Finding the Connection
by Nanhi Hodge
Why do so many campers return to work camp year after year? "Isn't it the same thing, just a different location?" While at its core, the answer is a resounding "Yes," just like the school we helped build, the true answer unfurls in countless layers.
Everyone has their own "why" for work camp—a unique moment that transforms the trip into something truly special. Last year, my reason was sharing this experience with my husband, allowing him to understand more about me, my culture, and why I choose to travel over 27 hours to the Vietnam mountains and beaches every summer. This year, however, my connection didn’t strike me all at once, as I’ve grown accustomed to.
I experienced the good and fulfilling moments—like when I watched the children in the freshly painted classrooms learning, “Màu Đỏ là Red!” I looked over to the playground team, defying the unforgiving sun, crushing it and building the playground of all playgrounds. The library team meticulously cleaned up their beautiful project, a testament to unity and love. My mom, in her element, nurtured us all, ensuring tasks were done, but also able to enjoy our experience. (Thank you, Mom!) All of this unfolded around me, yet the profound and epic connection I sought remained elusive. I’ve witnessed this many times in different ways and situations in the past, but I realized I needed a moment to myself—something to experience that I could have for myself. So, I ventured out, eager to meet locals and delve deeper into the community I was serving.
Anh Thủy guided me to three homes. Each was in disrepair, and the families (in their own words) were "suffering" from old age, financial hardship, and numerous health problems. The houses were either very tiny and hot or on the verge of collapse, making it difficult for even me to feel comfortable and at ease the entire time I was there. Yet the families were profoundly grateful to simply have someone to talk to, to share their stories.
One elderly woman, her teeth stained black like they used to be in the days of rural tradition, cared for her mute and deaf daughter and mute and deaf grandchild. She was so hunched that her chest nearly touched her knees as she walked over to the area where she invited us to sit and have tea. She spoke in a Vietnamese dialect difficult to understand, yet what I could grasp was the sheer joy in her eyes and the shaking in her hand as she laughed and clasped mine.
The final house I visited was on stilts. The ladder—narrow, steep, and riddled with cracks—offered little comfort. As I walked across the floor, I could see the ground below through the gaps in the planks—what they called a floor. My legs shook, my breath hitched at times, yet I smiled. I smiled because Bà Cụ (elderly grandma), who was hosting us, beamed with happiness and told us she was retrieving “the good mat” for us to sit upon. We sat and spoke to her and her son about their life and hardships. We then decided to focus on the joys they experience day by day by choosing to live and laugh gratefully. They expressed their deep gratitude to us (Sunflower Mission), telling us they understood that what we were building offered their community a chance at a brighter future. Click. Connection established.
This was my "why" for this trip. This was the powerful reminder that our efforts not only give students a better future but also offer the entire community a glimpse into a world of possibility—an oyster they can open. The feeling that washes over me when I witness the world and life my ancestors lived—and where many still live—is not one of sadness or pity. It's one of profound appreciation and pride—pride that I come from such strong, resilient people. That blood runs through ME. It runs through my siblings beside me on this trip who are here to experience their own "why." It’s what ignites our desire to connect with our heritage and ancestral lands. It is our WHY.
It’s why my brother has joined and is making an impact in the SEEDS group I helped build as a student alongside my close friends. It’s why my sister and cousin laugh and confidently interact with locals. It’s why my mother, with such dedication, passion, and countless sleepless nights, helped build this organization and work camp. Click. Connection established.
There's a reason our people say "Mình đi VỀ Vietnam" (you go HOME to Vietnam), even if, like me, you weren’t born here. Because this is where my blood—my culture—originates. As I sit on this bus, smelling the honest effort everyone put in today, hearing the laughter, conversations, and snores around me, I look out at the countryside, in all its beauty, power, and history, and I truly understand that phrase.
Click. Connection established—and it waits for the next connection. What will it be? My thoughts swirl with excitement, my heart yearns for it, and most importantly, my soul is home and ready for it.
Thank you, Sunflower Mission, for this opportunity. Thank you to all of you who volunteer, donate, and support this work. Thank you, Mother Vietnam, for accepting my love.
