Wildflower

by Drew Barrymore

  But I did. I came to a slow wind-down and started blowing. The guy said, “Slower, less wind, you don’t want to blow it out. Slow,” and so I whispered my breath onto my little smoking bird’s nest and then it happened. It burst into a tiny flame before my very eyes. I looked up, so excited, with wet and apologetic eyes. And my girlfriends looked at me with pride. They knew what I was going through and they just wanted to see me do my best. That’s what friends do.

  Later that night the guys said they had a special treat for us. And they rolled out three sleeping bags they must have had up their ass because they were produced out of nowhere. Come to think of it, there was a new guy who joined our group that day. Maybe he brought them.

  But I was thrilled, and I could never have appreciated it the same way if I hadn’t been through what I had been through. Simple as that. Everything has to get taken away. It has in my life too. Everything went away when I was thirteen and I lost my job, my credibility, and my freedom, and I had to rebuild everything.

  But like with the fire, I didn’t give up. I may not have done it with grace, but I fought my way into something better and more enlightened. I will have many more rounds to go in life. But this was a big one. My lesson here was you do not give up. You hold yourself accountable. You stay grateful. You hold on tight to your friends.

  I felt tired and content. The other girls and I went into different areas, as we were all happy to embrace this place independently for one night after being velcroed together the last two nights. I slept. A deep and peaceful slumber under the moon and the stars. I was in my cozy Eddie Bauer sleeping bag, but I slept in Mother Nature’s arms. And when I woke, the three of us met back up, we were finally alone, and took a long bath in the river. We stripped right down and took a naked birdbath right there in the wild. It was a moment, and we all knew it. Mental picture for life.

  When we rejoined the group, we hiked for a few miles and finally returned to the place to be picked back up in the van. I felt so different than I did when it dropped me off that it was shocking. But here I was, changed and recharged. I got up in the van and went to my spot in the back, this time by choice rather than by rejection. I looked out the window. I heard the voice in my head come back in one last time, and the tone was different, calm and kind. It said, “You never give up, and you ask yourself how you got here? Did you put yourself there? Can you get yourself out? That was your lesson. Don’t forget it.”

  I won’t, I told myself. I promise I won’t. And I didn’t. I went home, and we made a beautiful success out of the film. And once again I was simply relieved. But much more important, I had grown up a little bit more. Right at the point when I needed to.

  Africa, 2011

  AFRICA

  One day in 2004, I was sitting at a coffee shop by myself having breakfast. We were making the film Fever Pitch, and it was a really happy time. The Red Sox were winning and about to make history. I was single and enjoying reading the New York Times when I came across an article. It said “Children line up to get into classroom,” and it was accompanied by a picture of tons of kids neatly lined up in rows, sitting on the floor looking toward the head of the class. These kids had this eager and beautiful look in their eyes. It could not have been more contrary to the look I saw in the classroom in my own experience. These kids fought to be in there. And as I read on it had to do with the fact that the World Food Program was providing meals. My heart broke.

  I couldn’t have felt more humbled at that moment, and something took over. I was so overwhelmed with empathy and curiosity. I wanted to be transported there right at that moment so that I could better understand the world of this tiny school. Something was moved inside of me to the point where I went home and picked up the phone, only to realize I had no idea who to call.

  So I started calling people I worked with. I then was transferred to the UN. When I started my inquiries with them, I was presenting myself more as a volunteer who wanted to learn. Not wanting to take on some celebrity who wanted a photo op was their concern, and I truly appreciated that. I explained that I was allergic to that as well, and this was not that. This was me, just a tiny human trying to educate myself on how their programs functioned. They thanked me for my interest and said they would get back to me. One year later I got the call.

  It was actually from Marie Claire magazine. They had heard somehow that I was interested in going to Africa, and they had a contact at the UN. If I would write an article about my trip, they would help me get there. They were my liaison and my funding. I had an assignment and I was so excited. I was to take a trip and go directly to Kenya and meet a UN aid worker at the airport. His name was Ben. He was British and immediately had that air of “I hate celebrities.” Oh dear. He might as well have said, “Listen, Florence Nightingale, don’t try to make it seem like you care because this is a full-time job and not the swoop-in-and-snap-a-picture-and-leave situation.” It was similar to when I called. Again I really respected this.

  We started right away by going into Kibera, which they called a slum, and it was one of the most densely populated neighborhoods in Africa, let alone Nairobi. We went in UN vans with the two UN letters painted on the sides of the cars. Ben said that was to let the people know who we were because the UN was seen as friend, not foe. The UN had no agenda and usually was a symbol of help because if you were thought of as a threat in these parts, you could be killed. Simply put, these were incredibly dangerous places to be, and my first wave of “what am I doing here?” washed over me. There was trash piled up so high that it was the height of a two-story building. Dirty water everywhere. Tiny little storefronts that were ten by ten feet with a mattress on the floor, and these were what people lived in and worked from. There was a whole world inside of these places, and many people only left to go work at other jobs. The infrastructure, as dire as it was, was very insular. I had never seen such a world.

  When we got to the school, the few people running it came out to meet us. We all shook hands and introduced ourselves. But then, a wash of bright colors sailed through my vantage point and the kids started piling out of the small structure to line up. It was obvious that something of a greeting ceremony was choreographed and they were about to perform it. All of the outside world and pain fell away, and the brightness of these kids changed my life forever. It was a Technicolor wake-up call. We spent the whole day with the kids. After their dancing and singing, they took me into the classroom I had fantasized about for the last year. It was shadowy as the only light that came in was from cracks and a few cut-open spaces in the walls. The flags and tiny quilts that the teachers had made by hand on the walls were educational and poetic. There was warmth to this room, and I knew I was in the right place.

  I sat in on a lesson and watched these kids practice their English and math. I asked all the kids what they wanted to be. One kid raised her hand. “A pilot.” “Really,” I said, amazed at her answer. And I said, “You can take everyone to see the whole world.” The next one raised his hand. “A doctor.” “Wonderful,” I said, “you can take care of everybody,” and when I said that they laughed. Not a ha-ha laugh but a hopeful laugh. Another kid raised a hand. “A scientist.” “Well,” I said, “you will solve all the problems.” Another laugh.

  It astonished me how they were all practical and ambitious occupations. There were no artist or mother or singer aspirations. They wanted to do important things in the world. Again, my heart shifted and grew bigger. At the end of the day they took me to the tiniest closet, which was the kitchen: a wood-burning makeshift stove on the ground with a giant tin pot on it. The pot had porridge in it that also had oil placed in it, and the oil was full of nutrients and vitamins. This was where the World Food Program came in. Ben explained that the kids got one or two cups, depending, one in the morning and one for lunch. It was a red cup made of plastic. Sometimes the kids even saved some of their meals to take home and share with their family.

 
; But without this program many kids had to struggle to get any food at all. It was one of the reasons they came to school. To get an education but to be fed as well. I was acting like I was taking it all in because I didn’t want to break down. I thought Ben would have killed me for being a weak starlet who couldn’t hack the harsh realities of these surroundings. I just stayed stoic and kept writing things down in my notebook and making notes. I was taking a journalistic approach. After all, I had told the UN I was here to learn. And I would do just that.

  After we went home that night, I couldn’t sleep because of jet lag and everything I had seen that day. When the morning came, I was eager to go back in to Kibera and learn more. We were now joined by a man from the UN headquarters named Lionello, an Italian man who lived in Geneva and ran the offices. We would be going to a different school that day. This school was more focused on the issues of girls. Rape and genital mutilation were giant problems in this area.

  Again, I took out my notepad and asked questions, but inside I was dying. I was feeling in over my head again. I wanted to tackle kids in school, and what I was learning was about the food they fought to eat and the circumstances in which they were living. This was more about how to survive, and the schooling was a great luxury. I was almost catatonic. But I saw Ben looking at me for a reaction and I stayed strong. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break like a little bitch. I was among people who dealt with this every day, they were the heroes, and I just wanted to be quiet, respectful, and keep up.

  We went through the school, and at this one the kids sang us another greeting song. It was beautiful. When they had started, I was so shaken up again, wondering what I thought I could ever do here. How could I help? I felt out of my league and totally inferior when these kids’ voices overtook the self-doubting ones in my head. Their song and joy completely wiped the slate clean, and I told myself, it is about them. If the World Bank could not solve the poverty issues and I could not protect each and every one of them the way I wish I could, because no one could, I could just try to help individual schools. I could try to help these places function one at a time. Maybe even just start with one.

  Ben said it was not that simple and the money anyone donates goes into the blanket surplus for all the schools or emergency situations. The UN and the WFP are usually some of the first feet on the ground in crisis situations around the globe. I knew I had definitely found the right place with the WFP; the question was, what was my part in all of this?

  I spent the rest of the week there going to several schools in a few areas. Eventually we went far outside the city into rural places. We passed through a huge vista that is an indented crater in the ground as far as the eye can see, and I sat there on the side of the road, marveling at it. The schools outside the city were a complete shift in landscape and facility. A lot of these schools were live-in boarding schools and had actual land. Although it was arid or not as hospitable as you would like, they had a quieter and calmer feeling. Space. The dangers weren’t ten feet away. Yet they were no different in what they needed and that they functioned on school lunch programs and donations to stay afloat.

  Next I was taken through a few villages of the Masai Mara tribe. This was where I was seeing a part of Africa that looked epic and familiar. They were dressed in bright red plaid that was wrapped around them. They had giant wooden hoop earrings in their lobes, tribal markings on their skin in black and white, and beaded necklaces up to their chins. It was beautiful and incredible.

  I was being taken there to learn about where a lot of the traditions come from and to have a better understanding of the way these people lived. They lived in huts that were made by the women. And the men frequented different ones every night. The boys were sent out into the Mara to have warrior quests where they would become men. And the girls had a path that was set for them long ago. Again, this was tradition dating back at least hundreds of years and was not to be questioned, certainly not by me. But I understood how the girls who were able to go to school were getting to have a different way of life indeed. It all seemed a world away out in nature. And yet that’s where the girls came from. So it did truly help inform me.

  Lionello said we would go to one more place on our way home. It was a hospice for sick children. As soon as we pulled up and got out of the car, this particular little girl started walking by my side. I smiled at her and we kept looking at each other, a sweet cat-and-mouse game of glances. We went into the building and it was a little hospital, but it had actual concrete walls as opposed to mud or wood. It was small and quaint, but it had a really nice feel to it. It was still in a brutal area, but it felt safe, and I was so happy that the kids had a nice place to be, until I realized why they are there. All the kids had different ailments, and I met them and learned about their stories.

  The little girl who was following me was now sitting next to me. I watched her. I had been around adults my whole life, and without siblings or cousins, I just didn’t have a relationship with little children. In fact I knew they could smell my fear. And then I was a bit undesirable because I just didn’t know how to relate to them. Kids are pure instinct as well, and I could tell they could always read my inability to engage.

  So I was playing it cool with this wonderful little girl, but then I dared to ask her name. “Edith,” they told me, as she only spoke Swahili. But not having to use words probably helped us. And within a few more minutes she was holding my hands. Even when I did try my hardest with kids, they didn’t like that I was trying so hard. I just was a failure at being what kids wanted or needed and eventually by my twenties I stopped trying. I just kind of wrote myself off and hung out with the adults. But Edith was giving me the biggest compliment of my life by wanting to be around me. Not only was I humbled and honored in a way I had never known, I was so grateful for her unspoken bond.

  As the day went on, I can honestly say I fell in love. Her calm charm and affection woke something in me that had lain dormant inside since I was a kid not understanding what a kid is. We were like two peas in a pod, giving each other something we both needed. I asked Lionello why she was here. “She has AIDS,” he said. “Oh.” I nodded. And I held her hand tighter.

  When it was time for us to pack up and leave, I was shaking. I didn’t want to unlatch from Edith. Unwrapping my fingers from hers was a violation of what we had formed on this life-changing day. I said my good-byes and hugged her over and over. We got in the car, and I waved to her as we pulled away until she wasn’t visible anymore. I turned around and looked out the windshield and lost it. I felt so many feelings. Hopeless. Hopeful. Changed. Clear. Convicted. I turned to Lionello. “I want to sponsor her.” He asked how I meant and I said, “I don’t know, but I need you to help me. I need you to help me set up a trust for her and have the money get directly to her. Can you do that?”

  After weeks of hearing how hard it is to get funds to actually make an individual difference and yet how the UN is saving lives with fifty cents a day, I saw there was such a chasm between miracles taking place and there still being too much to do. Somehow starting with her was a way for me to figure out how to give money in a productive way that was so personal and meaningful. I would get to the bigger economic issues once I learned more. Lionello looked at me and said, “We will get it done,” and I breathed for the first time since we left that children’s hospital. I stared out the window and took in a country I had no idea I would be in one year ago.

  I ended my trip having felt like I really experienced different landscapes. We took propeller planes and long rides through the terrain for hours and hours on end. Marie Claire even sent me to a safari camp for one night just to say thank you for writing this article. When we returned back to the bustling city of Nairobi, it seemed like a surreal mecca. And yet there was conflict there. I felt confused and yet awake. We all decided, our little crew, to go have a drink that night, as I was departing in the morning.

  We recounted
the last ten days and asked questions about each other’s personal lives; we were getting to know each other a little more. It was nice to decompress for a moment. And that’s what amazed me. These UN workers had a great sense of humor. They didn’t want to wallow every second. I guess they wouldn’t survive if they did. They were matter-of-fact about the problems because they were in it, doing something about it the best they could, instead of cowering at the vastness of it. They seemed like superheroes, and yet they were taking off their masks and having a drink and revealing that they couldn’t be more human. And fun humans at that.

  The next morning when Ben took me to the airport he seemed different. Less judging and more relaxed. But when he walked me to the check-in desk he said, “You know when you got here—” I interrupted him: “I know. You hated me.” “No,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “I just didn’t know if you were full of shit, and it seems like you’re not.” Phew. Ben was giving his own brand of approval. He even said, “Come back,” all of a sudden. I knew that there was a part of him that was also saying, “Because I bet you won’t,” and I looked at him and smiled now. “I will,” I said, with a side of “Watch me, fucker!” And with that we silently dared each other and I left to go to my plane. I wrote my article all the way home as I had ample time and I wanted to write it very fresh off the experience.

  After a few days of being home, I was amazed at how much abundance we live in when I entered a grocery store. I got really depressed and felt guilty and totally disoriented. I felt like I couldn’t look at anything the same. And yet I had only scratched the surface. What did I know? I knew this was my life out here, but I knew something else now and I couldn’t shut it off.