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"Vamos!" a brawny man yelled from the steps. Upon placing two Cordoba in his hand, we were each grabbed and tossed onto the "bus" known locally as the "lunta" like cattle being herded to slaughter. The Nicarguan humidity combined with standing skin-to-skin with a dozen others was far from comfortable as we shook in every direction on our ride. "Barrio Sutiava!" My classmates and I made our way towards the local school, which was frequented by college students like ourselves looking for the opportunity to travel whilst doing community service. On this day, the school was hosting an Easter party complete with a multicolored Donkey-shaped piñata. Several children attempted to break into the piñata without much luck. Then, a small girl dressed in pink pants with ruffles at the ankle and matching top sauntered up, grabbed the piñata stick, and with one swing sent the papier-mâché donkey's left hind leg to the ground along with a bunch of chocolate coins. Little hands grabbed at the surprises, but she remained calm and collected, picking up a handful and dropping them into her shirt pocket. Noticing us, she walked over and opened her palm, offering us chocolates. "Soy Abigail". My classmate Dan bit into his coin as I introduced us as best I could with my limited Spanish. I was a bit jealous as Dan and Abigail exchanged words but thankful for his translations. "She wants to show us her house," Dan said, and shortly were walking along a dirt road from the schoolhouse Abigail asked questions along the way followed by Dan’s translations. The questions were simple. “What class do you like in school?” “What’s your favorite color?” “Do you like music?” After Dan translated our answers, we’d ask her in return. Stopping, Abigail gestured for us to follow her. The house itself was one story and made from several miscellaneous slabs of wood and metal. There was a small hole for a makeshift window blocked from inside by a sheet. Abigail moved another sheet to the side as she welcomed us into her home. Abigail's house is essentially one room divided into individual spaces. You walked into the living room where there were three cushioned lawn chairs. Another sheet hung from a wire and was currently parted giving way to the bedroom where four cots laid on the floor. Behind the cots was the kitchen area, but we’d learn most cooking took place in the backyard. "Mi mama" Abigail nodded towards a woman who introduced herself as Imara. Next thing we knew Dan and I had been recruited to a production line, making tortillas on the outdoor stove. Abigail would roll her mother's premade mixture into a ball, pass it to me, and I'd press the balls flat on the stone press before Dan would cook the tortillas above the flame. “She asked about our favorite dinner”, Dan translated mid-tortilla flip. Happy that “food” was my most practiced category, I answered “pollo y arroz”. Abigail’s face brightened “yo también!”, before she continued about her love for fish, yucca and of course tortillas. We were close to the end of the mixture when Dan asked her what she likes about having visitors to which she responded that she loved to learn about new friends. Dan followed up by asking, “What don’t you like about visitors?” Abigail stopped rolling, appearing thoughtful before answering. “She hates that we come, and then we leave”. Abigail gasped abruptly as if she suddenly had an ingenious idea and ran inside. Dan and I continued assisting and once we completed about a dozen tortillas, stacked them atop two plates and carried them inside. Upon entering, Abigail ran up with a piece of an orange paper folded into a card, rolled it up and stuck it in the back pocket of my shorts. Then she grabbed a tortilla, rolled that up too and took a bite. Later, as we waited for the lunta back to León, I remembered the handmade card. "Adios!" was written in blue crayon and below, a drawing of a couple of stick figures that seemed to resemble Dan and I - and between us a small girl with long black hair and a pink shirt.