The imam spent 20 minutes exploring the topic of racism. He spoke of the extraordinary levels of discrimination faced by Black Muslims at the hands of their Indian "brothers" who had been born into Islam. He reminded us of Indian Muslim bosses physically abusing their Black Muslim employees and the torturous working conditions that have Black Muslims endure.

The imam mentioned that there was a disturbing trend of new converts in Soweto whose early passion for Islam is extinguished due to the treatment they receive from Indians — it reached the extent that some even forwent their commitment to the faith. He closed the talk by urging for unity and assuring the Black community that there were sincere Indians around who were welcoming and not hostile. He implored all of us to strengthen the bonds of Islam under one banner, particularly because it was the month of Ramadan.

The talk certainly did not lack punch, and although our bellies were crying out for nourishment, we definitely were not short of food for thought. After the compulsory prayers were concluded, Shiraz and I turned to each other and mulled over what we'd just heard. We were impressed with the talk, yet saddened at the situation that befell us all as Muslims.

I looked ahead, half-optimistic about a utopian future, half-disillusioned at the current situation. A powder-blue clad arm entered my line of sight. An index-finger was viciously wagging. The man's eyes were furious.

"That bloody guy is the biggest bloody racialist around," he said.

The wagging finger was directed at the imam who was a few feet ahead of us. He continued, "The bloody bastard hates us Indians after all we've done for them. We bring them food in Ramadan and this is how they thank us! Look at him, his namaz (prayer) isn't even counted!"

Our eyes converged at the man in the powder-blue kurta, who was pointing at the imam's trousers. The man had deemed the imam's prayer to be invalid since his trousers were about an inch over his ankles.

The powder-blue man stormed off to his crew, advising them that they were to leave with immediate effect. Shiraz and I mirrored a confused grin at each other. "This is South Africa," I thought, "Oh dear! This is South Africa."

According to Dr. Suleman Dangor, a professor at the University of Kwazulu-Natal, roughly 45 percent of Muslims in South Africa are of Indian origin. The Malay group, made of a medley of influences from Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Malaysia, and mixtures with white settlers, comprises the other sizeable majority, also representing around 45 percent of Muslims. The remaining 10 percent is a seriously inexact approximation. But, one can find Black converts, as well as immigrants from Rwanda, Mozambique, Malawi, Somalia, and many more Muslims from African countries who were attracted by South Africa's financial charm.

There is a very small minority of Arab Muslims because the bulk of the Lebanese community is Christian. White Converts are at a premium in South Africa, but a tiny percentage does exist. Some of their gripes with assimilation into the mainstream Indian and Malay communities can be seen more as cultural hurdles that need to be overcome rather than rampant discrimination.

Originally brought to South Africa to work on the sugar cane fields on the East Coast, South African Indians carved a niche over the generations as astute businesspeople. They managed to become one of the most financially secure communities in the country, which is a remarkable tribute to human endeavor.

Riding the storm of discrimination in the country's gloomy apartheid past, South Africa's Indian Muslims can be proud of freedom fighters who went through extreme adversity for the liberation of the country. However, no matter how much the Pahad brothers, Dullah Omar, or Ahmed Kathrada — just to name a few — achieved for the multi-racial democracy that South Africa can boast at present, there still lies a dark and poisonous underbelly within the community — racism.

A recent meeting with a neighbor in my apartment block was an interesting example of this. He had moved into the building only eight months ago, and when I queried what seemed to be a strange decision to leave, he rolled his eyes and mentioned, with an ample garnish of disgust, "Too much of that kind of people here." I knew what he meant.

I wondered whether he realized that he was living in Africa. I pondered if he knew that he is part of the minority in this country, and that that kind [blacks] is the majority. Perhaps he needed to grasp the simple concept that if he had wanted to live in a place loaded with Gujarati Indians, perhaps it would have been wiser to move to Gujarat.

There was also a fresh whirl of anger created in Muslim and non-Muslim circles when it came to light that a local Indian Muslim shopkeeper had severely abused his Black employees — Motlalentoa Hlalane and his cousin Lebohang, who were both teenagers. The man — normally a pillar of all things wholesome within the local Muslim community — only served to reemphasize the notion that Indians exploit Blacks, and use them as lackeys and pseudo-slaves, resulting in disastrous detriment to public relations between the two racial groups.

We live in a time when many South Africans — White, Black, Malay, and Indian — are sincerely attempting to shrug off the atrocities of the past in a spirit of forgiveness and compassion to build a new, idyllic society. There are some among the South African Indian community who are attached to the yo-yo condition of having an inferiority complex in relation to whites, while they also feel inherently superior to Blacks.

This attitude must be abolished, and as the aphorism says, "Those who don't change find themselves living in a world that no longer exists." On that warm Sunday in Soweto, Shiraz and I saw the ugly reality of our condition in people who seemingly had every intention of doing good charitable work. That makes the paradox all the more unpalatable.