By Abdulmalik Yahya (The Punsmith)
Before the first call to prayer echoes through Kano’s quiet streets, seven-year-old Musa is already awake. Barefoot and bowl in hand, he walks miles in search of coins and scraps of food. He should be in a classroom learning to write his name, not dodging traffic for survival.
Children are the foundation of every society. When nurtured and protected, they secure our collective future. Why then do we tolerate what is both morally and religiously impermissible?
Reliable figures on the number of street children in Nigeria are scarce, yet the scale of deprivation is undeniable. UNICEF’s most recent education brief (2024) estimates that about 18.3 million Nigerian children are out of school, with a significant majority living in the northern states. Poverty drives much of this crisis. According to the 2022 National Multidimensional Poverty Index, 63 percent of Nigerians – about 133 million people – are multidimensionally poor, and many of the highest poverty rates are recorded in the North. In households where parents struggle to provide even one meal a day, sending a child away to an Almajiri school or onto the streets can appear, tragically, as a solution.
While government programmes such as the Almajiri Education Initiative and state-level reforms exist, parents and guardians still bear a heavy responsibility. Many permit this practice under the guise of tradition or necessity, ignoring the harm it inflicts. Can we truly wonder why insecurity plagues the North when we fail in our duty to protect and educate our children?
Consider Musa’s parents, who perhaps in neglect of their God-given responsibility to provide, hide behind a misunderstood call to seek knowledge. How can anyone justify abandoning a fundamental obligation under the cloak of religion? Scholars can debate theology, but the contradiction weighs heavy on any conscience.
We as a society are also complicit. In pursuit of cheap labour and convenience, we exploit these children, assigning them tasks far beyond their capacity while paying them next to nothing. Some even toss leftovers barely edible, thinking this is charity. Is this how we build a just society?
The danger does not end with today’s hunger.
Nigeria already faces one of the highest drug-use burdens in West Africa, according to the UNODC and NDLEA National Drug Use Survey (2018, with 2023 updates). Precise figures for street children are unavailable, but outreach workers consistently warn that children who grow up on the streets are at higher risk of drug abuse, gang recruitment, and petty crime. Today’s child beggar can become tomorrow’s addict or insurgent – victims first, then threats.
This is not to dismiss the Almajiri system or discredit those who genuinely support its reform. But the truth remains: a child needs care, shelter, and proper nutrition before education – religious or otherwise – can take root.
The Child Rights Act of 2003 guarantees every Nigerian child the right to education, protection, and dignity. Yet, as of early 2024, at least 11 northern states had not fully domesticated or enforced the Act. State assemblies must close this gap. Faith leaders can champion alternatives that keep children in school, while communities create watch groups to report abuse and provide safe shelters.
Economic hardship is no excuse for moral surrender. Nigeria’s inflation, unemployment, and lingering insecurity have deepened family poverty, but hardship should call forth compassion and reform, not abandonment. History offers stories of resilience, of children who rose above hardship. But today’s reality is bleaker. Without deliberate action, the future will slip further from our grasp.
Each of us has a role. We can support organisations that rescue and educate street children, sponsor school fees where you can, report child exploitation through hotlines such as NAPTIP’s 627 short code or the national child helpline (109), offer food, yes, but also guidance, mentorship, or a path back to the classroom.
Let us act decisively not out of mere obligation, but because it is the right thing to do, and build a society where poverty is not a sentence to the streets, where knowledge is a gift and not a punishment, and where the next Musa holds a book in his hand, not a begging bowl.
Abdulmalik Yahya, also known as “The Punsmith,” is a talented poet and writer. He’s the President of Sahel Scribes, and his work focuses on themes of hope, resilience, and social commentary. His poetry explores the human experience, delving into emotions, societal issues, and spiritual introspection.
Some notable works include:
- “Urban Bruise”: A poem lamenting the poor environment in Nigeria, showcasing his style and survival instincts
- “Inkspire”: A powerful piece emphasizing the impact of writing and poetry on society, urging writers to craft boldly and challenge loudly
- “Purging Light”: A heartfelt apology to God, seeking forgiveness and expressing gratitude for divine mercy
- “The Hands of Time”: A poem exploring the journey from hardship to ease, highlighting time’s manifestation and destiny’s will
Abdulmalik Yahya’s writing often explores themes of:
- Social Commentary: Addressing societal issues, like environmental degradation and injustice
- Spirituality: Expressing a deep connection with faith and seeking guidance
- Personal Growth: Reflecting on experiences, emotions, and the pursuit of self-improvement
He’s also a speaker and participant in events like the Geneva Peace Week, where he contributes to peace-building discussions.
