Little Corn Island, Nicaragua “How many days do you think it would take people to find out that this island was destroyed by a giant storm and we were washed out to sea?” It was 2am. We had no power in our tiny little shack on the beach, the one with the tin roof, the one in which every single raindrop (of which there were many) pounded down in fury and haste, echoed in our ears, made us have to holler to be heard. Whenever we attempted to look outside, the slanting rain forced us to close the windows again. The palm trees, dark and wild, were nearly bent in half. Without even seeing the ocean, we could tell the waves were crashing with a violence we weren’t expecting. “Um…?” I stuttered over my reply. “I guess, three days, if we were lucky? Probably more like a week…” *** Kerri and I took great lengths to get to Little Corn, the supposed Caribbean paradise off the coast of Nicaragua. We taxied and flew, we survived the ch...