On Talibés and Almajirai

The talibés in Senegal and almajirai (plural of almajiri) in Nigeria are remarkably similar. Both groups consist of young boys sent away from their rural families to live in urban residential Islamic schools, where traditional practices have increasingly devolved into systemic street begging and child exploitation.

Both are rooted in traditional Islamic boarding systems—called daaras in Senegal and tsangaya or almajiri schools in Northern Nigeria—where students focus intensely on memorising the Quran under a religious teacher (maramu or mallam).

Parents typically send their young sons (often starting at age 4 to 7) away from impoverished countryside villages to major cities, trusting they will receive a pious religious upbringing. Rather than being fully provided for by their teachers or communities, many of these children are mandated to spend hours each day roaming the streets to meet daily quotas for money or food.

International bodies and NGOs classify the systemic neglect, lack of formal secular education, malnutrition, and forced labour surrounding both groups as severe child protection and welfare crises.

The systems of both the Talibés in Senegal and the Almajirai in Nigeria began as highly respected, community-supported networks for higher Islamic education. Over centuries, economic pressures, colonisation, and rapid urbanisation transformed them from prestigious academic traditions into the marginalised systems seen today.

The Almajiri System in Nigeria, Pre-Colonial Prestige: The word almajiri comes from the Arabic al-Muhajirun, meaning "the emigrant." It historically referred to students who travelled to gain knowledge. In the pre-colonial Kanem-Bornu Empire and Sokoto Caliphate, these schools were elite institutions. They produced the region’s judges, clerks, and scholars. The traditional schools (tsangaya) were heavily subsidised by the ruling emirs, wealthy patrons, and the local community through zakat (charitable giving). Students did not need to beg because the community willingly fed and clothed them as a religious duty.

The British Disruption: In 1904, the British colonial administration conquered Northern Nigeria. They abolished state funding for Islamic schools and refused to recognise them legally. At the same time, they introduced a Western-style secular school system that required fees, which most poor Muslim families rejected. Deprived of state financial support, teachers (mallams) and their students lost their livelihoods. To survive, schools migrated to urban commercial centres, and students were forced to work or beg for food and charity, transforming a system of prestigious scholarship into a survival mechanism.

The Talibé System in Senegal, Pre-Colonial Integration: In Senegal, traditional Islamic schools (daaras) were deeply integrated into rural agrarian societies. Young boys (talibés, from the Arabic talib, meaning "student") studied the Quran under a religious teacher (marabout). Historically, talibés did not beg for money on city streets. Instead, they worked alongside their marabout on communal agricultural land, growing food to feed the school. This labour was viewed as character-building, teaching the boys humility, discipline, and the value of hard work.

The French colonial administration in Senegal marginalised traditional daaras, choosing to fund and promote French secular schools instead. This isolated the Islamic schools economically, restricting them to rural areas. During the 1970s and 1980s, severe droughts devastated West African agriculture, making rural farming unsustainable. Desperate marabouts moved their daaras into large cities like Dakar to survive. Lacking land to farm and unable to afford city life, the teachers adapted the traditional labour model, sending children onto urban streets to beg for daily cash and food quotas.

Equivalent systems and student populations are found in Niger, Chad, Mali, Burkina Faso, Benin, Togo, Ghana, and Côte d'Ivoire.

While colonial education policies are a major historical catalyst, they are not the sole ultimate cause for the widespread street begging associated with almajirai (in Nigeria) and talibés (in Senegal/West Africa). Widespread rural poverty leads many families to send children away to daaras or tsangaya schools because they cannot afford to feed them at home. In addition, secular post-colonial governments often failed to integrate or properly regulate traditional religious schools, leaving a legal vacuum where abusive teachers can exploit children for economic gain. What was historically a minor or non-systemic practice of enduring hardship or seeking alms has morphed in urban environments into commercialised, forced begging managed by exploitative networks.

Both Senegal and Nigeria have introduced several legal reforms, modern curriculum integrations, and bans on street begging to address these crises. However, enforcing these laws remains incredibly difficult due to political pressure, deep-rooted cultural traditions, and severe enforcement gaps. In Nigeria particularly, the federal government launched major initiatives to build "Model Islamic Schools" (Tsangaya schools). These schools fuse traditional Quranic memorisation with basic English, mathematics, and vocational training, funded by the state, to eliminate the financial need for begging. But neither government has the budget or infrastructure to house, feed, and formally educate the millions of children who rely on these systems for shelter. Also, many rural, conservative parents still distrust state-run secular schools, viewing them as elite institutions that do not teach moral values.

In Northern Nigeria, the almajiri system is deeply scrutinised as a critical national security concern. Security analysts and organisations like the International Centre for Counter-Terrorism (ICCT) highlight how the system functions as a vulnerability pipeline. With an estimated 30 million out-of-school and almajiri children in Nigeria, violent non-state actors like Boko Haram, ISWAP (Islamic State West Africa Province), and northern bandit groups look to these children as prime recruitment pools.

While the system itself does not inherently teach violent extremism, it produces hundreds of thousands of boys who grow up experiencing severe poverty, isolation, and a lack of parental love or state support. When they outgrow the schools, they often have no secular education, no literacy, or job skills, leaving them economically desperate and susceptible to the financial and ideological promises of insurgent groups.

Also, because almajiri children are highly visible begging on city streets, they face intense societal stigmatisation, sometimes being pejoratively labelled by the public as "urchins" or future criminals. This social exclusion deepens their detachment from the state, making anti-government insurgent narratives more appealing.

Ref: Exploring Youth Radicalisation Within the Almajiri System in Northern Nigeria

Talibés beg in Senegal's St Louis's main market. The boys can spend up to 10 hours on the streets in search of food and money, with severe beatings awaiting some. Photo by Pete Pattison/The Guardian

Burundi, children behind bars

Channel 4's programme Unreported World exposes the plight of hundreds of children in Burundi locked up for years without trial in adult prisons, among some of the most dangerous criminals in the country. (Click here to see it on the Channel 4 website). And they meet one man who has dedicated his life to freeing them; Pierre-Claver Mbonimpa is the only hope many of these children have.

(Note: The film is still available on the Channel 4oD website even now in 2013, but you will need to register if you're not already registered on the site and then navigate to the 2011 series. Use this link, it's worth the trouble).

Burundi has no juvenile justice system and children above the age of 15 are tried as adults. By law any child under that age should not be imprisoned, but in a country recovering from civil war and where record keeping is scant, many under-age children are slipping through the net and are being locked up.

There is no legal aid, and there are only 106 lawyers for a population of over eight million people. This is one of the reasons why three quarters of children are being held for long periods without trial.

While wrongly imprisoned for two years, 62-year-old Pierre found the body of a child prisoner who had been murdered. The incident affected him deeply and he decided to spend the rest of his life defending victims of injustice.

Reporter Ramita Navai and director Wael Dabbous travel with Pierre to a prison in Ruyigi province, one of the poorest parts of the country. They find more than 20 children in the jail, several of whom look younger than 15.

Many of them say they have been locked up having been accused of minor offences, such as stealing a bag of rice. Nestor tells Navai he is 12 and has been there for two months. 'My family never liked me. That's why they sent me here. They've left me here to die,' he says.

Navai and Dabbous travel with Pierre to Mpimba prison, the country's most notorious jail, which houses some of the most dangerous criminals. It was built for 800 prisoners but there are now more than 3300. The team finds nearly 100 boys sleeping in one cell, nearly all of whom are being held without trial. There's no room to lie down or sit, so the boys are all forced to stand.

One of them, Claude, says he is 13 years old. He has been accused of rape but appears to be the victim of a dispute between families. Like other children, he may have been falsely accused of a crime in order to settle a score. He's been held for five months without trial and says older prisoners abuse the children. Pierre decides to investigate his case.

Claude Tangishaka, who stated that he was 13

The team travels with Pierre to Claude's home province of Bubanza, where he meets the magistrate in charge of the case. He reveals that hospital records showed Claude's alleged victims had in fact not been raped and that there was a feud between Claude's family and another family.

Claude doesn't have a birth certificate as he was born during the civil war, and Pierre needs to prove he is under 15 to get him out of jail. He travels to his home village, where Claude's mother tells him she thinks he is 14 and that he had actually been accused of inappropriately touching his neighbours' children.

Back in Mpimba prison, the team meets some of the 100 female prisoners locked in with the 3000 men. There are also 24 babies and toddlers living in the jail, nearly all of whom were born inside. One prisoner tells Navai that that some women are forced to have sex for money in order to survive, and become pregnant.

Burundi's Director of Prisons tells Unreported World that a lack of resources makes it impossible to hold women and children separately. He also admits that under-15s are being illegally imprisoned and blames corrupt magistrates and policemen and a lack of proper records.

Pierre is still negotiating with Claude's neighbours who are demanding compensation to allow Claude to return to the village. The magistrate says that Claude cannot be released if his mother does not pay the compensation, as his life will be in danger and the villagers may kill him. His mother has nothing to give. While there is no way of knowing how long Claude will be behind bars, Pierre is still fighting to get him released.

Related reading:

Burundi: Children Behind Bars Suffer Abuse Human Rights Watch

Burundi: Children Behind Bars Suffer Abuse Stolen Childhood

Children behind bars suffer abuse in Burundi Save the Children

Burundi: Child soldiers living on the edges Stolen Childhood

Prisons in Africa: An evaluation from a human rights perspective www.surjournal.org

The Channel 4 reporter Ramita Navai writes:

'You're with Pierre, you'll be OK,' one of the prison directors told us, as we stepped into the sea of bodies swarming the courtyard in Mpimba prison. Pierre-Claver Mbonimpa is a human rights activist who works in Burundi's prisons, and Mpimba is the most notorious jail in the country. It was built for 800 inmates - there are now over 3300. There's barely room to sit.

Rapists and murderers are held alongside political dissidents and petty thieves - and they all stand aside to make way for Pierre. No other visitor is treated with the same reverence, for Pierre used to be one of them.

An ex-policeman, he was jailed for two years, wrongly accused of possessing an illegal firearm. It was in a tiny, black cell in solitary confinement when he decided that if he was ever released, he would dedicate the rest of his life to fighting injustice. But Pierre was not here to see these men, for among the heaving mass of prisoners are tiny, frightened figures in ragged clothes. Children in Burundi are kept in adult prisons and Pierre is fighting to get them out.

'Prison is not place for a child - just look around, these children live in fear,' said Pierre. At night, not even the armed guards dare enter the dark cells, bootleg alcohol fuelling the aggressive atmosphere. Outbreaks of violence are common. The criminal age of responsibility is 15, but many underage children end up in prison. Years of civil war means that birth certificates and public records are scarce, and that the justice system has been left shattered.

Almost hidden between the inmates, Pierre discovers Claude, who looks even younger than the 13 years he claims to be. Like many other boys here, he's been accused of rape. Pierre explains that most of the boys worked as household servants and were accused of rape by their employers. Pierre suspects it is a way to evade payment.

Sexual abuse is rife and there is not enough food. Nearly all of the children are being held without trial -some have been here for years.

But Pierre says he will never give up. He even gets death threats for his work, but undeterred, he continues to file his complaints and expose any corruption along the way. "Let them give me death threats, I'll never stop," he says in his gentle, calm voice. "I'm all these children have."

"Freedom without my lover is useless and meaningless"

Tiwonge Chimbalanga and Steven Monjeza are taken into custody after celebrating their engagement, The Guardian

Renowned rights campaigner Peter Tatchell has told the Guardian newspaper that he has received a message of defiance from Tiwonge Chimbalanga, one half of the Malawian same-sex couple who are currently facing criminal charges of 'unnatural practices between males' and 'gross indecency'. In the message, Chimbalanga stated "I love Steven too much. If people of the world cannot give me the chance and freedom to continue living with him as my lover, then I am better off to die here in prison. Freedom without him is useless and meaningless."

Tatchell who has maintained contact with the couple since they have been in prison also quoted Steven Monjeza (the other half of the couple) as saying, "We have come a long way and even if our family relatives are not happy, I will never stop loving Tiwonge." The couple who have been refused bail, have been remanded in prison custody since last December. The verdict of the court in the trial of this heroic couple is due next week. It has been said that currently Steven looks "thin and weak", with "jaundiced eyes".

Residents of the Machinjiri township on the outskirts of Blantyre where the couple have their home have responded angrily, saying that they will not allow the couple to return home if they are set free.

"They have given this township a bad name", said Maikolo Phiri, a local vendor.

Zione Monjeza, an aunt of Steven said, "We as a family have been terribly embarrassed to be associated with this gay thing. It's a curse and a big shame. We will chase them away if they are freed."

Nchiteni Monjeza, Steven's uncle, said: "I won't drop a tear if they are jailed. They deserve it."

For me the couple are social revolutionaries who deserve the support of all right-thinking people. Malawi is one of the poorest countries in Africa where more than half of the population live below the poverty line. Tobacco is the country's main export and the use of child labour is rampant. This worrying BBC World Service report elaborates on the problem of families who due to poverty are forced to send their children to work in the tobacco fields, thereby denying the children their childhood, and their right to education. There is much talk about unscrupulous and uncaring large international tobacco companies, but my mind tells me that the government of Malawi are more directly responsible for the welfare of the child-citizens of the country than any international company is. The Malawian government, as with many other governments in Africa, continues to fail their people. Employers of child labour are not pursued and prosecuted, even though under Malawian law the employment of children is illegal.

While child labour can be defined as any work, which by its nature or employment conditions is detrimental to a child's physical, mental, moral, social or emotional development, the "Worst Forms of Child Labour" refers to the types of work for children described in Article 3 of the International Labour Organisation (ILO) Convention 182. Article 3 of the Convention, among other things, emphasises any work, which is "likely" to harm a child's health, safety or morals, such as, in this case the work carried out in the tobacco and tea estates of Malawi.

For statistics on child labour in Malawi you may take a look at [download] this very detailed ILO report. For the year 2000 the ILO projected 445,000 economically active children between the ages of 10 and 14 working as child labourers, representing 31.5% of this age group, 216,000 girls and 229,000 boys. The report also observed that being tender physically, children are susceptible to various work-related injuries and illnesses to a greater degree than adults doing the same kind of work, and that a high percentage of the children were physically injured or fell ill while working.

Interestingly just last evening I saw a report on this same subject on Channel 4's Unreported World. (Please click on the link and see the Unreported World report. It will be available online only for about one month from the date of this blog post). Unlike the reporter however, who apparently sought to blame the big tobacco companies, I put the blame squarely on the shoulders of the Malawian government for failing to protect the children of the country. 

And yet it is this same government that will enthusiastically pursue and persecute harmless homosexual men. I eagerly await the verdict next Tuesday and the fallout thereafter if the couple are jailed.

The Malawi Law Society (MLS), the professional body of the country's 200 lawyers, has spoken out in favour of the couple, saying that they are "not a threat to the society" and should be freed. This is an about-turn from a few months ago when Malawian lawyers proclaimed that the couple broke the law and deserve to face justice. It is a clear example of the effectiveness of the efforts of rights campaigners worldwide, who since this saga began in December 2009, have ceaselessly stressed the injustice that is inherent in the continued detention of the couple and how unlikely it is that they will get a fair trial in the face of such massively hostile public opinion.

Untold suffering of children in Kenya, victims of sex tourism

I was taken aback by this news report this evening. I'm lost for words.. Please read the report on the Channel 4 website, its quite informative. The New York Times carried this opinion on the same subject earlier this year..