We are Almajiri
We are children of little hope
Rambling down the Northern States of Nigeria wobbly
We are Amajiri, crops of scavengers in disguise.

With our wrinkled faces and decayed teeth chanting “babiallah”
For us, it's the best way to survive
Left overs for dogs we begged,
Just to have something to calm our crying stomach

Turn and turn like soldier ants building a heeve we go along the market square for help
Marching and touring the streets of town
With no western knowledge, we care not
After all, we recognize food when given

And when the sun draws it curtain to rest for the day
On the streets we lay back and bare,
Whenever the night catches us like group of goats without owners.
Our cross hung on us till death.

On carts and horses we came across the sand dunes of the Sahara,
With its cold at night beating us with its slaps

'Sadaka', we asked for,
the world is our family,
our life and death. 'Almajiri' we are, a destiny chosen by Mahaifa

Some of us have dug outs
Where they rest their back to chew the day's curb like goats
In the heart of the night, the thick cold of breeze blew over us
Lying hopelessly under the watchful eyes of God
With the early morning sun we rise
To seek for alms from the passerby,
We seek for a placent future Said the Almajiri Child.


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