There is a tiny mosque — basically an empty storefront with public faucets — located every two or three blocks in Cairo, Egypt. Some preachers at these modest places on Friday draw crowds of worshipers, at times overflowing the sidewalk into the street, where mats must be rolled out to form a continuous surface for prayer. On this day carpets extended half a city block. Men left their shoes along the pavement in substantial heaps surrounding the congregation, and worshiped in the open air on a cold gray day adjacent the Nile River. I was not able to understand much of the sermon. Normally the homilies are delivered in prophetic tones at high decibels, like evangelists at the old-time tent revivals. This Friday differed. The speaker expressed himself in a hushed voice interrupted by grave pauses. The mature believers shown here with bowed heads seem to reveal emotions of burden, weighed down by sin perhaps or financial struggle, or another trial in the family.