The North's Progress Hinges on Addressing Broken Childhoods

There is a pressing issue that we have collectively failed to address with the seriousness it demands. Every day, we encounter it on our commutes and glance away from it, shaking our heads yet moving on. Young boys wander the streets from dawn till dusk, bowls in hand, dust covering their feet, and hunger evident in their eyes. We label it tradition; we claim it as religion. Yet, within ourselves, we recognize the deep-rooted problem.

Almajiranci, in its current form, does not embody culture or spiritual practice. It is a manifestation of societal neglect cloaked as tradition. These are children expelled from their homes under the guise of education, only to end up begging at traffic intersections and sleeping in crowded spaces, devoid of care or protection. This is not a form of education; it is sheer abandonment.

There exists a widespread agreement among average northerners that this practice is a gross violation of children's rights and poses a perilous trajectory for the region's future. While parents murmur their concerns, teachers voice it softly, and even numerous clerics concede it during private discussions, the response from those in positions of authority remains alarmingly quiet when it comes to enacting change.

Norther governors come together at various forums, expressing their discontent with the almajiranci system. They make bold declarations and assure reforms, yet year after year, we continue to see streets populated with children who should be receiving education in classrooms. It’s merely rhetoric without corresponding action.

The ulamas, who wield considerable moral influence, seldom challenge this flawed system openly. Many have become accustomed to the status quo. Meanwhile, lawmakers who possess the authority to outlaw the exploitation of children seem more focused on government vehicles, contracts, and their political survival rather than the plight of these children.

For instance, in Kano State, boys under ten trek long distances every morning, often on empty stomachs, seeking alms before their Quranic studies. Many endure physical punishment for minor errors or for failing to return with sufficient donations. In Sokoto and Katsina, reports indicate that boys have collapsed from fatigue in the sweltering heat, with only a flimsy mat under a tree providing them a place to rest after enduring their day’s struggles. This suffering is not hypothetical; it is recorded in hospitals, detailed in reports, and reflected in the tears of mothers unable to feed their children.

Some states are beginning to demonstrate what is achievable. Kaduna has initiated programs that integrate Quranic schools into mainstream education, providing meals and structured lessons. Meanwhile, Jigawa has started overseeing the welfare of almajiri students, enforcing basic standards for food, accommodation, and instruction. Such examples illustrate that reform is possible, but executing it requires leadership that prioritizes the needs of children over contracts and political interests.

In numerous public primary schools throughout the North, students are crammed into overcrowded classrooms furnished with broken chairs, while absent teachers are the norm. They learn by rote without comprehension. These children transition from one grade to another without acquiring essential skills in reading, mathematics, or science. After six years, many are unable to compete with peers in other regions. Only those whose parents can afford private education receive the foundational skills necessary for the modern world.

This predicament is not solely a northern issue; it is a national crisis. The North already lags behind on several developmental indicators, including education, healthcare, and poverty. No region can advance when its children are left behind. The future of any nation is contingent upon the treatment of its youth. If they are not educated, protected, and nurtured, development becomes merely a concept rather than a reality.

In many primary schools in the North, conditions remain equally disheartening, characterized by classrooms with dilapidated infrastructure, overcrowding, and overworked, underpaid teachers. In far too many states, primary education seems like an afterthought.

We ponder why insecurity escalates, frustration intensifies, and poverty’s grip remains unyielding. A child raised without basic necessities, education, and acknowledgment does not automatically transform into a productive adult. Nations cultivate growth intentionally; it is not incidental.

We cannot continue to act as if this situation is complicated. It is not. It calls for bravery. It necessitates governors who will seriously invest in primary education and enforce legislation against child exploitation. It requires lawmakers to prioritize children's needs over contracts. It demands religious leaders to express their views clearly and act decisively. Above all, it invokes citizens to demand quantifiable change instead of being sidetracked by political oratory.

One day, we will need to answer for what we allowed to happen—not to international observers or developmental organizations, but to the children themselves. The boys on the streets of Kano, Sokoto, Katsina, Kaduna, and beyond did not choose this fate; it was imposed upon them.

If we truly care about the future of the North, we must prioritize its children without delay. Each moment we hesitate, another generation quietly slips away. History is unsparing towards those who, knowing better, choose inaction.

If left unchecked, the system of almajiranci will continue to hinder the North's progress and obstruct the nation's rightful development. The time for merely speaking has passed; decisive action is long overdue. Every child in the North is entitled to access education, receive nourishment, have a safe learning environment, and lead a life that allows them to thrive beyond mere survival.

Should leaders falter yet again, history will be unforgiving, as will the children robbed of their potential.