I used to be exacerbated by what I perceived as the aloofness of the folk at the local mosque wherever I happened to find myself. But times have changed. Over the past year or so attending the mosque in town in my lunch break, I have become part of the furniture. I am no longer the stranger, but the anticipated arrival. The old uncles now greet me with Salam alaikum; an ancient one even patted me on the back when I stood beside him for the prayer this lunchtime. When they see me pacing up the road towards the mosque, even half a mile away, various drivers frequently stop to give me a lift. There is a fond bond between the gatherers on the right side of the mosque. The lesson I have learned from this is that you have to be persistent. On the first day and the second day, you might be a visitor best ignored. In your own mind you may be the unwelcome guest with the wrong colour skin, but as the months pass by it becomes apparent that you are indeed their brother. You just have to have patience, my friend.