How almajirci could become the next banditry

By Faruk Ahmed

On December 24, 2016, I climbed into an Audi 4x4 at Kwanar Dawaki motor park in Kano. The driver was a soldier returning from the Sambisa battleground. The seats were cushy. Music blared. Cool air hit my face. I thought I was riding to heaven.

I was heading to my hometown, Jattu in Edo State, for a cousin's wedding. The park was chaotic with Christmas travellers, and fares had skyrocketed. Then this soldier appeared, heading to Akwa Ibom, offering rideshare. He would pass close to my destination. I did my due diligence, paid, and hopped in.

There were already four passengers. I became the fifth.

Three days later, I was still on the road.

The car broke down constantly. We spent hours fixing it. The soldier could barely drive. Somewhere past Abuja, I took the wheel and drove us most of the way to Akwa Ibom. (How I ended up in Akwa Ibom instead of Edo is a story for another day.)

But the worst nightmare came somewhere past Lokoja.

Night had fallen. We approached a checkpoint. Before I could slow down, our driver bolted out of the car and vanished into the darkness.

Then came the shouts: "Ku sauka! Ku sauka!!" — Get down! Get down!

Slaps. Kicks. Guns.

We were being robbed by fake soldiers.

The robbery happened a stone's throw from a real police checkpoint we had just passed. When our driver finally reached them and begged for help, they did not move until morning. By then, the robbers had taken everything—our phones, our money, our watches, our dignity.

I lost count of how many times we were searched, how many small bribes we paid at checkpoints along the way. But one thing stayed with me long after I finally reached home:

The robbers spoke Fulani.

 

The prophecy

Exactly one year earlier, in November 2015, I had written an article titled: "Cattle Rustlings: The making of new 'Boko Haram'."

I had travelled to Falgore Forest on the outskirts of Rano Town in Kano State. There, I met Alhaji Jibrin, a Fulani herdsman in his sixties. He had lost 80 cows in a single night. His two sons lost 60 and 40, respectively. Armed bandits had stormed their settlement, shot sporadically, and driven away over a thousand cattle before disappearing into the forest.

"Over 1000 cows have been rustled from Fulani herdsmen," Alhaji Usman Usman, National Chairman of APC Fulani Nationwide, told me then. "About 17 Fulani herdsmen killed." He fumed at the government's indifference.

I wrote then:

"The cattle rustlers are emboldened when authorities turn a blind eye. That is a lesser evil. But the kegs of gunpowder waiting to explode are the deprived cattle owners.

"Fulani herdsmen marry early and bear many children. By 18, a boy is already a man. He is given cattle to rear, multiply, and sustain his family. When his children come of age, the cycle continues.

"The majority of Fulani are barely educated, neither Islamic nor Western. So when they are robbed of their cattle, they have nothing to fall back on.

"When the desirable is not available, you make the available desirable. But you can only teach when you have learned. The Fulani are scarcely learned. So what do they turn to? Nothing. And that is the bubble about to burst."

I did not know then what shape that bursting would take. But by 2016, I had met them on that dark road past Lokoja. By 2020, banditry and kidnapping had become the order of the day across the Northwest and Northcentral. And today, everyone knows who the perpetrators are.

I am not a prophet. I was just paying attention.

 

The connection

Here is what I learned from that journey and the years that followed:

When you strip a man of his livelihood—and give him nothing to replace it—he will find a way to survive. When you deny him education, you deny him options. When you deny him options, you leave him only one door: crime.

The Fulani herdsmen, whose cattle were rustled, did not become bandits because they were evil. They became bandits because they were empty. No skills. No education. No hope. And a nation that refused to see them created the monsters it now fears.

Every checkpoint we passed on that road, every bribe we paid, every official who looked away—they were all part of the system that produced those robbers. The police who refused to move until morning were not just lazy. They were symptoms.

 

The almajiri parallel

Now look at the almajiri child.

Hundreds of thousands of boys, scattered across Northern streets. No literacy. No numeracy. No skills. No one is teaching them that they have worth. Their parents have abandoned them. Their Mallams cannot feed them. Their government does not see them.

They beg because they have no choice. They are beaten when they fail. They are prey for anyone who offers food, shelter, or belonging.

Sound familiar?

It should. This is exactly where the Fulani herdsmen were fifteen years ago.

 

What Nigerians are saying

I am not the only one seeing this. Read what Nigerians are saying on Facebook.

Kongs Shamaki wrote about Auwal, an eight-year-old from Katsina sent to Jos to become an Almajiri:

"No phone calls, no messages, no visits, zero contact. Every day, he begs for food. He rarely bathes. He has no access to modern education. He is insulted daily. He watches other children with their parents and cries. Everyone looks at him and turns away. 

“Tomorrow, when he grows up, everyone will expect him to be moral and peaceful. As it stands, no bill, no plan, no journalism is directed at solving his problem. This is the root cause of rising insecurity."

Paul Luka replied with anger—and painful honesty:

"I don't give them a kobo. Any act of kindness to them is training your own killers. When they come begging, I tell them: 'Should I give you money to buy matches and knives?' I know this system because I was once an Almajiri in Maiduguri."

Habib Muhammad put it simply:

"Poor parenting is breeding bandits, Lakurawa, and Boko Haram. Parents of these children should face the wrath of the government."

Read those words again. These are not haters. These are Nigerians who have watched this system for years and seen where it leads.

 

The stakes

Here is the truth no one wants to say aloud:

If we do not fix the Almajiri system—if we do not give these children literacy, skills, dignity, and hope—they will become the next bandits. Not because they are evil. Because they will have no other choice.

The Fulani herdsmen became kidnappers because cattle rustling emptied them. The Almajiri child will become a terrorist because neglect emptied him first.

This is not speculation. This is pattern recognition.

Already, terrorists hide among them. A youth sent to plant bombs in Maiduguri mosques was recently found hiding in an Almajiri school in Damaturu. The bowl becomes a cover for destruction.

And when they come for us—when the Auwals of today become the bandits of tomorrow—we will have no one to blame but ourselves.

 

The solution

That is why a group of us came together.

We are scattered across Kano, Lagos, Abuja, Bauchi, and Nasarawa. Some of us are writers. Some are lawyers. Some are teachers. Some are simply citizens who refused to look away.

We call ourselves The Nation Builders Initiative (TNBI).

We are not waiting for the government. We are not writing reports that gather dust. We are building a pilot program that integrates literacy, numeracy, life skills, and identity education into existing Almajiri schools.

One Malam. One community. One term.

We have a curriculum. We have a literacy specialist refining how we teach—using methods that mirror how these children already learn. We have a team member shaping weekly identity talks, so children know who they are and what they are worth. We have a legal mind willing to review our work. 

We also have a respected figure, Prof. MB Shitu, who has offered to host the pilot at a school he already supports, where four Almajiri children come to his home daily, fed, cared for, and not begging.

We are small. We are slow. But we are doing.

 

The call

I do not know who will read this. But I know someone out there knows a Malam. Someone out there has resources. Someone out there has been waiting for permission to act.

Consider this your permission.

Support initiatives like ours. Start your own. Talk to the Mallam in your neighbourhood. Feed one child. Teach one child to read. Show one child that they matter.

Because if we do not, the Auwals of today will become the bandits of tomorrow. And when they come for us, we will have no one to blame but ourselves.

I met them on that dark road in 2016. I do not want to meet them again.

If you believe in this work—if you have a lead, a skill, a resource, or simply a prayer—reach out.

The Nation Builders Initiative (TNBI)
WhatsApp: 080 3535 4008
Email: thenationbuildersinitiative@gmail.com

Faruk Ahmed is the Coordinator of The Nation Builders Initiative. He passed through the Almajiri system three times. He was robbed by Fulani bandits in 2016. He is now working to ensure the next generation does not have to choose between begging and banditry.