The kite runner

Leli Psaila, known as Lino, is stripping and sticking coloured kite paper, pulling strings and shaving cane in his garage in Żejtun, practically with his eyes closed. Within 20 minutes, his manuċċa is ready to fly and it is unlikely to take a nosedive.

After all, he has been busy making kites for the last 55 years, since he was 10, and, although he does not readily admit it, he is not only an expert but also probably the only one left.

His is a passion that dates back half a century but does not seem to be shared by many today. When Mr Psaila was a boy, parents would ask him to make kites for their children, who were not as adept. Nowadays, however, these requests do not fly in but it is not because the others have improved. Neither is it a question of money.

Business is just not in his nature... Back then, Mr Psaila did it in exchange for an extra sheet of kite paper, which cost a penny at the time but was still more than he could afford. Today, if he makes someone a kite, it is still for a sheet of the coloured paper "and, sometimes, some tobacco because people know I like my pipe and want to give me more".

At most, he gets a request to make a kite for a football team during a World Cup and, sometimes, he ropes in his granddaughters to help.

His is a love and he has never looked at the commercial aspect of making kites. That passion does not stop at their creation either: Mr Psaila takes pleasure in flying his "babies" plus he has also competed in the past and even broken records. The last was back in 1976 when he managed to fly 565 in a row on one string. If he could, he would break that too, upping the kites to 1,000. But it would be impossible to beat the world record of 11,000 kites because the Maltese cane is not flexible enough and cannot be cut to such short lengths. Mr Psaila would have to get his hands on the Asian version but he does not think it is feasible.

At the end of the day, it is not the trophies he is attached to. Over the years, he has only kept two, preferring to deposit the rest in a skip rather than watching them collect dust. But he has kept boxes of kites, which he lets loose now and again. It is no simple procedure as they "first need to go through ITU and then again before I put them back". They are fragile creations and he knows that, no matter how much he takes care of them, they are still made of paper.

Not a day goes by that the former blacksmith at the Public Works Department and part-time fisherman does not go to his garage, at least to admire his manuċċi (in the Żejtun dialect), neatly folded away.

He never tires of his hobby and has a stock of kite paper that has lasted seven years. Then, 500 sheets would cost him about €15; today, they are more than triple the price and he does not plan to replenish the way he did then.

The themes are also endless and the internet is a means of research that offers the "world in my hands". Although he is not particularly interested in history, he has sets of the coats-of-arms of every grandmaster, of the major British warships of World War II and even of the German U-boats, which did not go down too well. Mr Psaila recalls that he had received applause when he was once flying the British warship kites but when he displayed the U-boats, an English couple told him he should be ashamed of himself and stormed off after he retorted that the reason the Germans had bombed Malta was due to its colonisation by the British. "I have great respect for the men in the iron coffins," says the man who also loves the sea.

Kite flying is not such a passive pastime after all... And it is not hard for Mr Psaila to describe the pleasure: "I'm like a baby... They are my flying babies; coloured angels. I just love them..."

He does not fiercely guard the secret to his successful kites, which left him a cut above the other kids. On the contrary, he would happily teach anyone who knocked at his door and pass on the passion.

In fact, Mr Psaila recently participated in a Żejtun local council activity when he demonstrated the art. And to increase its popularity, he has suggested the organisation of a competition for the children of the locality, promising to supply all the kites.

"The trick is not in the paper," he reveals. "It lies in the balance and proportions of the rods", something he was taught by an expert cousin of his grandfather's, who laughed when he saw his first attempt and showed him how to split the cane.

"My first ones fell too," he admits. But following the instructions, his kite "stayed in the sky and was beautiful".

Today, if he loses a kite, it is disappointing but it is also "part of the game". However, he does admit to shedding several tears the last time half a 300-piece kite was gone with the wind.

"I did not expect it and must have made a mistake somewhere, tying the nylon too tight," he explains of the fine-tuned process of making a kite, which comes so naturally to him.

Kite making and flying was what constituted Mr Psaila's playtime. Back then, no antennas got in his way and he could just go on his parents' roof. Today, his own would be the first to create an obstacle if he decided to fly a kite when the wind was blowing in a particular direction.

His rooftop remains an option even though, back in the 1970s, when he was flying a 150-piece kite using a system of brass swivels, he found several police cars at his door and a helicopter hovering overhead. He thought someone had been hurt but, in reality, the kite had been spotted on the airport radar, preventing a plane from taking off and raising suspicion of unidentified flying objects... until it was determined there was nothing alien about Mr Psaila, harmlessly flying his kites.