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I sat swinging in my hammock, listening to the tree frogs chirp in the tropical night. The sound was almost marred by the bachata music blaring from the stereo of my neighbours. I could never see the house through the overgrown palm grove, but its presence was undeniable from the constant laughter, shouting in Spanish and loud music at all times of day and night. Another noise interrupted the cacophony, a horn beeping from outside the gate of the compound where I was staying. Upon further inspection, I found Jimmy, the local roofer sitting on his motorbike, waving me out. “That’s right,” I thought, “it’s Friday!” Jimmy and I were not well acquainted. In fact, I had only ever met him once before. The previous week he had fixed the tin roof of my host house and in passing conversation mentioned that we should go out on Friday. I politely agreed, assuming it was one of those empty promises of “We should meet up” or “It would be nice to see you again” that I was used to. By the time Friday rolled around, I had all but forgotten about this seemingly fictitious plan. I stood, staring at him on the bike for a moment, contemplating the fact that I barely know this guy, let alone where we were going. Should I abandon my quiet night reading in my hammock for unknown adventure? The answer: Always! As I reached the motorbike outside, I realised that Jimmy was not alone; he had a friend with him, whom had let him use the motorbike to pick me up. I hopped on the bike in the middle of these two strangers and rode off. The route took us from my little village of around 500 inhabitants in an estuary on the west coast of Nicaragua, through a large area of untouched mangrove forest. There was one single dirt road cutting through the mangroves with no streetlights. About 10 minutes into the journey, I looked around at my situation and became very aware that I don’t know these guys, we are in the middle of nowhere and I hadn’t even told anyone that I was leaving the house. The first feelings of anxiety set in. But there was no turning back now. When we emerged from the forest into an area with a few houses, I was relieved to see signs of civilisation. My unease had grown significantly and I questioned Jimmy about the plan. To which he replied, “Don’t worry, you’ll see.” This was not reassuring. The motorbike stopped outside a house across the road from a bar playing music and a few people standing outside. We waved goodbye to Jimmy’s friend. I assumed the bar was our destination. However, Jimmy ignored the party and walked in the opposite direction, to the house. I followed. It was then that he presented me to Jose and Carmen, a middle aged couple sitting at a table dishing up a delicious meal. My heart sank and burst with joy at the same moment. Jimmy was not planning on kidnapping me, murdering me and disposing of my body in the unexplored Nicaraguan mangrove forest. He had brought me to his parents’ house for dinner!