World War Z

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There have been so many stories, books and films about wars, about armies, about fighting. The men in helmets and vests, totting rifles, backpacks, ammunition, trudging through forests, friendly territory, enemy territory, villages, towns, cities, swamps, tunnels, rivers. It’s crazy, really.

We spent days, weeks, in half makeshift camps with less than ideal conditions, whittling away time within the gates, having our meals, exercising, dozing, packing stuff. We spent days in the open fields and nights under the stars and moon, we set up, we moved, we set up, we moved, we practised, we ate, we joked, we snacked, we chatted. We walked up hills and knolls, we peered at flowers, shrubs, trees, thorns, we watched the cows, bulls, horses, dogs, we watched out for the leopard, we tracked the sunrises and sunsets.

There were many of us. Some we knew from before, some we didn’t. We made friends with some, and less with others, we talked about home, life, family, work, friends, music, movies, tv shows, food, drinks, restaurants, animals. We sat in our corners, we changed corners, we paced about.

We texted each other, we called home, we sent silly pictures, we got off the grid, we watched old movies. In the end it was a world away from the world, and we found some friends.

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World War Z

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