first met them in the sandy shores of Jigawa. Like the desert that bordered their home they were bare or should i say barren. They are called the almajiri and they had known no other life than what they are – Children as young as 4 years and young men in their 20s. Their job? To beg from door to door in the town and in the corpers lodge, where i was ‘serving’. Their daily proceeds were remitted to a slave master who taught them from the quoran and ensured they remain blind to anything other that what he told them.
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In the northern part of Nigeria, they are called the almajiri. In other climes they go by various names; less privileged, underprivileged, destitute, forgotten.
Alauru likes the feel of paper, he likes to draw patterns on the sheet, he likes that he can bend the pen into various shapes. He likes that he can clean what he has scribbled and start again. Alauru comes to scribble everyday, he cannot write and he can not take the pen and paper home.
Alauru is one of the fortunate ones amongst these kids, for many the pen and paper hold no appeal, they have forgotten how to play.
Their life is one old hard scrouge of bitterness, they can not explain. They wonder why they can’t take a bath or sit in the classroom in the school where i teach. They wonder why they have to peep through the window. They wonder why they are chased away. They wonder, why do i have to beg to eat.