Missile Booms and the Sweet Sound of Landing on Home Soil
REPUBLIKA.CO.ID, JAKARTA — In late February 2026, as travellers’ thoughts drifted to hoping their journey could be extended a little longer to savour another day in the glittering city, the Middle East skies fell silent. The hope was realised in an unimaginable way: a simple trip became a long wait with no certainty of return.
On the night of 27 February, a plane carrying a number of passengers landed smoothly at Zayed International Airport, Abu Dhabi. A transit of a few hours before continuing to Jakarta seemed ordinary. The airport, with its vast, futuristic architecture and orderly rhythm, has always been a comfortable hub for thousands of people passing between continents. Some passengers chose to step outside, enjoy the fresh air of Abu Dhabi, a city neatly arranged, streets clean, buildings rising as if a dream come true.
The following morning, around 10:00 local time on 28 February, everything changed. The social media feed was filled with news of a joint US-Israel attack on Iran. Not long after, the sound of retaliatory explosions could be heard in the distance. Emergency alerts rang on mobile phones of residents and visitors, warning of heightened vigilance. Tension crept quickly, like fog over the desert.
The UAE authorities promptly shut parts of their airspace. Zayed Abu Dhabi, Dubai International, and Ras Al Khaimah halted commercial flight operations. Thousands of international travellers suddenly found themselves stranded. Abu Dhabi tourism data recorded around 20,000 visitors affected. For those still inside the airport, long queues at airline counters offered a glimmer of hope. But for those who had stepped out into the city, returning to the terminal became a nightmare: access was tightly controlled, patrol vehicles stood at every point, and the airport became a restricted zone.
Among those detained were dozens of Indonesian nationals. The longing to stay longer now tasted bitter. The luxury of five-star hotels, neatly kept streets, and the high level of security no longer felt comfortable. As one passenger said, even a gilded cage could not replace the thin mattress in one’s own room, where safety and freedom come without condition.
Solidarity emerged amid the uncertainty. Indonesians residing in Abu Dhabi opened their homes to fellow countrymen and women who had lost shelter. The Indonesian Embassy in Abu Dhabi and the Consulate General in Dubai acted swiftly. Ambassador Judha Nugraha ensured every Indonesian was documented and linked into a communications group. Online meetings were held, tired voices shared their stories, and the state was present, not just in words but in tangible support that reassured.
Days passed with a different rhythm. UAE society faced the situation with remarkable composure; trust in the government and security system was very strong. Schools shifted to online learning, activities continued with heightened vigilance but without panic. The emergency alerts, initially tense, gradually became part of daily life. At the airport, the sound of missile interception had once sent passengers running for cover, queues stretched long, a moment of chaos occurred, but was swiftly controlled.
Hope finally arrived on 5 March 2026. Thirty Indonesian nationals secured repatriation slots on Etihad Airways to Singapore, before continuing to the homeland. That morning, Zayed Airport felt noticeably quieter. Check-in ran strictly, with Indonesian embassy staff assisting with documents and emergency visas. In the midst of the queue, the sound of a blast was heard again. Officers ordered everyone away from windows, to leave belongings, and to halt activities for ten minutes. No one was allowed to record. After being deemed safe, the process continued.