Leigh-Anne Hunter discovers generations of imaginative kite-makers upholding familial traditions at the Cape Town International Kite Festival Stepping into the small kite shop in Kommetjie is like smashing into a rainbow. Its owner, Philip "Kite Phil" Hattingh, an ageing hippy as vibrant as the kites he makes, is in his vegetable garden at the back of the shop, where strips of kite material cut to look like long grass wave in the wind among the radishes.He rides an old motorbike, lives in a friend's beach shack, man. It's how he can afford to keep the place going when so many other kite shops have buckled beneath the weight of cookie-cutter kites from China."Generally I get asked: 'How much is your cheapest kite?' You tell them R150 and they say, 'Whaaat? Are you mad? For a kite?' There are some kites you can buy that are cheaper than the fabric to make them."But making them is half the fun. "Have a look at this," he says. It's his latest project: a 77m centipede dragon kite. Named Delilah.She'll make her debut at the Cape Town International Kite Festival, just days away. It's where kiters from around the world come to show off their flying skills - and many, their mastery with a needle and thread. As one kite crafter tells me: "We're men who sew and we're proud of it."One of Hattingh's many talents is that he can sew and smoke at the same time. He puffs away, shifting the material (it billows right off the table) under the needle of his old Singer, his takkies pumping the pedals.mini_story_image_vleft1"See this knot here," he says. "That's the art of kite-making." It's called the towing point. "It determines what angle the kite sits into the wind. The attitude of the kite."The place is stuffed with them. Muscular box-shaped ones and cheerful Deltas that could cruise on a fart, and more in storage. "Under this table, I've got the biggest kite collection in the world made by any one person." His giant fish kite flew in Antarctica. "You could park three cars in it."He's been selling kites since the '70s. "I knew how to sew. I'd been making bikinis for years." There's been Hi-Falutin Kites. Highly-Strung Kites. And now, Far Out Kites - "until I saw the acronym and I thought I better change the name again". Fok it.His kites are hired for films. One, set in the 1930s, was shot on Muizenberg beach. Hattingh made kites to fit the era."Windless day, can you believe it. I'm struggling to keep up the kites, running back and forth. There's this short guy who keeps getting in my way. So I stood on his foot. To let him know it's my space. Later I asked the crew, "Who is that idiot?' They said, 'That's Tom.' I said, 'Tom who?' 'Tom Cruise.'" He chortles.Perhaps if he'd had time to look up from his sewing machine, he'd have known who Tom Cruise was. "I've tried so many other things. Just say no to kite-making, Phil. It keeps pulling me back. It's a rewarding thing, creating something. You're not moving digits around in cyberspace. You see the result of your labour. And my out-tray looks ... spectacular."He made his first kite at age six. In secret. "It wasn't cool for boys to sew. I had to mow the frickin' lawn.""I get asked. 'Is kiting good for bonding?' My ex-wife would laugh. 'Hold it the other way, you idiot!' Oh yes. Fantastic for bonding." So what's the appeal? "Kites come alive. You feel like a magician," he says, wiggling his fingers. "They bring out people's primal instinct. And ... you're totally at the mercy of the weather. I like that. It keeps you earthed."The wind picks up and Delilah's massive head swings on puppet-like strings. Her 154 feet are piled on Hattingh's workbench. "I've still got so much work to do on it. I'm probably going to make a complete spectacle of myself. I had a flash of Howard Hughes and his Spruce Goose."THE DAY OF THE KITE FESTIVAL It's a cold, grey morning and people are hauling their kites across Zandvlei Nature Reserve in Muizenberg. They've travelled here from all over the world. "I like being in ze fresh air. It's a good vay of life," says Bernd Halbeck, an engineer from Germany.A flying Dutchwoman says one reason she travels to kite festivals is to meet other kiters and share ideas, ja. "It's just good fun. We're spending our kids' inheritance," says Karl Longbottom, here from the UK with his wife, Sara. "We've done festivals in Australia, Thailand, Canada ..." Sara: "We're off to Norway soon."They celebrated their 34th wedding anniversary on the kite field. Sara: "I suspect Karl only takes me along because he can use the extra 30kg carry-on for more kites." Karl shrugs. "Kites and beer. They're the two things I obsess about."These are big kites. Show kites. They have to be anchored with sandbags. Sometimes, cars. One purist scowls. "Pff, these aren't real kites. They don't fly. They're just line laundry.""We're not taking chances this time," says Capetonian Ashley Ware-Lane, here with his wife Mari. "Last year we lost a Nemo and two parrots. Kites we'd made ourselves. It was traumatic. Mari cried all day."One man's wearing safety gear. The mark of the kiter: hand "roasties". "This line will shred your fingers. I've seen a fast-travelling line take off a car bumper."When they're not steering their super-sized creations, a lot of fliers here say they fly regular kites for relaxation. "Sometimes," says one, "when the wind is up, you can hear the kite sing."And then, there's Jacques Fourie. A four-line power-kiter, the 34-year-old from Gauteng packs his car with kites and chases the storms along the coast for kicks. Each line is designed to break at 320kg, he says. "Multiply that by four and you can imagine the force of it. You could be dragged into a tree or car if you're not careful." Another power-kiter calls it "the ultimate workout in the Southeaster, bro".There won't be any power moves today. There are bystanders, watching from behind a fence. As a wind-worn veteran says: "All you need is wind going in the wrong direction and it's absolute mayhem."full_story_image_hleft2The sky is a canopy of kites, all keeping their distance. If we were in India, you'd see fighter kites coated with crushed glass, slicing each other out of the sky. In some countries, competing teams make their kites jive to music.But here there's no trophy waiting for the most skilled flier, or the best kite. For kiters like Ian Islip from Parow, Cape Town, it's more about the joy of creating something, and seeing it fly. "It's an amazing feeling, like you've achieved something. Last year, when my giant worm came out, people streamed out to see it."Today he got up early and packed a monster octopus kite in his car boot. His latest showpiece. "It has 144 suckers." It took him days hunched behind his sewing machine to make, rock music blaring (it gets him in the mood to sew)."Sometimes I'm still busy at midnight. I sketch everything first. Otherwise you could end up with a big body and skinny arms."He taught himself to sew when he started making kites (he'd been flying them for years) as a hobby after being retrenched. "Some people make kites in big factories. I work from my garage. There's no end to this. All over the world, people are making kites you haven't even thought of."He's turned down offers on his. "It would be like giving away my own child." When it comes to talking kites, he lights up. "These are some of my spinners," he says, flipping through a photo album. "That's a six-metre man ... And that's my wife, Jenny." A puny figure at the foot of one of his kites. "I just kept going bigger and bigger." Jenny is his regular flying partner. "When it gets to 25m, you need the help."He squints up at the clouds. "The weather isn't too bad. Last year we had gale-force winds. One of my spinners broke loose and took out a fence. It was crazy. I wish we'd got it on YouTube. I think we would have been famous."KEEPING THE KITE-MAKING TRADITION ALIVEJust beyond the fenced-off kite field and the main road where hawkers are selling shiny kites from China, Ebrahim Sambo is teaching kids how to make a kite that dates back centuries.Thought to be the oldest kite in Africa, the Swaeltjie was brought to the Cape with slaves from Indonesia. Sambo's great-grandfather was one of them. "He taught my grandfather how to make it, who taught my father, who taught me."Now Sambo's passing on the skill to revive the tradition. He's 68, but so full of oomph, his eyes keen and bright as he talks, you'd think him younger.He grew up in District Six. "You had to amuse yourself with kites and marbles and skipping rope. Now kids amuse themselves with cellphones and drugs. I want to get them to do something with their hands, so they can become something."It's a tradition for the Sambos to get together to make the swallow-shaped kites in the days leading up to the festival every year. When I visited their Athlone home, the kites were half-built, their bamboo spines propped on a couch beneath the framed word "Allah", in Arabic."My granddaughter nags me every year: 'When are you going to start making kites, Oupa?'"full_story_image_hleft3UNUSUAL KITES APLENTYInside the VIP tent of the festival, kiters are taking a break, talking wind speed and sewing. "Funtastic finish, 'ey. You use a roller, yeah?" "Ja, ja, it's hell on ze shoulders."Martin Völker, a notary from Germany, has about 400 kites in his collection. "I sew on weekends and in my spare time." Every kiter wants a one-in-the-world kite, he says."That's a Longbottom DoveT," I hear someone say. "Guard it with your life." It's Karl's design, as are The Flying Underpants."Whichever way the waistband is," says Sara, unreeling a pair of panties to demonstrate, "if you pull hard they'll go that way." Do people ever ask you to show them your underpants? "Oh, frequently."Crouched on the grass, Philip Hattingh is getting his dragon ready for take-off. It's taxing work. He has to check and adjust each fitting. Two kites that will tow the beast into the air tug at the line, impatient. Eventually Hattingh shouts over the wind to the line-holder, a sewing buddy: "OK! Let go!"And whooooosh! This inanimate creation of fabric and thread comes alive, its locomotive body writhing in the air so that people have to leap out of the way. Hattingh grips her horns to steer her, his fingers bloodied. "We're taming the dragon! Mind your head!"She's airborne for about three minutes. Then she gets tangled in a street pole. On the next attempt, she collides with parked cars. Kids carrying kites they've made from tablecloths and broken umbrellas - anything they could find - come running, delighted.Finally, after many attempts, Hattingh grins and says: "Ag, let's just grab a beer hey."Hours later, Delilah's still up the pole.All proceeds from the Cape Town International Kite Festival go to Cape Mental Health, a nonprofit organisation...