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.