Rahama The Baby Sitter: Almjira Unlike Almajiri
Aminu Ala, popularly known as Alan wak’a, a renowned Hausa musician who’s celebrated throughout Northern Nigeria and some part of the world even by academicians in various universities across the region released a song titled of which I think was “Bayi” (slaves), in one of his albums few years ago. In his style of integrating music in education, in it simple and catchy form, the song “Bayi” summarizes slavery in Africa and Northern Nigeria in particular, from time, to when it was outlawed in the early 20th century, it also highlighted and caution what it referred as “Modern Slavery!” In it, he advocated justice, good governance, humility and self reliance.
The intent of this piece isn’t to write a review on Ala’s “Bayi” or to market his song but, a reflection of one thing it highlighted. Not withstanding, “Bayi” is educative and entertaining.
To the main issue…
In one of my Probability Theory classes, I have a student who, hardly can we finish the 2-hour period without her taking excuse to go out, spend some minutes, and then come back to join the remaining time.
I later discovered that she goes out to breastfeed her months old daughter who’s with an 8-9 years old baby sitter. Recently, as I was about to begin my class, she grabbed her daughter, went into the class and asked the baby sitter to remain outside. As fair as that was, I said no; let her also join the class! While my student was somehow protesting, meekly, I still insisted.
Imagine yourself being in a class for the very first time in your life when you’re 8 or 9. A class full of strangers with no single student close to your age but adults old enough to be your parents. Imagine the aloneness, the fear and the discomfort. But that was not the case with our (un)lucky baby sitter, Rahama. The euphoria was evident for the kind gesture of the teacher who let her in as well as some of the female students she sat close to. I feel happy, and she smiles anytime our sight connect in the course of explanation. I wonder if she had an idea the Baye’s Formula I was proving to the class. “Incredible” or “amazing” she might have thought. Who knows.
“Rahama what class are you,” I indirectly asked the little girl. I know she had no idea what I was saying. She smile, nodded and then turned to look at her mistress. Seeing this, the class broke to laughter. “She have no idea what you’re asking Mallam,” says the mistress. So I asked, why would a girl of this age, who should be in primary 3 or 4 can’t answer such a simple question. The answer was:”she isn’t going to school, sir.” So you didn’t enroll her in one? “Yes sir.” I know I was going more private, in the mix of more than 60 students who were all ears. So the last question was hard to answer.
But the likes of Rahama isn’t a new thing to me. I knew she wasn’t a sister or maybe not even a relative to my student but an “Almajira,” a female version of Almajiri, who is unlike the Almajiri we see on the streets; they don’t go to beg for food, their masters feed them; they don’t go hawking, they serve and their masters pay them; they wear a kind of a clean clothes and sleep under a roof not under the tree; they mostly don’t read a script (of the Qur’an or anything) throughout their stay with the masters. And unlike the Almajiri who is ceremoniously graduated after memorising the Qur’an by heart, the likes of Rahama finds a husband, and she’ll be free from this life, into another.
One can’t entirely blame the masters. In good faith do they accept them. And the story isn’t always the same. When I asked my student why Rahama wasn’t enrolled into school, she told me, with all sincerity, that she and her husband intended to do that but her parents refused. Her parents! I told her they didn’t try hard that was why. “Convince them of it benefits as you convinced them to give you the child to serve you. And assure them she’ll still get her pay.” I ended the discussion with that when she asked me “what else can we do, Mallam.”
Rahama, the baby sitter is lucky! Because she might have been given to serve my student directly by her parents. But most times, there’s a middle person - “a broker” specifically for that. They are mostly old women who search from villages and distributes the innocent girls to whoever’s in need and can pay, in the cities. She is even more lucky she’s not traded to the South where she’ll be train to beg professionally. And in the night sleep on the roadsides before she becomes a woman to join “commercial sex workers!”
This sort of slavery, this inhumanity has to be checked. Just as Aminu Ala and many other clerics, writers and speakers have contributed their quarter towards curbing it, more has to be done. Enlightenment and educating those involved are key to curbing this savagery that we somehow see legit. The mindset of those parents, the brokers and those who somehow “adopt” these children needs “restructuring.”
We know of people like Rahama who were embraced to be part of the family they serve without any bias or discrimination. We’ve seen where families adopt their relatives from the villages to help them live a better life and escape been enslaved. When we open our arms for those in need, the little we’ve somehow become sufficient for us all. And we’ll be happy afterwards.
The intent of this piece isn’t to write a review on Ala’s “Bayi” or to market his song but, a reflection of one thing it highlighted. Not withstanding, “Bayi” is educative and entertaining.
To the main issue…
In one of my Probability Theory classes, I have a student who, hardly can we finish the 2-hour period without her taking excuse to go out, spend some minutes, and then come back to join the remaining time.
I later discovered that she goes out to breastfeed her months old daughter who’s with an 8-9 years old baby sitter. Recently, as I was about to begin my class, she grabbed her daughter, went into the class and asked the baby sitter to remain outside. As fair as that was, I said no; let her also join the class! While my student was somehow protesting, meekly, I still insisted.
Imagine yourself being in a class for the very first time in your life when you’re 8 or 9. A class full of strangers with no single student close to your age but adults old enough to be your parents. Imagine the aloneness, the fear and the discomfort. But that was not the case with our (un)lucky baby sitter, Rahama. The euphoria was evident for the kind gesture of the teacher who let her in as well as some of the female students she sat close to. I feel happy, and she smiles anytime our sight connect in the course of explanation. I wonder if she had an idea the Baye’s Formula I was proving to the class. “Incredible” or “amazing” she might have thought. Who knows.
“Rahama what class are you,” I indirectly asked the little girl. I know she had no idea what I was saying. She smile, nodded and then turned to look at her mistress. Seeing this, the class broke to laughter. “She have no idea what you’re asking Mallam,” says the mistress. So I asked, why would a girl of this age, who should be in primary 3 or 4 can’t answer such a simple question. The answer was:”she isn’t going to school, sir.” So you didn’t enroll her in one? “Yes sir.” I know I was going more private, in the mix of more than 60 students who were all ears. So the last question was hard to answer.
But the likes of Rahama isn’t a new thing to me. I knew she wasn’t a sister or maybe not even a relative to my student but an “Almajira,” a female version of Almajiri, who is unlike the Almajiri we see on the streets; they don’t go to beg for food, their masters feed them; they don’t go hawking, they serve and their masters pay them; they wear a kind of a clean clothes and sleep under a roof not under the tree; they mostly don’t read a script (of the Qur’an or anything) throughout their stay with the masters. And unlike the Almajiri who is ceremoniously graduated after memorising the Qur’an by heart, the likes of Rahama finds a husband, and she’ll be free from this life, into another.
One can’t entirely blame the masters. In good faith do they accept them. And the story isn’t always the same. When I asked my student why Rahama wasn’t enrolled into school, she told me, with all sincerity, that she and her husband intended to do that but her parents refused. Her parents! I told her they didn’t try hard that was why. “Convince them of it benefits as you convinced them to give you the child to serve you. And assure them she’ll still get her pay.” I ended the discussion with that when she asked me “what else can we do, Mallam.”
Rahama, the baby sitter is lucky! Because she might have been given to serve my student directly by her parents. But most times, there’s a middle person - “a broker” specifically for that. They are mostly old women who search from villages and distributes the innocent girls to whoever’s in need and can pay, in the cities. She is even more lucky she’s not traded to the South where she’ll be train to beg professionally. And in the night sleep on the roadsides before she becomes a woman to join “commercial sex workers!”
This sort of slavery, this inhumanity has to be checked. Just as Aminu Ala and many other clerics, writers and speakers have contributed their quarter towards curbing it, more has to be done. Enlightenment and educating those involved are key to curbing this savagery that we somehow see legit. The mindset of those parents, the brokers and those who somehow “adopt” these children needs “restructuring.”
We know of people like Rahama who were embraced to be part of the family they serve without any bias or discrimination. We’ve seen where families adopt their relatives from the villages to help them live a better life and escape been enslaved. When we open our arms for those in need, the little we’ve somehow become sufficient for us all. And we’ll be happy afterwards.
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