Princess Zubaida
By Chukwuemeka Iroegbu Chukwudi
So Princess Zubaida is sitting in her inner chamber, sullen and lonely. She is still in her regalia - a white native-styled gown with golden embroidery and a hood that covers her head, just above her head tie, making her look almost like an astronaut. A chocolate-complexioned lady of about 30 years, she was conferred just yesterday. Plump and of average height, she sits on a chair and weeps gently. Behind and around her are walls wearing mosaic patterns of bright colours, ranging from white, red and yellow to indigo, black and pink. Brown calabashes lie on the floor, while some are hung on the walls. There are also carvings of off-white and brownish ancient masks.
Fifty of the 70 almajirai that were returned to Gambo Emirate this morning from Kano have tested positive for Covid-19. The children, whose ages range from 4 to 14, mostly boys, were packed into the goods compartment of an articulated truck like sardines. Sadly, one boy is dead - staff at the primary healthcare centre abandoned him when he was showing symptoms of hypoxia, leaving him to his fate. Thank God the rest at the makeshift isolation centre are stable. Zubaida's eyes are saturated and reddish. She wonders what the children's living condition was like back in Kano - while they lived in one large apartment, did they have cross ventilation, clean environment, beds and mattresses, mosquito nets, decent toilets, enough food and medicines? Did they have adequate facilities to maintain safety and hygiene protocols: access to running water, hand sanitisers and facemasks; did their Mallams encourage safe distancing? "Wallahi, right now none of those boys has a facemask! Their jalabias are threadbare, shrunken and dust brown... Hmn! Those kids need to attend secular school, besides their tsangayu! I need to give them a befitting life. For now, I pray to Allah for those 50 to recover," she thinks aloud.
"Hajiya. Hajiya Zubaida, the honourable Al-kyabbar Gambo. Your Majesty, please come outside," requests Sarkin Idrisa. He is one of the chiefs of Gambo, himself the sarkin fada in charge of all the workers in the emir's palace. He is sporting a light-blue dashiki with black embroidery. He wears this over a pair of light-blue native-styled trousers. His brown sandals are made from high-quality hide. He is of average build and height, and is a good personal friend to the Hajiya. Her attendant is soon beckoned by him to go call the princess.
"Sarkin Idrisa, the one and only Sarkin fada Gambo of the one and only Gambo Emirate Council. Jab’bama!" hails Zubaida, as she emerges in the front yard. Both she and Idrisa are fluent in Fulfulde, and so most of their pleasantries are naturally exchanged in that language. She looks more cheerful now - her tears have been wiped and she manages some smile to belie the hurt beneath. Apart from the fact that she has to appear extra covered and presentable in public, Idrisa is also a close friend whose company fires her up. So both factors have made her delay a bit longer than usual in stepping out. Her feet are now covered in black stockings and pink dainty slippers made of fabric.
"U’seko!" responds Idrisa. This is his ‘thank you’ in reaction to her ‘welcome’. He immediately directs his attendant to hand her a brown slim rectangular envelope that bears the name and seal of the office of the Sarkin Fada Gambo. "That's on behalf of my chiefdom. It's our little gift to grace your coronation yesterday. As you know, I was on an official assignment and didn't want to delegate this activity. My deputy could read my message, but I have to monitor this one," he says, laughing mildly. "May your reign be long!"
"U’seko mi yet ti, Sarkin," says Zubaida, expressing her deepest appreciation while examining the envelope externally, wondering the content. "Is it a cheque; is it a few notes in foreign currency?" she ponders briefly. But she does not open it. "May Allah reward you greatly! You and your people shall never suffer lack. And may you live long!” She admires the mail again, this time caressing and raising it against the sun to catch a sight of the content. This is her typical way of satisfying her initial curiosity whenever she receives a gift that she has all the right to unseal. She prefers to sustain her suspense by reserving the unravelling of the content for another time. Then she suddenly becomes a bit downcast. “Come to think of it, Sarkin, I'm sure you've heard the sad news about the almajirai that were brought back this morning."
Later in their light-hearted conversation, she will learn, though much to her chagrin, that Idrisa does not believe in the existence of Covid-19 in their emirate. He has never had a facemask, neither does he observe safety and hygiene protocols as reeled out by the centre for disease control in conjunction with the global health regulatory body. She will also discover that his opinion is that the boy who died battled malaria untreated. Idrisa feels the 50 boys in the isolation centre are only having a jamboree, and blames the unfortunate incident on the negligent attitude of the staff at the healthcare facility. He thinks the tsangayu and its Mallams have no questions to answer as far as the welfare of the children is concerned. He accuses the governor that expelled them of merely being negatively influenced by foreign promoters of what he termed in Hausa as karatun boko. According to him, almajiranci is still the best form of education for them. He praises it for its excellence in providing undiluted knowledge about Islam and the Quran. In his opinion, it teaches Muslims to be morally upright and humble. "Have you ever heard that an almajiri was caught stealing?" he asks rhetorically.
"But begging completely destroys human dignity," she replies while walking towards an open hut.
"That was not originally part of the system," he continues, as he follows her to the hut. It is a large hut with a wide circumference, roofed with yellowish brown high-quality thatch. It is more of a recreational spot with red and blue tables, chairs, sofas, a snooker board and a tennis board with green surfaces, all encircled by a white chest-level wall. As they sit, Zubaida summons her attendant to bring drinks, while Idrisa continues his defence of almajiranci. He traces the history of the system to Kanem-Borno in the 11th century and explains how begging for alms crept into their lifestyle. He says it was due to the weakening of tsangayu and establishment of urbanisation by the colonialists in the very early 20th century that Mallams and their almajirai began to receive sadaka from the public in order to survive. "I blame this mess on the foreigners who imposed karatun boko on us."
"Even if you blame it on the colonial masters who enforced Western education on us with schools that replaced our tsangayu, there are still some Mallams who make life tough for these children by demanding part of the alms they get from the public in the form of kudin sati, weekly levy. Is that fair?"
"It's uncommon. After all, the more alms one gives them, the more divine reward and protection one gets. They are the lack that take our lack."
"These children are subjected to abuse, free and forced labour, stigmatisation, abject poverty and neglect just for our divine reward. It can be better than that."
"The most important thing in life is to seek Islamic knowledge. And that's what they're doing."
"At the expense of becoming juvenile delinquents and radicals? At the expense of becoming nonentities because they lack vocational skills?"
"Piety is a great virtue."
"Nobody says that they shouldn't be well grounded in Islam and the Quran as Muslims. All I'm saying in effect is that they also need secular education to prepare them for survival in this secular world. Please, don't see it as Western education; rather, consider it as non-religious education." As Zubaida looks at Idrisa, she recalls when he was courting her for three years. Indeed, he had given her the first experience of that thing. He had also promised her heaven and earth and, as he is not one to promise and fail, he had actually given her heaven and earth. But for a noble lady who also has heaven and earth, that was not enough. He needed something else to win her heart, but he was unable to find that something else. Then came the man who was able to find that something else and won her over. Nevertheless, she has not lost her soft spot for him and vice versa. If left together for long, the duo could begin to redevelop feelings for each other. Right now, as she looks him in the face, passion has however given way to disappointment. Although she feels a bit uneasy arguing with him, she wonders if he is sincere about his position. A university graduate with a Master's degree in Public Administration, he ironically is an antagonist of a system that has evidently buttered his bread and sugared his tea. Is he denouncing secular education because he truly thinks it's another form of religious education or does he want to suppress other children and stop them from attaining the heights he has reached? "Sarkin, for your information, I've resolved to under my NGO establish a Muslim-led secular school because I believe it's the solution to the almajiri menace in our emirate."
The daughter of the Emir and wife of the Jajin, Zubaida has already swung into action. Of course, she has not told Idrisa that she has secured a facility for her proposed school; that she has received funding from her NGO, her father and her husband; that she has obtained a loan from her office and her bank under the Islamic Development Bank scheme; that she has got donations from friends and associates; and that she has already planned the structure of the school. It will be well secured with perimetre fencing. This will protect the pupils from easy attack by robbers, rapists, bandits and insurgents. The facility is a sky-blue two-storey building - big with well-ventilated rooms that will be converted to classrooms. This is a good starting point, pending the eventual relocation to a more spacious permanent site. For now, she will make do with this rented edifice that occupies a plot of land with an additional plot serving as a sport field. The school will be a mixed-gender school that will enrol pupils mainly from the almajiri population, thereby doubling as a rehabilitation centre for them. At first, they will not be wearing uniforms in order to reduce the cost of schooling for the children. She will also subsidise books and award scholarships to bright and promising pupils. She reckons that she has to make going to school very, very easy if she must encourage and sustain a culture of attending secular school among her people. Some of them sometimes ask to be paid to go to school. When funding education becomes burdensome to parents, they withdrew their children from school at the slightest provocation. She can vividly remember the case of one Fatima who was angrily withdrawn from school by her father to just sit at home simply because the authorities suggested, though gently, that a new uniform be bought to replace the girl's 'worn-out, torn and tattered school gown’.
As an educationist with a Master's degree majoring in early years and intermediate education, and who has once worked as an educator, Zubaida has also planned the curriculum. The school shall blend religious and secular education in a harmonious manner. Islamiya shall form the pillar of the school - Quran and Arabic classes shall be taught by Mallams. Periodically, the school shall organise Quran Musabaqah and the pupils shall observe Salat. Away from religious education, the next area of focus shall be vocational skills acquisition. Zubaida understands full well that this aspect of education can never be over-emphasised if there has to be a real change in the fortunes of the almajirai, and indeed anybody. She can attest to the fact that her expertise in fashion designing and jewelry making has helped her to put food on her table more than her degrees put together have. Therefore, she will make no mistake in ensuring that skills like automobile repairing, various forms of agriculture (including cattle ranching), shoe cobbling, barbering, fashion designing, etc. are taught, learnt and practised in the most viable way, adopting 21st-century strategies. And the last and actually least is the theoretical education. Also on offer shall be other conventional subjects, such as English, Mathematics, Hausa, Civic Education, Social Studies, Basic Science and the like, with emphasis on practicals.
She is now musing in her inner chamber – a chamber that has been her good luck charm. It has proven to be the forging house of some great decisions in her life. For instance, her NGO, fashion firm and proposed citadel of learning, including her children were all conceived in this other room. She produces better results whenever she thinks issues through. And she seems to find perfect or near-perfect solutions whenever she thinks matters through in this cozy and inspiring room. Right now however, there is an aura of vexation because her latest proposal is also perceived by many as haram - forbidden. Before he left, Idrisa had vowed to mobilise against what he termed the introduction of Western religion and tradition under the guise of education. He had promised to use his position to carry out the campaign. She has now realised painfully that a foundation owned by an indigenous cleric based abroad is sponsoring a movement. The organisation has provided huge funds in a foreign currency to promote the Sharia law. She understands why he has chosen to fight her with lock, stock and barrel. Undaunted, she too has avowed to reform the almajiri system because the children are currently dangerous to national development. She is committed to doing this, even if it will be with the last drop of her blood, so as to incorporate religious, traditional and secular education. She believes this is the only way that they can be integrated into the larger society and ensure realisation of their full potentials. But there is a little cause for worry. After all her calculations, what she needs to actualise her dream, with the proposed name of Tenterhooks Academy, is some thousands of naira to conclude registration and licensing formalities. As she ponders how to complete the money, she suddenly remembers the envelope that Idrisa had given her. She immediately reaches for it and opens it. Alas! A one hundred dollars bill!
By Chukwuemeka Iroegbu Chukwudi
So Princess Zubaida is sitting in her inner chamber, sullen and lonely. She is still in her regalia - a white native-styled gown with golden embroidery and a hood that covers her head, just above her head tie, making her look almost like an astronaut. A chocolate-complexioned lady of about 30 years, she was conferred just yesterday. Plump and of average height, she sits on a chair and weeps gently. Behind and around her are walls wearing mosaic patterns of bright colours, ranging from white, red and yellow to indigo, black and pink. Brown calabashes lie on the floor, while some are hung on the walls. There are also carvings of off-white and brownish ancient masks.
Fifty of the 70 almajirai that were returned to Gambo Emirate this morning from Kano have tested positive for Covid-19. The children, whose ages range from 4 to 14, mostly boys, were packed into the goods compartment of an articulated truck like sardines. Sadly, one boy is dead - staff at the primary healthcare centre abandoned him when he was showing symptoms of hypoxia, leaving him to his fate. Thank God the rest at the makeshift isolation centre are stable. Zubaida's eyes are saturated and reddish. She wonders what the children's living condition was like back in Kano - while they lived in one large apartment, did they have cross ventilation, clean environment, beds and mattresses, mosquito nets, decent toilets, enough food and medicines? Did they have adequate facilities to maintain safety and hygiene protocols: access to running water, hand sanitisers and facemasks; did their Mallams encourage safe distancing? "Wallahi, right now none of those boys has a facemask! Their jalabias are threadbare, shrunken and dust brown... Hmn! Those kids need to attend secular school, besides their tsangayu! I need to give them a befitting life. For now, I pray to Allah for those 50 to recover," she thinks aloud.
"Hajiya. Hajiya Zubaida, the honourable Al-kyabbar Gambo. Your Majesty, please come outside," requests Sarkin Idrisa. He is one of the chiefs of Gambo, himself the sarkin fada in charge of all the workers in the emir's palace. He is sporting a light-blue dashiki with black embroidery. He wears this over a pair of light-blue native-styled trousers. His brown sandals are made from high-quality hide. He is of average build and height, and is a good personal friend to the Hajiya. Her attendant is soon beckoned by him to go call the princess.
"Sarkin Idrisa, the one and only Sarkin fada Gambo of the one and only Gambo Emirate Council. Jab’bama!" hails Zubaida, as she emerges in the front yard. Both she and Idrisa are fluent in Fulfulde, and so most of their pleasantries are naturally exchanged in that language. She looks more cheerful now - her tears have been wiped and she manages some smile to belie the hurt beneath. Apart from the fact that she has to appear extra covered and presentable in public, Idrisa is also a close friend whose company fires her up. So both factors have made her delay a bit longer than usual in stepping out. Her feet are now covered in black stockings and pink dainty slippers made of fabric.
"U’seko!" responds Idrisa. This is his ‘thank you’ in reaction to her ‘welcome’. He immediately directs his attendant to hand her a brown slim rectangular envelope that bears the name and seal of the office of the Sarkin Fada Gambo. "That's on behalf of my chiefdom. It's our little gift to grace your coronation yesterday. As you know, I was on an official assignment and didn't want to delegate this activity. My deputy could read my message, but I have to monitor this one," he says, laughing mildly. "May your reign be long!"
"U’seko mi yet ti, Sarkin," says Zubaida, expressing her deepest appreciation while examining the envelope externally, wondering the content. "Is it a cheque; is it a few notes in foreign currency?" she ponders briefly. But she does not open it. "May Allah reward you greatly! You and your people shall never suffer lack. And may you live long!” She admires the mail again, this time caressing and raising it against the sun to catch a sight of the content. This is her typical way of satisfying her initial curiosity whenever she receives a gift that she has all the right to unseal. She prefers to sustain her suspense by reserving the unravelling of the content for another time. Then she suddenly becomes a bit downcast. “Come to think of it, Sarkin, I'm sure you've heard the sad news about the almajirai that were brought back this morning."
Later in their light-hearted conversation, she will learn, though much to her chagrin, that Idrisa does not believe in the existence of Covid-19 in their emirate. He has never had a facemask, neither does he observe safety and hygiene protocols as reeled out by the centre for disease control in conjunction with the global health regulatory body. She will also discover that his opinion is that the boy who died battled malaria untreated. Idrisa feels the 50 boys in the isolation centre are only having a jamboree, and blames the unfortunate incident on the negligent attitude of the staff at the healthcare facility. He thinks the tsangayu and its Mallams have no questions to answer as far as the welfare of the children is concerned. He accuses the governor that expelled them of merely being negatively influenced by foreign promoters of what he termed in Hausa as karatun boko. According to him, almajiranci is still the best form of education for them. He praises it for its excellence in providing undiluted knowledge about Islam and the Quran. In his opinion, it teaches Muslims to be morally upright and humble. "Have you ever heard that an almajiri was caught stealing?" he asks rhetorically.
"But begging completely destroys human dignity," she replies while walking towards an open hut.
"That was not originally part of the system," he continues, as he follows her to the hut. It is a large hut with a wide circumference, roofed with yellowish brown high-quality thatch. It is more of a recreational spot with red and blue tables, chairs, sofas, a snooker board and a tennis board with green surfaces, all encircled by a white chest-level wall. As they sit, Zubaida summons her attendant to bring drinks, while Idrisa continues his defence of almajiranci. He traces the history of the system to Kanem-Borno in the 11th century and explains how begging for alms crept into their lifestyle. He says it was due to the weakening of tsangayu and establishment of urbanisation by the colonialists in the very early 20th century that Mallams and their almajirai began to receive sadaka from the public in order to survive. "I blame this mess on the foreigners who imposed karatun boko on us."
"Even if you blame it on the colonial masters who enforced Western education on us with schools that replaced our tsangayu, there are still some Mallams who make life tough for these children by demanding part of the alms they get from the public in the form of kudin sati, weekly levy. Is that fair?"
"It's uncommon. After all, the more alms one gives them, the more divine reward and protection one gets. They are the lack that take our lack."
"These children are subjected to abuse, free and forced labour, stigmatisation, abject poverty and neglect just for our divine reward. It can be better than that."
"The most important thing in life is to seek Islamic knowledge. And that's what they're doing."
"At the expense of becoming juvenile delinquents and radicals? At the expense of becoming nonentities because they lack vocational skills?"
"Piety is a great virtue."
"Nobody says that they shouldn't be well grounded in Islam and the Quran as Muslims. All I'm saying in effect is that they also need secular education to prepare them for survival in this secular world. Please, don't see it as Western education; rather, consider it as non-religious education." As Zubaida looks at Idrisa, she recalls when he was courting her for three years. Indeed, he had given her the first experience of that thing. He had also promised her heaven and earth and, as he is not one to promise and fail, he had actually given her heaven and earth. But for a noble lady who also has heaven and earth, that was not enough. He needed something else to win her heart, but he was unable to find that something else. Then came the man who was able to find that something else and won her over. Nevertheless, she has not lost her soft spot for him and vice versa. If left together for long, the duo could begin to redevelop feelings for each other. Right now, as she looks him in the face, passion has however given way to disappointment. Although she feels a bit uneasy arguing with him, she wonders if he is sincere about his position. A university graduate with a Master's degree in Public Administration, he ironically is an antagonist of a system that has evidently buttered his bread and sugared his tea. Is he denouncing secular education because he truly thinks it's another form of religious education or does he want to suppress other children and stop them from attaining the heights he has reached? "Sarkin, for your information, I've resolved to under my NGO establish a Muslim-led secular school because I believe it's the solution to the almajiri menace in our emirate."
The daughter of the Emir and wife of the Jajin, Zubaida has already swung into action. Of course, she has not told Idrisa that she has secured a facility for her proposed school; that she has received funding from her NGO, her father and her husband; that she has obtained a loan from her office and her bank under the Islamic Development Bank scheme; that she has got donations from friends and associates; and that she has already planned the structure of the school. It will be well secured with perimetre fencing. This will protect the pupils from easy attack by robbers, rapists, bandits and insurgents. The facility is a sky-blue two-storey building - big with well-ventilated rooms that will be converted to classrooms. This is a good starting point, pending the eventual relocation to a more spacious permanent site. For now, she will make do with this rented edifice that occupies a plot of land with an additional plot serving as a sport field. The school will be a mixed-gender school that will enrol pupils mainly from the almajiri population, thereby doubling as a rehabilitation centre for them. At first, they will not be wearing uniforms in order to reduce the cost of schooling for the children. She will also subsidise books and award scholarships to bright and promising pupils. She reckons that she has to make going to school very, very easy if she must encourage and sustain a culture of attending secular school among her people. Some of them sometimes ask to be paid to go to school. When funding education becomes burdensome to parents, they withdrew their children from school at the slightest provocation. She can vividly remember the case of one Fatima who was angrily withdrawn from school by her father to just sit at home simply because the authorities suggested, though gently, that a new uniform be bought to replace the girl's 'worn-out, torn and tattered school gown’.
As an educationist with a Master's degree majoring in early years and intermediate education, and who has once worked as an educator, Zubaida has also planned the curriculum. The school shall blend religious and secular education in a harmonious manner. Islamiya shall form the pillar of the school - Quran and Arabic classes shall be taught by Mallams. Periodically, the school shall organise Quran Musabaqah and the pupils shall observe Salat. Away from religious education, the next area of focus shall be vocational skills acquisition. Zubaida understands full well that this aspect of education can never be over-emphasised if there has to be a real change in the fortunes of the almajirai, and indeed anybody. She can attest to the fact that her expertise in fashion designing and jewelry making has helped her to put food on her table more than her degrees put together have. Therefore, she will make no mistake in ensuring that skills like automobile repairing, various forms of agriculture (including cattle ranching), shoe cobbling, barbering, fashion designing, etc. are taught, learnt and practised in the most viable way, adopting 21st-century strategies. And the last and actually least is the theoretical education. Also on offer shall be other conventional subjects, such as English, Mathematics, Hausa, Civic Education, Social Studies, Basic Science and the like, with emphasis on practicals.
She is now musing in her inner chamber – a chamber that has been her good luck charm. It has proven to be the forging house of some great decisions in her life. For instance, her NGO, fashion firm and proposed citadel of learning, including her children were all conceived in this other room. She produces better results whenever she thinks issues through. And she seems to find perfect or near-perfect solutions whenever she thinks matters through in this cozy and inspiring room. Right now however, there is an aura of vexation because her latest proposal is also perceived by many as haram - forbidden. Before he left, Idrisa had vowed to mobilise against what he termed the introduction of Western religion and tradition under the guise of education. He had promised to use his position to carry out the campaign. She has now realised painfully that a foundation owned by an indigenous cleric based abroad is sponsoring a movement. The organisation has provided huge funds in a foreign currency to promote the Sharia law. She understands why he has chosen to fight her with lock, stock and barrel. Undaunted, she too has avowed to reform the almajiri system because the children are currently dangerous to national development. She is committed to doing this, even if it will be with the last drop of her blood, so as to incorporate religious, traditional and secular education. She believes this is the only way that they can be integrated into the larger society and ensure realisation of their full potentials. But there is a little cause for worry. After all her calculations, what she needs to actualise her dream, with the proposed name of Tenterhooks Academy, is some thousands of naira to conclude registration and licensing formalities. As she ponders how to complete the money, she suddenly remembers the envelope that Idrisa had given her. She immediately reaches for it and opens it. Alas! A one hundred dollars bill!
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