Of Love, Farts and a Pastoral Institute by Debbie Iorliam

It was with excitement that I threw some clothes into my backpack and headed for the road on a rickety bus. Even so vehicles in this part of the world are never in perfect condition. The harsh morning sun, mingled with sweaty smelling bodies, incessant and high pitched conversations sprinkled with farts that smelled like rotten eggs was an indicator that the journey would be a long one. Waved down…

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