The shrill voices of hawkers selling “CHEAP SAAA-RONGS! NECKLACES FOR YOUUU!” argue in cacophony with the relentless BEEEEP! of battered taxis and mopeds. Exhaust pipes belch fumes and smoke and the main road is a hot, noisy hub of chaos, activity, commotion and colour. People lounge on the pavements outside their stalls smoking, chattering, urging you to come inside and buy their beads, batiks and wooden goods.

This is Jalan Legian in Kuta, Bali, site of the October 2002 terrorist attack on the Sari Club that shattered the island and killed 202 people. It was the worst attack in Indonesian history and over a year later inhabitants of the island are still reeling, struggling to return to a normal life.

As I approach the levelled area where the Sari Club used to be, the pounding in my ears recedes and as though the clamour and din of street is a million miles away. The area is bare and stark in contrast to the confusion and clutter around it.

A few pieces of cloth are draped over railings, which on closer inspection prove to be Sari Club t-shirts. Defiant anti-terrorist slogans are scrawled in harsh letters in angry, ugly writing. Poems and messages for the victims – locals and tourists alike – are scribbled in felt tip pen all over and with a jolt I notice one in particular, no more than a grimy and blackened rag, has the barely legible words SARI CLUB STAFF printed on the back. A member of staff must have worn it that violent night. Goose bumps penetrate the muggy heat that envelops me.

It’s a chilling feeling to stand on the spot of such a horrendous tragedy and the reality is brought home with more clarity than a photograph or news report could ever deliver. I wonder if this is how the residents of Kuta feel each day when they walk past it or if this empty feeling has simply become part of their every day life.

The eagerness with which locals in Kuta speak of the events that night surprises me. Their openness is tempered not with bitterness as you might expect but with confusion and an enormous sense of loss. Businesses of every description have suffered dramatically as tourists from all over the world heeded foreign office warnings not to visit. It is painfully obvious how the lack of tourist trade in the last year and a half has devastated the island financially. Added to this is the heavy sense of personal loss for the many who lost family and friends in the blast.

One of the locals I speak to is Jimmy. He takes us on a tour of the island and as we wind our way above the terraces of paddy fields it doesn’t take long for the subject of the bombing to arise.

“I was meant to be working in Kuta that evening but I turned down the job because I had a feeling that something had happened to my wife and children. I went home to Denpasar. If I had stayed in Kuta I would be dead,” he says, matter-of-fact, and with the same blunt approach to the topic I notice in a number of the locals I speak to.
“My wife and children were fine and my gut feeling, although wrong in a sense, ultimately saved my life. Other people were not so lucky and fate didn’t intervene. Even now I keep thinking what if?” He smiles sadly as he says this.

Bali is predominantly Hindu and I am curious about the effect of the bombing on the relationship between Hindus and Muslims on the island.

“Hindu is a very peaceful religion. There isn’t a large Islamic community on Bali but we don’t feel hate for them, only for the people who did this.”

I am surprised by this attitude given the outpouring of animosity directed at many Muslims after September 11th. In England and the United States, innocent Muslims were subjected to verbal and sometimes physical abuse after the twin towers attack. But here, in a supposedly less developed and educated society, people are not blaming an entire religious community for the actions of a minority.

The financial consequences of the attack continue to reverberate. Despite slowly increasing number of tourists returning to the island, businesses continue to suffer and individuals are finding it difficult to make ends meet.

“This is the first day I have worked in a long time” Jimmy explains to us as he drives back to our accommodation. “There just aren’t as many tourists as there were before. People are still scared.”

When we say goodbye to Jimmy he gives us his card and makes us promise to recommend him to any of our friends who visit Bali. This happens a couple of times during our stay and it makes me realise how desperate people are for work. Despite the apparent return to normality the tourist trade is far from flourishing.

In terms of world news, the October 2002 attack has slipped from the news agenda, its place on the front page taken by a multitude of events over the last year and a half and, more recently, by the bombings in Madrid.

As with many tragic events, it is quickly forgotten that people remain deeply affected by it every day. It’s difficult to realise the enormity of the impact – financial and personal – without experiencing at least the echoes of the blast evidenced by the emptiness that remains where the Sari Club once stood and on the streets of Bali in general.