3.00pm - By KATHY MARKS
Sesca Rompas climbed on to a plastic stool and peered through a dirty window at her brother, Aldo Kansil, lying motionless on a bed below. He was a pitiful sight: two drips attached, arms swathed in bandages, his face an angry mosaic of burns.
Aldo
was in Paddy's Bar, a nightclub opposite the Sari Club, when the car bomb went off about 4am on Sunday. He was taken to Bali's Sanglah Hospital, where he had no medical care until 2pm on Sunday. No cream, no bandages, not even painkillers, although he was burnt so badly he was crying in pain.
This was the hospital that received all the foreign tourists injured in the blast but now the only white faces to be seen are those of expatriate Westerners helping out as volunteers. All the holidaymakers were evacuated within 36 hours to Australia or Singapore, where they are being given the best medical treatment available in the world.
The Indonesian victims remain in Sanglah, on narrow iron beds, in spartan wards. Their families huddle outside in open-air corridors, sitting crosslegged, waiting patiently for news. When night falls, they stretch on threadbare mats or pieces of cardboard. Hotel rooms are out of the question.
Little has been heard of the Balinese people unlucky enough to have been caught in an attack aimed directly at Westerners. But the bomb, placed outside a club with a policy of admitting only foreigners, exacted a heavy toll on the people who live here. Seven Indonesians are confirmed dead, and 35 are missing. Dozens are in hospital, including 26 in Sanglah, many of whom suffered severe burns.
Three truckloads of medical supplies arrived from Australia yesterday and the position at Sanglah is less dire than in the early hours after the explosion, when the hospital ran out of blood, bandages and scalpels. But conditions on the wards are basic, and Sanglah is short of plastic surgeons and other burns-related expertise.
The families of Indonesian victims say they would have been delighted if Western nations had flown out their loved ones along with the foreigners, even if it meant temporary separation. "Wherever is the best care, I want my brother to go," Sesca Rompas said.
The Balinese doctors would like to look after their own, but they realise medical treatment is superior elsewhere. "If there was a donor to evacuate all these burns patients at this moment, that would be very welcome," Dr Wayan Dana, the hospital's human resources manager, said.
Aldo, who is from the neighbouring island of Lombok, was in Bali for the first time. A travelling supplier of building materials, he was due home last Sunday from a business trip but found himself with a day to spare. He decided to go sightseeing in Kuta, Bali's main nightlife area. He was raising his first drink to his lips in Paddy's Bar when the bomb went off. The force of the blast tossed him in the air and threw him down 9m. He got up, walked a little distance then collapsed. Amid the heat and the chaos, strangers grabbed him and put him in a taxi. His family arrived at Sanglah a few hours later.
"I didn't recognise the face, only the voice," his brother-in-law, Silas Edison Gaghana, said. "He had burns on his face, his shoulders, his arms."
Aldo Kansil is along the ward. Sesca said: "He looked like his flesh was still burning. He couldn't breathe very well. He was trembling a lot. I couldn't talk. I could only cry." Aldo, 20, is the baby of the family, and his elder siblings are distraught. Sesca feels guilty because she pressed him to come home early from his trip, which meant he was in Bali that fateful evening. Another sister, Meske Rompas, has flown from Jakarta to join the hospital vigil. They have not found the courage to tell their mother Aldo is hurt; they fear she might have a heart attack.
Like other relatives, Aldo's family have been allowed little contact with him. The ward is a sterile area, and visits are brief. Sesca, a diminutive woman in a white T-shirt and green flip-flops, fills in the long gaps by gazing at her brother through the window.
Some families have camped on the doorstep of the ward that has most of the Indonesian bomb victims. Last night dozens of people sat on the ground outside or leant against the wall, smoking cigarettes and chatting quietly. Around them were bags of fruit and bread, bottles of water, changes of clothes. Mosquito coils fizzed.
"We just want to be very close to her," said 17-year-old Sumiarsi, whose elder sister, Tumini, lay in the ward with 40 per cent burns. "We want to be here in case she cries out at night, or in case the doctors have something to tell us."
Tumini, 25, was walking past the Sari Club when the bomb was detonated. "She was thrown very far, but she was still conscious and she ran looking for a swimming pool because the burns were hurting her so badly," Sumiarsi said. "When we saw her on Sunday, she looked awful. Her face was black."
Most of the family live in Tuban, not far from Kuta, but Tumini's father, Radi, has moved to the mountains, 96km away. He took six hours by public bus to reach Sanglah, just outside the Balinese capital, Denpasar. He looks worn and shell-shocked, with his eldest daughter lying disfigured a few yards away,
The family have seen Tumini just once, for five minutes on Sunday. They have been sitting in the same spot outside the ward since. "We don't really know how she is because we're not allowed to go in," Sumiarsi said.
Just around the corner, an anxious-looking couple were standing close together, clutching plastic bags. Nyoman Suda and Desak Made Sukreni had come to visit an 18-year-old cousin, Desak Made Purnamidewi. She was another passer-by in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The couple had arrived at the hospital only minutes before, after seeing her name listed among the injured in a television report. They travelled 96km on a motorbike from their home village of Jembrana. "We want to see her, we're very worried about her," Nyoman Suda said.
"First we heard she was dead because the police found her ID card next to a body. Then they said it was a mistake, the body wasn't hers. Next thing we heard she was one of the wounded."
In some respects, these families are fortunate. Worse off are those who have not yet traced lost relatives, who fear they must be among the charred bodies in the crowded Sanglah morgue, where they must go masked, because there is not enough refrigeration. Each day they crowd into the family crisis centre on the second floor of the hospital, hoping against hope for some kind of news.
A disaster fund has been set up for Indonesians who were caught in the blast. A notice on the wall at Sanglah implores people to give generously. "Please help us to help the Indonesian wounded and the families of the dead," it says. "They have little access to funds for evacuation or insurance."
While the international community expresses outrage at the loss of life and limb among foreign tourists, Indonesians are the invisible victims of the bomb that stole Bali's innocence.
- INDEPENDENT
Bali messages and latest information on New Zealanders
New Zealand travellers in Bali, and their families around the world, can exchange news via our Bali Messages page. The page also contains lists of New Zealanders in Bali and their condition.
Foreign Affairs advice to New Zealanders
* Travellers should defer travel to Bali
* NZers in Bali should keep a low profile and remain calm
* Foreign Affairs Hotline: 0800 432 111
Feature: Bali bomb blast
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3.00pm - By KATHY MARKS
Sesca Rompas climbed on to a plastic stool and peered through a dirty window at her brother, Aldo Kansil, lying motionless on a bed below. He was a pitiful sight: two drips attached, arms swathed in bandages, his face an angry mosaic of burns.
Aldo
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