Shortly after 1:00 this morning, a soft voice in my ear woke me. It wasn’t a familiar I love you voice, or my conscience telling me I forgot something. It was the night aide at the Retirement Home where my mother lives.

I squinted at her, trying to gain recognition. “Are you serious?”

Had she really sneaked into my room to check on me? Or ask for my credentials? Or why…

“Yes, I’m serious,” she whispered. “There is a fire…”

I was thinking “fire drill,” marveling that they could have scheduled a fire drill in the retirement home and incredulous that the drill could be scheduled for the one night—first night—I was in Reno, sleeping on the pull out love seat in my mom’s studio apartment.

The aide is obviously accustomed to having to repeat herself. “It’s a fire, across the freeway—“

“Fire?”

“In the buildings across the freeway. And we might have to evacuate everyone. I don’t want to wake your mom and scare you, but I wanted to let you know.”

“Oh my gosh, okay….okay….thank you…,” I stammered.

“See,” she pointed to the patio door.

The sky blazed orange. Flames roared, shooting into the blackness. On the highway, squad car lights flashed on the highway stopping traffic from both directions. On the other side of the highway, the fire crackled and roared like thunder and raging water. My eyes and thoughts were glued to the blaze. I peered into the darkness, into the bright billowing smoke, searching for glimpse of the fire fighters, of ambulances, of evidence of life.

The aide was watching from the neighboring balcony. I asked her what was burning.

“New apartments.”

“Is anyone living there?”

“Not yet,” she told me. “They just started leasing them.

We have had our home catch fire before—twice. I know what it’s like to dress in the middle of the night and rush out of the house, heart pounding, as the windows crack and pop behind me. I know what it’s like to take inventory in the charred remains afterwards. Thankfully I don’t know what it is like to lose loved ones to fire. I was grateful to know that kind of horror was not happening across the freeway.

Security personnel from the retirement home and the adjoining hospital circled the parking lot, watching for burning ember. A super truck pulled into the lot. I assumed it was another employee until a woman in a tank-top and a guy in jeans and a t-shirt climbed down from the truck and stood swilling beer and watching the show. Security guards shooed them away.

Maureen, the director of the facility, and another aide came out of the lobby. “We are ready to evacuate,” Maureen explained in hush tones. “We’ll take everyone out through the double doors on the hospital side. The shuttle buses and ambulances are waiting there.”

The blaze devoured one apartment building and lept to another at the same time it spread north across a field lining the highway.

“The medication cart is by the door; the patient files are there, too…” Maureen was directing this to me, but she wasn’t actually talking to me. She was reciting her emergency check list of all she had to do if the fire wasn’t controllable, if the wind blew up, if instead of racing north through the scrub lining the highway, the fire spread south, if the glowing embers landed wrong…

Standing there, watching the blaze, I wondered what I would do, could do, if the fire did spread. In that moment the enormous weight of the load Maureen, the aides, security people, and the hospital personnel next door carried beared down on me. I had never before contemplated just how much responsibility they and others who work in hospitals and care facilities assume when they take on the job. I had a car, I was strong and healthy; I could get my mother out of the building and drive clear of harm. But what about all the others inside?

Fortunately, we didn’t have to experience an evacuation. As I watched, water arched up and onto the diminishing flames and the billowing smoke gradually turned from black to gray to white. The firefighters won this battle.

Around three, I crawled back into my cozy sleeper love seat. The fire wasn’t completely out yet; across the highway, firefighters still battled.  But I wasn’t worried any more; the Angels of Monaco Ridge were standing guard. I joined my mother and the other sleeping residents.

Post bombing news is circulating quickly as authorities piece together events leading up to the suicide bombings of Friday morning, July 17^th. In conversation, when the bombing is mentioned, the second or third question people ask me, as a resident of Jakarta, is “how do I feel about living there?” The question is asked in that cocked head, furrowed brow way meaning, “Aren’t you scared?”

I am scared. Although not because I feel a sense of personal danger. I am scared for Indonesia, for its children—children who will suffer if the factions who plan, coordinate, finance these bombings get what they want. Especially scared for these children, so desperate or brainwashed, who willingly strap on bombs and blow themselves to bits.

Another bomb was found in a guest room at the Marriott. Purportedly, those who orchestrated these bombings checked in on Wednesday and “check out” was that day, Friday July 17^th. No reports have said whether a room had similarly been rented at the Ritz as no unexploded bombs or bomb-making equipment has been found there. This Wednesday-Friday stay means these bombers spent time in the hotel; it wasn’t just a walk by. What went through their minds as they walked through the opulent lobby outfitted with plush carpet, mirrored and gilded walls and ceilings? Did they flop into the middle of the bed and sigh as they sank into the cushy down comforter and mound of pillows the way my daughter does when we check into a hotel? Did they luxuriate in a warm, scented bath? Slather themselves with lotions? Try on the terry robes and slippers? Did staying in that room—large enough to fit 2 of their mean family homes, and costing more rupiah per night than they may have ever seen—delight or sicken them? Did watching the wealthy toss back coffee and cocktails costing more than they might have earned in a week of manual labor fuel their zealotry?

What must the circumstances of these childrens’ lives be that they would willingly blow themselves to bits? A few days before the bombings an armored car was robbed. Something like a million and a half in US dollars was stolen. The belief is that at least a portion of the stolen money was given to the families of the suicide bombers. A reward for given their child to the cause. Their child detonates a bomb, murders him or herself and countless others and they move uptown with the proceeds. Is their status in the community elevated because they gave—sold—their children for the cause?

What about that other bomb? The unspent bomb left behind in the luxury suite. It may have been brought along just in case…or maybe there was supposed to be three children sacrificed that day. Three bombs detonated. More humans murdered and maimed. More destruction. Did that third child back out? Did he or she balk at murder—of him or herself or others? Maybe a tiny hopeful feeling, an inkling of desire for a future, still smoldered within that third child. I hope so.

Shortly before 8:00 the morning of Friday, July 17^th, 2009, bombs exploded in two of Jakarta’s luxury Hotels, the Ritz-Carlton and the Marriott Hotel. The hotels are across the street from each other, in central Jakarta. They are hotels where visiting expats often stay and where local expats–Curtis, me, our friends–gather for charity events and balls, bazaars, and meals. Sunday brunch at both of these hotels is a popular. We enjoyed Mother’s Day brunch at the Ritz this year. One man with whom Curtis works was staying at the hotel, but was not near the blast.

Here is an excerpt from the first security company report I received:

Up to nine people were killed in nearly simultaneous explosions at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel and the Marriott Hotel in central Jakarta today, Friday 17 July 2009. Police sealed off the area… Police report the use of a high explosive. Damage to the Ritz Carlton, especially to the Airlangga Restaurant, is reported to be extensive. Damage to the JW Marriot to is at the car park entrance area with extensive blast damage to glazing in the interior lobbies of the hotel. The majority of fatalities had been at the Ritz Carlton and include foreign nationals among them. Sources at the scene report the possibility of more bodies inside the hotels. Witnesses reported that one of the explosions also damaged the lobby of the nearby Plaza Mutiara building.

Victims have reported seeing a very bright white flash at the point of the explosion at the Marriott hotel, with burns reported and a fog-like smoke. One of the explosions reportedly occurred on the third floor of Ritz Carlton, where a restaurant is located.

Indonesia police have subsequently reported that they found an unexploded bomb in a room of the JW Marriott hotel in Jakarta today. It was found in what police said was the “control centre” for the attacks. It was defused as police searched the hotel.

Later in the day the report was updated:

This morning’s attacks appear to have been sophisticated, well planned and coordinated in order to carry out almost simultaneous attacks on two separate, well guarded and iconically named targets. Both locations deploy extensive security personnel.

So far no group appears to have taken credit; but the level of sophistication, the obvious amount of pre-planning that would be necessary for such an attack and the targets and timings would tend to indicate the implication of the Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) terrorist network in the attack. This supposition is supported by the fact that at least one of the attacks is believed to have been a suicide bomber, and this was the method of attack used by JI in the 2002 Bali bombings. Expert sources have suggested that the JI’s Noordin M. Top maybe behind the blasts.

Police sources at the scene have indicated that the Ritz Carlton attack was the work of a female suicide bomber (the first of its kind in Indonesia) as traces of a suicide vest have been found with her head separated from her body (indicative of a suicide attack). It is not yet clear as to what the delivery mechanism was at the Marriott Hotel, but the apparent size of the blast could also be that of a suicide/motor cyclist bomber.

In the years between 2002 and 2005 there were other similar bombings: The 2002 Bali bombings which killed 202 people; the previous Marriott Hotel was badly damaged by a car bomb attack in 2003, which killed 12 people; in 2004, the Australian Embassy in Jakarta was bombed, killing 10 people and wounding 161; and in 2005, Bali was bombed again and more people were wasted.

Nine humans—daughters, mothers, fathers, sons, friends—were murdered by these July 17^th bombings; 40 others were physically wounded. And all of us—all of Indonesia, all of humanity—was injured.