Hayley Westenra (13 page)

I sank into my seat on the final flight, safe in the knowledge that, so long as the plane touched down on time, I would just be able to make the arena in time for my performance. A man sitting near to me leaned across and politely asked, 'Excuse me, but you're not Hayley Westenra, are you?'

'Yes, I am,' I answered.

'You're doing a show tonight with Il Divo?'

'Yep!' I said with a look of exasperation in my eyes. It turned out that my fellow passenger was also going along to the concert – although he was planning to watch it, rather than perform in it – and so he was arriving at the right time. I gave him a little shout out from the stage as I told the story of my travel nightmares to the audience later that night.

We landed at the right time, in the right place and I was convinced that nothing else could possibly go wrong, since we had about three hours to spare before the show. Then, as I waited at the luggage carousel, I discovered that my bags had not made it to Dublin with me and were still somewhere back in London. I have Mum to thank for the fact that this was not the major catastrophe that at first it appeared to be. She constantly reminds me to take a dress and a pair of shoes with me in my hand luggage whenever I'm travelling to a show. Fortunately, on this occasion, I had heeded her advice. It meant that I had something to wear when I went on stage.

I stopped off at the airport branch of Accessorize and bought myself some shiny jewellery that would sparkle under the lights while I was performing. When I arrived at the Point arena,
Carol Wright, a lovely lady from my record label who had flown over to Dublin from London to oversee my European Il Divo tour debut, kindly rushed out to buy me some hairspray and I borrowed other bits and pieces from a variety of different people to enable me to go on stage still looking the part.

I had time for only the briefest of soundchecks, which was a bit of a challenge, since on this leg of the tour I was singing different material to a backing track, rather than with a live band. It was a case of really being thrown in at the deep end – not only had I arrived late, but I was going on stage to a whole new setup.

In the end, it all went smoothly and the audience would have been none the wiser had I not regaled them with tales of my intercontinental flight nightmare.

Over the next few weeks, as we travelled around Europe, I got to know the Il Divo guys a little better. I no longer had my band with me, so I ended up mixing with their crew a little more. It was another all-male environment, other than me, the wardrobe lady, the hair and makeup lady and the monitor engineer. I quickly formed a bond with the sound guys that they used, who were nearly all Aussies. Usually, there's a healthy rivalry between Australians and New Zealanders, but, when we are in the northern hemisphere, we Antipodeans like to stick together.

I found that one of the attractive elements of being on a long tour is that I was able to focus on the concerts every night, which allowed me to develop a real sense of momentum. On other occasions, I've a more sporadic set of concerts over a couple of months, which I juggle with other work such as press interviews, promotional appearances and recording. Both of these styles of concert-giving have their pluses and minuses. The big danger with a full-on tour is that you can be dragged down by just how far you have got to travel and the sheer number of concerts that you have ahead of you. I would hate to be counting down concerts to the end of a tour. You don't want to be in that mindset because it means that you are not enjoying every moment.

On the positive side, with a big tour, you are performing virtually every night and you soon get into a routine. I found that this meant that I could experiment a little with the music, instead of worrying about other aspects of my performance, such as what I was going to say between tracks, for example. When I was younger, I used to mumble on stage, but now I enjoy developing my banter with the audience. I'm always on the lookout for a good joke. I have to admit that, when I come across a joke that is well
received, I try to get my money's worth from it. It does make me worry for the handful of very loyal fans who come to more than one performance, but I always hope that they understand that a good joke is hard to find!

One of the other highlights for me on
Odyssey
was
'Dell'amore Non Si Sa', the duet I recorded with Andrea Bocelli. I felt very privileged when he agreed to come on my album. In fact it was more than that: it was a huge personal thrill for me. I had been singing along to his albums for years. And then, suddenly to have his name on my album was like 'Wow!'

Just after I finished touring with Il Divo, I was given the opportunity to perform with Andrea at some of his concerts. He has one of the most remarkable voices that I've ever heard and is a completely charming man. He was always very generous to me on stage. Singing with him was one of the most significant events of another busy year for me.

It was just after my first international album,
Pure,
had become a success that I was approached by
Dennis McKinley, who headed
UNICEF New Zealand, and asked whether I would be interested in becoming a Goodwill
Ambassador for them. Usually this honour goes to people far, far older than I am, and I discovered that if I accepted I would be one of the youngest people to have taken up the role.

Initially, I was a little reluctant to accept because I felt that it was a huge responsibility. I've always been adamant
that I'll not simply become a 'face' that is associated with a large number of different charities, causes and campaigns, without actually doing anything of any significance to support them. If I was to take on a role like that, I really wanted to do my bit. I wondered whether I would have time to fit it into my hectic schedule of international travel. In the end, I came to the conclusion that it was such a fantastic organisation, performing such valuable work around the globe, that I would do everything I could to help them.

UNICEF work primarily in the developing world, although they do have projects and programmes that are aimed at New Zealanders. I was particularly attracted to their work because of its focus on children and its relevance to people of my age. I hope that it might be good for the charity to have a young person flying the UNICEF flag. It's probably easier for someone in their late teens or early twenties to relate to the young people that UNICEF helps than it is for someone in their forties or fifties.

Initially, I found it quite hard to promote their work because I didn't have first-hand experience of what they achieve. I was desperate to go on a field trip because I didn't feel that I could talk knowledgeably about the positive effects that a UNICEF programme can have on a community, having only watched the documentaries and read the brochures that everyone else had read. I wanted to feel that I had the authority to talk about UNICEF's work, so I was very excited when the opportunity arose for me to visit
Ghana. As it turned out, I would end up playing a far more practical role in helping a group of people than I had ever expected.

In total, I spent five days in Ghana: three days in Accra and two days in Tamale. Mum, Sophie, my manager Steve and I all flew out on a regular flight from London. The first thing that struck me when we got off the plane was that, even though we were in a city, it seemed quieter and more
rural. It was also far, far hotter than it had been in London, even though we arrived in the dark, so we were unable to see much. Everything felt slightly more primitive than the world that we had left behind and the pace of life seemed slower. We were waved through passport control by the two guys sitting behind the desk – there certainly was no sign of the queues that I've become used to at London Heathrow.

We were met by the son of the chairman of UNICEF in Ghana and some other members of the UNICEF team. We were driven to our hotel, which seemed to be a fairly standard, comfortable sort of place. It was frequented by the air crews while they were resting between flights and by foreign businesspeople in town for meetings. It didn't feel that different from many of the other hotels I've stayed in, although perhaps the rooms were a little more basic than we would have at home. At breakfast the next morning, the selection of food on offer was not quite as extensive as we might normally be used to.

There was nothing about the look and feel of the hotel that would prepare us for what we would see later that day. We began the morning with a briefing from the UNICEF team, who filled us in on the situation in Ghana. The battle to eradicate polio was one of the major aims of the charity's presence in the country. Education was also a big issue there, with a particular imbalance when it came to the number of girls and boys who were attending school. It's a problem that is widespread in developing countries, because families don't see the need to educate their daughters, and this leads to a real inequality. As soon as I heard about the problem, I wondered whether there was something that I could do to help.

We were driven from the hotel out through the city streets. It was by now even hotter than it had been the night before. The city was dusty and very dry; everywhere around us were people walking the streets carrying baskets filled with
mangoes and plantain. I felt like a real foreigner because I'm very pale and not suited to that sort of climate at all. Our white Land Rover had 'UNICEF' painted in large letters along the side and, as we drove through the streets, we would always be greeted with warm smiles. The local children ran alongside as we drove, calling up and waving to us. It was easy to see the affection and respect that UNICEF generates on the ground because of its long history of successful programmes in Ghana.

It made me start to think about the whole concept of being a 'celebrity' – and, in particular, the culture that surrounds celebrity in developed countries. Certainly, the kids whom I met in Ghana had no idea about fame; instead, they understood that UNICEF were a group of people who could unlock the door to their growing up with the prospect of a better future.

The single most exciting thing for the children we met seemed to be the opportunity to have their photograph taken and then seeing themselves on the screen of the digital camera. As soon as they caught sight of themselves it gave them a real thrill. Steve still cherishes some video footage of a group of Ghanaian children jumping up and down and chanting 'Luton! Luton! Luton!' – the name of his beloved football team back home in England.

Sophie brought over a selection of presents for the local children, including skipping ropes and pens, both of which caused a burst of huge excitement, and a soccer ball, which propelled the excitement level to a point of frenzy. It was amazing to see how such simple gifts were greeted with such enormous gratitude. We also handed out sunglasses, caps and toy cars. The kids got such a thrill out of each of these items, all of which were far less extravagant than the presents given to children in developed countries.

We were accompanied on our trip by a journalist from the New Zealand
Women's Weekly
magazine and a film crew
from a New Zealand programme called
Close Up.
They were documenting our travels. One of the first places we visited was the city slums. This was an eye-opening experience. People are living in appallingly grim conditions, forced to make homes for themselves out of corrugated-iron sheets, or any other materials that they can lay their hands on. There's no sanitation at all, so the stench was overpowering. The people living there look unhealthy and dirty. Some are dressed in torn rags; others wear clothes that have been sent over from the Western world. The logos and slogans emblazoned on their T-shirts seem completely at odds with the environment in which they find themselves.

However, it's amazing how adaptable human beings can be. We met one lady who had her own home, which was nothing more than a shed. My instinctive first reaction was to pity her, but she greeted us with a smile. She was proud to show us her home. There were two television sets inside and this confused me. But it turned out that they didn't actually work and had been scavenged from other people's rubbish. For that particular woman, they were here possessions, her belongings, and, because of that, she was very proud of them

I had a tremendous sense of guilt throughout the trip. As I was shown around, I felt that I wanted to make immediate changes.

Wouldn't it be amazing to give this lady her own clean house that's not part of a slum? I thought to myself.

I regretted not bringing with me something that could have made a difference, even if it were only some money to help provide her with the opportunity to take a step up the ladder. But the problem comes as you spend more time in the country. Gradually, I met more and more people like her and the scale of the problem suddenly dawned on me. It became quite overwhelming and I found it a very emotional experience. I'm not ashamed to say that I shed a tear before
I went to sleep that night, as much out of frustration at the size of the job that had to be done as a response to the individual sights I had seen and stories I had heard.

As well as polio, the children there develop distension of the stomach, which is brought about by a lack of protein, I believe. Even so, the younger children still smile and chatter away. I found it truly amazing that they were brimming with energy and always appeared excited about life, despite their surroundings. Back in the developed would, many children simply don't realise how lucky they are. They can be grumpy and walk around with sour looks on their faces, but the young Ghanaian children were excited to be at school; they revelled in learning.

As the Ghanaians became older, though, I think they gained a greater perspective on the tough realities that life would throw at them. I met many girls aged between fourteen and seventeen and it was easy to see that by this age they had already been hardened to the world by what they had seen and experienced. They seemed to have lost hope.

The contrast between the younger children and the older teenagers was brought home to me on one particular day. First, we went to a school where we met a group of bright-eyed five-year-olds. They all carried their own chalkboards for writing on and they loved drawing in chalk on one another's face. They had a huge sense of optimism and they were keen and very affectionate. The whole classroom was filled with good-natured organised chaos.

Then I met a group of girls who had been taken off the streets by UNICEF. All of the naive enthusiasm exhibited by the five-year-olds had by now completely evaporated. UNICEF specifically set up a school to encourage the girls to become engaged with the education system. Many of these girls came into the big city from the rural areas in the hope of earning more money for their families. There's a
steady stream of them, who believe that they will be able to discover work in the city, but instead they find themselves open to attack and abuse.

They have no roof above their heads and nobody looking out for them.
HIV and AIDS have often ravaged their families, with both parents dying in many cases. This is a common problem that keeps the girls at home, unable to go to school, because they end up being forced to take on the parenting role for very young children who have nobody else to care for them.

UNICEF have discovered that, as the attendance rates of girls in schools was raised, so the infant mortality rate was lowered. This correlation comes about because the girls are taught both how to protect themselves from HIV and also a whole range of life skills that would normally be passed on by their parents, including how to look after children. I was initially shocked to learn that girls as young as nine were taught about the dangers of HIV and AIDS and were also given training in how to pass on their knowledge to other students their age. However, it's an absolute necessity because this terrible disease is such an issue there.

During my visit, I learned about a UNICEF project to provide girls with bicycles to help them to get to school. Many of them have long journeys each way every day – and this can be another barrier to their attending classes. They are open to attack when they are on foot and it's much safer and easier for them if they are on a bike. They are also able to use the bicycles to help them complete other household chores, such as fetching water from the local borehole.

It's exclusively girls who are given the bikes, and I instantly became very taken with this project. While I was there, I told the UNICEF team that I would like to adopt Bicycles for Ghana as the focus for my charity work. I felt that it was an idea that people back home would grasp on to because it was raising money for something tangible.
Rather than just donating to a cause and seeing money disappear into an organisation, fundraisers would be able to see exactly where their money was going, bicycle by bicycle.

I felt that people would particularly relate to the project in New Zealand, where virtually every kid owns a bike. Even if the kids back home didn't quite understand how and why the bicycles would help, I was sure that they would connect with the idea that the Ghanaian girls would gain a lot of pleasure from the bikes.

My feelings were proved right. Since then, I've given concerts where the profits have gone to UNICEF. On my latest New Zealand tour, two dollars from every ticket were donated to the project. The support from my fans has been amazing, with schools and cycling clubs around the world helping to raise funds. It really seems to have captured people's imaginations. At the time of writing this book, six thousand bicycles have already been distributed, and UNICEF are in the process of buying many thousands more.

It was after our visit to the city slum that I actually saw the bicycles in action. We travelled to Tamale, which was far more rural than what we had seen before. We were introduced to a village community, where the people's main drinking source was a pond. The water was coffee-coloured. I watched as children scooped it out with plastic containers or possibly coconut shells. They lifted it straight to their lips and drank it.

As this was going on, it was explained to me that the water was infested with Guinea worm larvae. If these are ingested, the worms grow inside the human body. I was shocked to see children with open wounds, from which the Guinea worm is trying to escape. To try to work the worm out of the body, they wrap it around a stick and twist it a little each day. It was horrific. I met one girl who couldn't go to school because the wounds on her feet caused by the Guinea worm were so painful that she was unable to walk.

To help counter the problem, UNICEF provide nets for straining the water in the pond. They then educate people on how and why they need to use them, but, even then, this is by no means a 100 per cent effective method for getting rid of the larvae. Really, they just need clean drinking water – and this means more boreholes and pumps to allow them to access it.

As I watched the children playing around the pond, I looked down at my bag and the bottle of clean, crystal clear mineral water that I never go anywhere without. I felt so guilty that something we take for granted that comes pouring out of our taps at home every day, on demand, is such a precious commodity for these people.