Almajiri education in Northern Nigeria: A case for a curriculum rich in Islamic content

Few social issues in Northern Nigeria combine moral urgency, human suffering, and policy failure as starkly as the Almajiri education system. What began centuries ago as a respected model of Islamic learning has, in its contemporary form, become one of the region’s most visible symbols of structural neglect. Across major cities and rural communities, thousands of Almajiri children (Almajirai) roam the streets—hungry, unsupervised, vulnerable, and excluded from meaningful participation in society.

The persistence of this system has placed a heavy burden on Northern Nigeria. It has strained urban infrastructure, deepened cycles of poverty, fuelled insecurity, and exposed children to exploitation, disease, and crime. Yet, despite these consequences, the Almajiri system has proven remarkably resistant to reform. The reason is simple but often ignored: parents continue to demand Islamic-centred education, and reforms that fail to respect this demand inevitably collapse in practice.

The solution does not lie in preserving the current system, nor in creating a separate, parallel Almajiri education structure as was attempted and heavily publicised about a decade ago through federally funded “Almajiri Schools,” which ultimately failed. Rather, the only sustainable and humane path forward is a reformed conventional education system with a curriculum richly grounded in Islamic intellectual, moral, and spiritual content, capable of meeting parental expectations while protecting children and safeguarding society. The current Islamic Religious Studies (IRS) curriculum is grossly inadequate for this task.

The contemporary Almajiri system imposes enormous costs on Northern Nigerian society—human, social, economic, and moral. From a human perspective, the consequences are devastating. Many Almajirai experience chronic hunger, lack access to healthcare, sleep in unsafe environments, and suffer physical and emotional neglect. Exposure to abuse, substance use, and exploitation is widespread.

From a social perspective, the system contributes to urban disorder and insecurity. Large populations of unsupervised children in city centres create fertile conditions for petty crime, recruitment into criminal networks, and manipulation by political or extremist actors. From an economic perspective, the Almajiri system perpetuates intergenerational poverty. Children, raised without functional literacy, numeracy, or employable skills face severely limited prospects in adulthood. The long-term cost to society—manifesting as unemployment, insecurity, and pressure on social services—far exceeds the cost of meaningful education reform.

Perhaps most damaging is the moral contradiction the system represents. An educational model intended to produce piety, discipline, and humility now routinely exposes children to indignity and harm. This contradiction undermines public confidence in religious institutions and weakens the moral authority of the state.

Despite these harms, the Almajiri system endures because it speaks to a deeply rooted parental need. Many parents in Northern Nigeria view conventional schooling with suspicion. They fear moral erosion, loss of religious identity, and cultural alienation. To them, Almajiri education—however flawed in practice—represents a commitment to faith, humility, and obedience to God. Of course, the secondary gain of abdicating responsibility and shifting the burden of care for their wards to society is an added advantage.

This parental motivation is neither irrational nor malicious. It reflects genuine anxieties shaped by social change, economic hardship, and visible moral decline. Importantly, parents are not demanding street begging, neglect, or suffering; they are demanding Islamic moral formation.

Any reform that treats parents as ignorant, backward, or complicit in abuse is doomed to fail. The state must clearly distinguish between the legitimate demand for Islamic education and the illegitimate conditions under which it is currently delivered.

One commonly proposed response to the crisis is the formalisation of Almajiri education as a separate, parallel education system distinct from mainstream schooling. While often presented as culturally sensitive and religiously respectful, this approach is deeply flawed and counterproductive.

A separate system, as the federal government tried in some selected northern states, would institutionalise inequality. Parallel education structures rarely enjoy equal funding, quality, or opportunity. Over time, such a system would trap children from poor families in a lower-status educational track, reinforcing social stratification. It would also stigmatise children, branding them as outsiders within their own society and limiting social mobility. Moreover, separation weakens national cohesion.

If separation is rejected, the alternative must be substantive rather than symbolic. Northern Nigeria needs a reformed conventional education system whose curriculum is richly infused with Islamic content, values, and intellectual traditions—one that reassures parents without isolating children.

Core Islamic subjects—Qur’an, Tawhid, Fiqh, Sirah, Hadith, and Arabic language—should be taught as distinct, well-developed subjects that rival and surpass what is currently offered in Almajiri and Islamiyyah schools. These subjects must be detailed, rigorous, and compulsory within the Universal Basic Education framework.

If primary and secondary schools become genuine one-stop centres for both high-quality Islamic and Western education, parents will have little incentive to opt for the Almajiri system. This would not only protect children but also improve overall academic performance. Some private schools have started offering Islamiyyah education in some states, but it is still separate and lengthened hours of instruction to an intolerable level.

Historically, Islamic civilization never treated religious and worldly knowledge as opposites. Scholars were theologians, jurists, scientists, physicians, and administrators. Knowledge was integrated—not fragmented.

An Islamic-rich curriculum goes far beyond adding more periods of Islamic Studies. It requires the structured inclusion of Qur’an, Fiqh, Tawhid, Sirah, Hadith, and Arabic language throughout basic education. Foundational competence should be achieved at the primary and junior secondary levels, while advanced study can be offered at the senior secondary level for interested and qualified students.

Currently, many children—both Almajirai and those living with their parents—spend 10 to 12 hours daily attending Qur’anic, Islamiyyah, and Western schools. This fragmented approach leaves little time for revision, reflection, or rest. It likely contributes to the persistently poor academic performance of students in Northern Nigeria compared to their counterparts in the South and Middle Belt. A reformed conventional education system would free time, improve comprehension, and enhance performance across disciplines.

The contemporary Almajiri system has become an unsustainable burden on Northern Nigeria—morally, socially, and economically. Its continued existence in its current form is indefensible. Yet the parental demand for Islamic education that sustains it remains legitimate and must be respected.

Creating a separate Almajiri education system would entrench inequality, stigmatise children, and weaken national cohesion. It is not a solution but a retreat.

The only humane, dignified, and sustainable path forward is a single education system with a curriculum richly grounded in Islamic content, capable of preserving faith, protecting children, and preparing them for meaningful participation in society.

Nigeria does not need to choose between Islam and modern education. It requires the courage to educate in a way that honours both, and in doing so, finally lifts the burden of a broken Almajiri system from the shoulders of children, parents, and society alike.

Salihu resides at No. 6 Maikalwa, Tarauni, Kano [email protected]

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