Diary – 18 July 2009

As Johannesburg slid deeper into recession, I put in a bid for a rundown property in the suburb of Emmarentia. The ad said, ‘Bargain of the year! Two houses for the price of one!’ My offer was accepted and here I am, new owner of a rambling commune with seven toilets, six tenants and five dogs between us. All my neighbours are Muslim, exquisitely discreet and rarely seen. They glide down Muirfield Road in large silent cars. Automated gates slide open as they near and close behind them. Dead silence descends. What are they doing in there, behind those perpetually closed curtains? The women don’t even come out on Fridays, when the mosque around the corner sends out a discreet SMS, calling the faithful to prayer.

It seemed good form to call on my new neighbours, so I rang their doorbell this morning. I saw curtains twitching in a window, but no answer came.