of Il-Begigga. I’m not sure how the tradition started – if anybody can add information in the comments that would be great – but what happens seems to be pretty clear. After Mass on the evening of Easter Saturday, people take to the streets with drums and indeed anything that allows them to celebrate in as noisy a way as possible.
This was one tradition that the people of Birgu did not give up on this year. Of course the streets were not thronged with people, but the tradition was maintained in a manner fitting to the current situation. A pick-up truck drove around the city with a man on the back banging a drum. A convoy of cars followed, hooting horns. Bells rang. People stood at their doors or on their balconies making as much noise as possible. Pan lids as make-shift cymbals were popular, and near me a lone trumpet added to the din. And of course, there were fireworks. I felt better that night than I had since the start of self-isolation.
This sense of community is also being encouraged today. It is the 15th of the month, and exactly two months before the celebration of the 200th anniversary of the Church of St. Lawrence being elevated to collegiate status. In a simple Facebook post last night, city residents were urged not to forget the occasion. They were notified that many of the planned activities would not take place, and urged to stay at home. But at the same time, those who could were encouraged to mark the day by flying flags over their houses.
Birgu is a city that has taken the guidelines for social isolation very seriously. The streets are deserted. Cafés, bars and clubs are all closed. Many of our traditions are on hold. But behind closed doors, this is a community that continues to thrive, and I suspect that we will emerge from this period of hibernation stronger than ever.
In brief: The tradition of beggiga started some 90 odd years ago. Apparently a man by the nickname of beggiga had a goat. The law was that when in public the goat had to be kept on a leash and have a muzzle, unfortunatly the owner (beggiga) failed to do so therefore the police confiscated the goat. During the traditional beating of the drum on easter Saturday of that year the people teased beggiga and during the beating of the drum the people chanted haduilu lil beggiga haduilu (which means taken from beggiga taken referring to the goat)…….my personal opinion is, that i have the feeling that beggiga was a bit of a village idiot…….. this is just a brief explanation and hope it helps. 🙂
Finally managed to add this very interesting blog to my RSS-reader in order not to miss an article in the future. Worth reading if you want to know more about daily life and hidden treasures in this lovely city (which is in fact more a village – but don’t tell the residents).