The vegetable vendor's truck is a common sight on the streets of many villages. And the gas man's undeniable loud horn still announces his arrival on designated days of the week. Within most parts of Malta, this is all that survives of the local street vendor. No lady with a pram comes to our door selling fresh goats cheese, eggs, capers and prickly pears anymore, as she did when I was a child. And I haven't seen a kerosene truck in decades. In fact, whatever happened to the Maltese street vendor?

During a two-year stint living in the village core of Gharghur, I was able to experience true village life in Malta. It is starkly different from town or suburb life, in that village people still live according to tradition. Contrary to modern residential areas, in the village core, neighbours are very much involved in each others' lives: men meet at the kazin to gossip over tea in a glass, and women take chairs outside someone's house to gossip in the cool evening air. 

And I quickly realised that here, the street vendor hadn't died out. The trend may have changed, but the culture survives. Every Wednesday, the square in front of the Oratory became a little marketplace of street vendors. There was the van selling household goods and detergents, complete with green shading for customers. There was another selling fresh fish. The man with a donkey selling bigilla (Maltese bean paste) was replaced by a shiny van with a recorded audio call.

One Maltese saying states “the call is half the sale“ (“l-għajta hija nofs il-bejgħ”), indicating the recognisable calls, horns and tunes that street vendors use to announce their presence, attracting custom. As a proverb, it points at the necessity to do your bit in order to gain a return. 

Street vendors (bejjiegħa tat-toroq) emerged a long time ago as a clever marketing tactic. During bygone times, when transportation was limited and it was a hassle to go on foot to other villages to purchase goods, street vendors made buying and selling easier by moving their products from village to village. Come rain or shine, on the designated day of the week, the street vendor would appear to serve the household needs of eager housewives.

Men carried their ware on their heads or shoulders, in cotton bays or cane buckets. Women balanced goods on their heads on a round turban or carried bundles. They also used pushchairs, small hand-pulled carts and large karts pulled by donkeys or mules. That's when the famous Maltese door-knob came in handy, to tie the animal while serving customers. Gradually, carts and donkeys gave way to vans and trucks, and the vendor's personal call replaced by a handy recorded audio. But you can still see traditional nougat sellers' carts at village feasts all over the island.

Products varied immensely: freshly squeezed milk, goats cheeselets, eggs, ice cream, seasonal produce, fresh fish, bread, street food, perfumed soap, household goods, home decorations, kerosene, brooding hens... you name it. Some vendors even provided a service, such as knife sharpening.

Today, the Maltese street vendor has evolved and changed, just like everything else. The man who brought his goat to your door to milk it fresh may be gone, but the doughnut van with the catchy jingle everyone sings in mockery has appeared, so there is hope still. Let's hope it will not be too soon before goods are only available from large department stores!