By Ozumi Abdul
Sunusi’s ribs stood out like the lines on a roadmap — sharp, unforgiving, telling of long roads walked without a guiding hand. At four, when laughter should have been easy, his eyes carried a seriousness no child should wear. Shamsu, five, followed like a shadow, his tongue often dry from thirst more than the harmattan wind.
Buhari, just seven, tried to shield them both with a bravado far beyond his age. In 2020, from their home in Katsina, the three boys set out alone toward Kano, seeking knowledge that was meant to illuminate their futures, and not steal their childhoods. Their parents visited only once afterward, and the boys learned quickly that the nest where they hoped to be protected was gone; the wall had fallen, and no one promised to rebuild it.
Some call them “Almajirai.” Others see them as problems, statistics, or societal blind spots. But these are children: flesh and bone, spirit and dreams, not shadows to be shooed from sight. Their lives are testimonies to parental absence and systemic failure, not moral failings by children who once trusted adults to care for them.
Born to Learn, Forced to Beg
Sunusi might have been born to a warm heart and full belly. Instead, he learned to stand barefoot on hot concrete and cold ground. When rain came, the deluge fell upon his thin back; when the sun rose, it roasted what little protection his ragged cloth offered. He slept on open streets, mosquito bites marking his arms like tally marks of neglect.
They are “Almajirai” a word born from al-Muhājir, the Arabic name for someone who leaves home in search of deeper knowledge. In its best understanding, the system was once a respected method of Islamic education that blended communal care, charity, and scholarship. Children were tutored by malammai (Quranic teachers) close to family homes, and the community helped sustain them. But over time, with migration, poverty and lack of regulation, the system has collapsed into something unrecognizable: children left to their own devices on streets instead of learning halls.
Parents, Society, and the Gaps Between
It isn’t simply that their parents “failed” them; rather, economic hardship, lack of support systems and a society that turned a blind eye compounded their vulnerability. A setup meant for learning became one of wandering and begging as they knock on doors with plastic bowls as though receiving alms were the natural reward for a quest for knowledge. What they really beg for is dignity, care, and a chance to grow up safe.
In many northern communities, people still give sadaka, (charity) daily, hoping to earn divine reward for feeding these boys.
But charity without structure cannot replace the stable, sustained care a child needs. Their “everyone’s parents”, neighbors, passersby, even distant relatives treat them with suspicion or indifference, leaving a cry for help lost in the echo of daily survival.
Almajiri in History and Today: Meaning and Origins
At its roots, Almajiranci is a system that predates colonialism in West Africa, especially in regions like Kanem-Borno and later the Sokoto Caliphate. Parents once sent children to tsangaya schools to study the Quran with male scholars, while families and communities supported their upkeep through charity and shared resources. In those times, begging was rare because the system had social and financial support.
But as British colonization and economic shifts reshaped society, these schools lost stable funding. Far from home and without structured support, many children began begging simply to eat, and the system grew into something far removed from its original aims. Today, the term often refers to any child seen on the street, a tragic distortion of a once-honored tradition.
While some defend the heritage and spiritual intent of Almajiranci, others argue that allowing children to roam and beg is exploitative and denies them full human dignity. This paradox has driven policy debates and interventions for years.
Government and Policy Interventions
Nigeria’s policymakers and governments, federal and state alike — have recognized this challenge and begun responding through legislation, institutions, and reforms aimed at protecting children and strengthening education.
Establishment of the National Commission for Almajiri and Out-of-School Children (NCAOOSCE)
In May 2023, the federal government established the National Commission for Almajiri and Out-of-School Children by an Act of Parliament. This body is mandated to address illiteracy and the vulnerabilities of out-of-school children, including Almajirai, by designing programs for education, skills acquisition, and poverty prevention among these youths.
The Federal Ministry of Education has moved to create new policies for sustainable reform of the Almajiri-Tsangaya education system. These reforms aim to merge Quranic education with secular learning, so every child not only memorizes scripture but also learns literacy, numeracy, and skills for life.
Calls for increased Funding and Collaboration
At the federal level, the Minister of Education has repeatedly called for increased education funding to tackle both the Almajiri system and the broader national challenge of out-of-school children, estimated to number in the millions. The government is collaborating with state authorities to revive and maintain Almajiri schools — many of which deteriorated after being built under earlier administrations.
State-level reforms and curriculum integration
In Kano State, the government is reviewing the state’s Tsangaya School Board to improve conditions for Quranic students: constructing classrooms, employing trained teachers, integrating Western education, and improving sanitation. These steps aim to modernize and dignify the learning environment for children traditionally enrolled in Tsangaya schools.
In Borno State, authorities have established the Arabic and Tsangaya Education Board — introducing unified curricula that blend religious and secular subjects while offering vocational skills and farming education, preparing children for varied futures rather than begging on the streets.
Reintegration and psychosocial support with UNICEF
In the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, some state governments banned the old system temporarily and worked with partners like UNICEF to return children to their families, provide safe shelter, life-skills training, and community-based monitoring to prevent re-entry into street dependence.
Advocacy and Legal Safeguards
Beyond government action, bodies such as the National Human Rights Commission have issued guidelines to protect the rights and dignity of Almajiri children — advocating for social welfare enrolment, foster care, education access, and protection from degrading treatment.
These interventions reflect a growing understanding: that Almajiri children are not pests to be banished or social liabilities to be dismissed, but human beings whose futures — if supported — can matter deeply to Nigeria’s social fabric.
From Begging Bowls to Books and Tools
Yet, for every policy promise and institution created, real change must be grounded in compassion and community — not merely decree. Sunusi, Shamsu, Buhari and others like them do not need to be pitied. They need to be loved with purpose — seen, protected, educated, and equipped for life beyond survival.
When an almajiri learns to read beyond the Qur’an, to write, to calculate numbers, to farm, to fix tools, to envision a future without begging, that is not a betrayal of tradition — it is its elevation. A system that once sought knowledge should not condemn its children to hunger; it should teach them to grow.
These children deserve dignity in every milestone, not just subsistence. They deserve schools that teach and kitchens that feed. They deserve mentors who guide them where community, government, and policymakers meet in purpose.
And when the wall falls, as walls sometimes must — we should be there to build a home around these children that never falls again.