A chunky padlock clicks open, followed by the creaking sound of a sliding metal gate, and a pack of journalists and photographers stream into the Safi detention centre.
Some of the residents are still asleep, half-naked on their bunk beds, but their eyes soon squint open as cameras start flashing and shuttering all around them.
One of the deeper sleepers – a young man who ditched his bed for the cooler concrete floor – is awoken by a gentle kick by one of the more jovial soldiers. Still clearly in his teens, the young man springs to his feet and runs to the back of the room to hide from all the attention.
I am eating three times a day and sleeping very well
“This is where we keep the males,” says an army officer just before we enter, without any hint of irony.
“The females are kept in the other blocks at Ħal Far,” the well-meaning officer adds, oblivious to the fact that his words risked being misinterpreted.
He speaks in English because the group includes international reporters whose editors must have noted Prime Minister Joseph Muscat’s foot-stamping last week.
Organised by the Home Affairs Ministry, the tour of the detention centres gave journalists the chance to speak to some of the hundreds of migrants who landed here this month – already one of the busiest on record.
Among them were those whom Dr Muscat last week threatened to deport back to Libya. However, the ones who spoke to Times of Malta did not seem to know anything about the controversy that made international headlines. A 16-year-old who arrived on that day did not recall any mention of Libya and only remembers detention.
“We were just considering all options,” the ministry’s spokeswoman insisted with journalists upon entering the detention centre, overlooking the fact that advanced plans for repatriation were blocked by the European Court of Human Rights.
The visit seemed to have been intended to send a clear message by the Government.
“Almost all bed space is taken up. We will have a serious problem if another boat arrives.”
The centre is undoubtedly crowded, hot and putrid, but most of the residents seem quite unperturbed. “It is a very good life here,” says Ahmed Mohammed Abdul, 22, from Somalia.
“I am eating three times a day, sleeping very well and nobody is trying to kill me,” he adds.
As he speaks to the cameras, dozens of other young men are momentarily distracted away from the Spaghetti Western running on a 16-inch television set.
Most of them are dressed in plain T-shirts, yellow and orange, but others just wrap white sheets around their waists to keep cool. The warehouse where they are accommodated is equipped with ceiling fans but they are too high to have much of an impact.
“I love this country so much. This is my second country,” Mr Abdul adds.
Equally enthusiastic to be safely away from his “damaged” home country, a 20-year-old Eritrean praises the army for rescuing him from a sinking boat around 10 days ago.
“Malta is a good country,” he says, his only complaint being the grouping of Eritreans and Somalis together. This prompted several fights over the cleaning and watching TV – a fight broke out just hours after the journalists departed, leaving about 20 migrants injured.
Compared to previous visits to detention centres, the feeling of desperation did not weigh heavily in the air. Most of the migrants were happy to be alive and, crucially, most had only been detained for a few days or weeks, a far cry from the 12-month maximum period of detention stipulated by law.
Hibo Arab, a 25-year-old Somali woman, had a markedly different attitude from the rest. She and her husband have been detained for four months at the Ħal Far centre for women, couples and families.
They have just learned that their request for asylum was rejected.
“I am not feeling well,” she says. “I came to Malta for protection but they already rejected me.”
She says she must now “serve her time” at the detention centre, her plan to start a life in Europe already shattered.
“I want to stay in Malta because there is no peace in my country. I cannot get an education or work experience. I had a plan to improve my education, language skills and everything. Now I have no plan.”
Amal Hussein, a 17-year-old girl from Somalia, is still hanging on to hers.
“This is better than Libya,” she says after singing traditional chants with around 20 other smiling young women eager to entertain. “Libya feels like being in a chain. The boys and girls are not treated the same.”
“In Malta, boys and girls are the same,” she says, adding that she is looking forward to getting the education she was never able to get in Somalia.
“In my country, there is no peace. I am here for peace,” she adds, with an expectant and beaming smile.