My severely blocked nose and terrible sinusitis have been the bane of my life last week. Apart from the fact that everyone was making me stay away from them the length of a bargepole, I was also suffering from an awkward speech impediment.

Did we leave Għar Dalam more knowledgeable about the story of the individuals who lived there in the past?- Kristina Chetcuti

This is me after a press conference one day last week: “Brime Binister, are you bonitoring the Labour Barty’s brobosals?”, and again after another one: “Dr Buscat where do you blan to set ub the solar barks?”

Whenever I phoned the newsdesk with updates, my colleague at the other end of the line had to pause in her typing: “I’m having to translate all these ‘b’s and try and guess what you mean.”

So on to today’s topic which is buseums, or as you will know them, museums.

I write this because this has been a record year for tourists – and next year is likely to be another one. And given that we’re trying to harp on our heritage and not lure them here just because of the sun and sea, I think we are short-changing our tourists.

The other day, we went to Għar Dalam. I do admit to hyping it all up on our way there: “It’s one of Malta’s deepest caves!”; “It used to be the house of our Bronze Age great-grandparents!”; “They even found real elephant remains!” By the time we got there, my six-year-old daughter was expecting to see a T-Rex rummaging in the valley.

So the disappointment was Jurassic. We got there; we went in through the turnstile. On the left, there was a room, freshly painted in bright yellow (what’s it with this ‘trendy’ yellow paint these days?), and several blown-up pictures of animals – which may or may not still live in Malta: it’s the visitor’s guess. On the right, there’s the exhibition room from my childhood: Temi Zammit’s 1920s showcases exhibiting row upon row of teeth and bones.

Then we went down to the cave. Not much information here either, apart from bits of laminated paper stuck to the layers off the walking plank, reading: ‘Hippopotamus layer’ and ‘Elephant layer’, and so on and so forth. What is the visitor to make of that?

We walked as far back as we were allowed to go in. And then we turned back.

“What’s there in there? Why can’t we keep on going?” my daughter asked. The only explanation was a ‘Danger!’ sign.

Did we leave Għar Dalam more knowledgeable about the story of the individuals who lived there in the past? Were they the only people in the area? Did they have animals? How did they socialise? What did they eat? What did they wear? Were those midget elephants dangerous?

There’s no need for any fancy budgets, really, to make it more interesting. All that needs to be done is to turn one of the exhibiting rooms into an explanation area, which would include a well-researched, fun, 3D movie on the era.

The other room could be used as a hands-on space where children could be shown how to kindle a real fire, what to do with wild berries you pick from the bushes, and how to sew on garment from a leather piece. Għar Dalam is not the only bland museum on the island. When I went to Tarxien Temples and asked if they have some information aimed at children, I was told: “We have some drawing paper if you like”. The Natural History Museum in Mdina is another big bore; the National Museum of Art in Valletta is one big sore.

Let me be clear: none are in a shabby state, and they are all well cared for – and I know for a fact that the curators all do their utmost – and even some miracles given their budgets. But we clearly need to be investing more in museums.

Our tourists are arriving on site, we’re plopping them an audio tape in their hands, and voilà, we think we’re sorted.

It’s a shame. When I was young, museums were places with an air of a government office about them. To a certain extent they still are. Small museums in the backstreets of European cities made me realise that museums ought to feel like you’re opening a book and reading a story.

What we need is an injection: each and every museum needs to become less of a treasure chest and more of a social place, where humane stories are told.

We are lucky in that our museums are already small, so they are the perfect size for individual stories and don’t need vast budgets to improve.

It would not only make our tourists happier, but also us as visitors – because we would be able to experience the ‘bast’ come to life in a ‘bleasant’ way.

krischetcuti@gmail.com