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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