my name is Al Hassan and iam from zamfara state.my story began for me as a child who found himself sleeping at the corridors of a mosque in sabo,kaduna state.what my history was before then still eludes me.i don't know where i came from.it was said that we were brought to kaduna in a 911 truck from zamfara.That was what mulah told me.
'i think you are from there,'' he said.
''will i ever see my mother and father again?' i asked him rather painfullly.
'i doubt if you will,' came the sharp response from mulah. 'you are an almajiri and being a beggar,you are destined to remain a destitute and never again will you see your parents.'
The mulah's sharp words pricked me like niddles.i couldn't imagine how hopeless my situation was even as a child.was i cursed? Why did he say i was destined to remain a destitude? Why would allah let that happen to me?
i rose from the floor where i'd slept and carrying my bowl in my hand,i ambled languidly towards the mosque to beg for alms.why were some people born rich,poor and others made to wallow in poverty?the thought kept knocking against my timid head.could i ever be rich? Could i ever change my destiny? How could i turn the face of fate?
There were other almajiris waiting at the entrance of the mosque when i arrived.they were chanting the usual songs.where we learnt these songs from still remains a mystery to me.i let my gaze sweep over them and grinned with disgust.they like me were all very scraggy and offensive in their disposition.most of them like me hadn't any idea where they came from or who their parents were.like me, all of them were hopeless and going by what mallam ibrahim had told me,they too were destined by who? to remain destitute through out their lives.

it bothered me alot that most of the almajiris had come to live with the fact that they as beggers hadn't any prospect of a brighter future.
Idris,my friend,had a big loaf in his bowl when i approached him at the corridors of the mosque.
'who gave it to you?' i asked eyeing the loaf hungrily.but i didn't envy him at all.
'a house down the road,' he replied,pointin up ahead of him. 'a woman was going to throw it away when i approached her and she kindly gave it to me.'
Anger brewed in my stomach as idris said those words to me.why did he use the word 'kind' for the woman when she intended to throw the loaf away in the first place? Was the woman indeed kind?

'look how stupid you have become,' i blurted irritably.'how could you say the woman was kind when in the first place she hadn't any need of the loaf anymore? She was supposed to be the one to thank you for accepting from her what was originally meant for the dustbin.'
Idris looked at me as if to say i was insane.my ideology about life had always confused and incensed them.
'you talk sometimes as if you are not a common beggar.' he fired irritably. 'is there something you know which the rest of us don't'?
'i know that i don't want my situation to remain like this but you don't.you are contented with the idea of being a beggar and nothing more matters to you.as for me,i want to go to school and grow rich in the future.'

'boko? Who told you it will ever be easy for you to be educated? Don't you know what it takes to go to school?' idris thundered.
i looked at him disdainfully. '' i can see you are already hopeless'
'no,' he returned huskily. '' i can see that you are mad

First to comment on this wonderful story sorry movie about to start.I'm waiting fire and let it burn

hi i will lov to buy the right to produce this story as a movie if you are the original owner

Following thread

your head has lost something that is very vital to your being, walahi!
He tore the wrap of the loaf. I could see from the edges that the bread had begun to wear a new look. There were crinkling pastes of mucus on the surface. And God! Idris was munching it as if all his life depended on it.it made me sick ,made me wanna puke.
in disgust,i edged out of his sight-tired of everything that was part of my existence and being.how long was i going to live that way? A common beggar! A wretched miscreant!
i overheard two other almajiris talk about going to Abuja Road.there,most times,we were always very lucky-some very generous travelers would give us some money- which of course would go a very long way.
'can i join you guys?' i echoed as i drew close to them.
'you can come along if you don't mind.' the big one-aminu inclined.
We hit the road in that instant.aminu and the other fellow,salihu capped their heads with their bowls.this was a habit that was very common among almajiris.i was the only one who hated to do that.

we reached the park along Abuja Road in less than forty minutes.the hot scorching sun was burning and baking our feeble skins.
'many people don't trave today because it's not a saturday,' remarked salihu as we entered the park.
'we must go to the canteen at the other side.most travelers have the habit of not finishing their meals.we could make do with that for lunch and possibly save part of it for dinner.'
'i don't intend to hoard any food today because i heard from a reliable source that Alhaji sanusi's eldest daughter,Habiba is getting married today and there will be plenty to eat after the marriage ceremony.' aminu ambled his was past a parked 5o5 wagon.
it didn't matter to me what they were saying because i'd developed a strong aversion for what the almajiri ideology represented.for Allah's sake,couldn't some bunch of rich men call all beggars in the country together and give them a new lease of life? I let the thoughts spin in my head like a coin. Then, i again felt my heart burn and bleed.
'must we always eat remnants?' i didn't know when the words forced their way out of me.
Aminu turned to me disdainfully; ''i can now see that indeed that idris said of you at the mosque yesterday is really very true.you have pitifully gone mad and nothing can cure you anymore.'

This story looks fake to me. Almajiris are not known for good English. The English used here looks more like Queens English. Please look into that.

is not a real story,don't you know what non-fictional story is all about?
This story is my pure imagination,besides am a christian not even a muslim.

CHAPTER TWO
with those words,Aminu grabbed salìhu's arm and temporarily,i lost my friends.i watched as they both headed for the canteen with the bowls still capping their heads.
I was tired of being a beggar. I wanted a new life where i would have someone who would put me in school. I had overheard Mallam ibrahim discussing with an Aihaji one day where the man had told Mallam ibrahim point-blank that without western education,one was totally in dark and oblivious of events happening in and around the world.since then,those worlds had continued to haunt me,burning and pricking my heart.
when salihu and Aminu had left me,i saw a man far ahead.he seemed to be waiting for his turn at a fuel station and i could see he was counting alot of money.like a wild cat,i quickly ran to him.
our eyes rammed into each other as i approached him.i was going to start chanting the usual beggarly lyrics when he held his hand up and stop me.
'are you here to beg me alms?' the man fired at me,his eyes still hooked in mine.

Slim curtis: is not a real story,don't you know what non-fictional story is all about?
This story is my pure imagination,besides am a christian not even a muslim.

Point of correction: A non fictional story is a real story. A fictional story is one that didn't happen live and is imagined by the writer. Now, in writing, you have to put yourself in the shoes of your protagonist. You have to ask your self some questions about the protagonist. For example, how will I act? How will I speak? What do I wear. We all know that most Almajiris did not go to school so you should look at the kind of English they speak. You can narrate the main story in English but when it's time for conversation between two Almajiris, you should try and put in pidgin English into it. A touch of Hausa will also do.
This is my humble opinion. I'm not tearing your work into pieces or throwing it to the dogs but helping you to become a better writer. If you read Chimamanda Adichie's Purple Hibiscus, you will understand better. Keep the ink flowing.

Peace!!

i nodded in the affirmative and felt slightly ashamed of myself as his eyes continued to drill into mine.
'you are a beggar?' he echoed again as if he didn't already know by my disposition.
Still,i nodded affirmatively.
The man held my hand and pointed up in front of me.
'can you see that boy over there?'
ahead,i saw a child about my age hawking sachet water.
'yes' i nodded. 'what about him?'
the stranger winked: 'he is a child also and about your age. But as you can see,he is not begging for alms but trying to make a living for himself by doing something very dignifying.although i do not subscribe to child-hawking,it is still far better than begging and stealing.'
'i don't steal,' i blurted.'the koran is against stealing.'
'yes,' said the stranger. 'i know you are not a thief.but you are a beggar and a child beggar is prone to becoming a thief when he grows up.look at you,God has blessed you with hands and legs.He has given you sight and made you whole as He did for that child across the road.now,you decided to insult GOD by going about begging instead of doing something meaningful with your life'.
'But i have no parents and iam only but an almajiri,' i complained miserably. The stranger who later told me his name was mr.patrick.went on to tell me about himself too.He said he lost both parents when he was only four years old and since then had known nothing but poverty and struggle.he said he was determined to succeed and so he worked veryhard by going to school and paying his fees himself till he completed his university education.he did all manner of od d jobs untill he finally saw himself through school.with western education in his palms, he'd finally escaped poverty.
'you have to decide now what you want your future to be.Allah will not be happy to see you make a mockery of yourself by going about begging for alms,' mr.patrick told me.

Neduzze5:


Point of correction: A non fictional story is a real story. A fictional story is one that didn't happen live and is imagined by the writer. Now, in writing, you have to put yourself in the shoes of your protagonist. You have to ask your self some questions about the protagonist. For example, how will I act? How will I speak? What do I wear. We all know that most Almajiris did not go to school so you should look at the kind of English they speak. You can narrate the main story in English but when it's time for conversation between two Almajiris, you should try and put in pidgin English into it. A touch of Hausa will also do.
This is my humble opinion. I'm not tearing your work into pieces or throwing it to the dogs but helping you to become a better writer. If you read Chimamanda Adichie's Purple Hibiscus, you will understand better. Keep the ink flowing.

Peace!!

thanks for the correction brother.yep i've read purple hibiscus.just so fantastic,tanx again

he talked to me as if we both knew each other long ago.mr.patrick was a nice man. When he had refueled,he took me to a canteen nearby and there,bought me the best meal i'd ever eaten.he told me that i didn't need to carry bowl along with me anymore.
'it is your identity as a beggar and you must from this moment do away with it,from today, you cease to be a beggar or think the way a beggar thinks. You are now a child who has hopes of a brighter future. Arise from today to begin the journey that will lead you to a blissful future.'

i hadn't before felt that happy and fulfilled all my life.i told him how i'd always desired to go to school but was afraid as there was no one to help me.
'i am heading to Abuja and from there,i shall be travelling back to Australia where i reside with my family,' he showed me a picture of his wife and children. 'this car belongs to my friend who resides here in kaduna but is now on transfer to lagos and may soon leave.now,you shall go with me and i wil take you to a primary school in sabo where you reside.there,i shall make all the payment and make you resume school.'
It all sounded like a dream.i never believed i could ever make it to school with no one nearby to encourage me.
smiling excitedly,i followed him in his car a nd we headed immediately to sabo.never for once did i doubt him.i had heard stories of ritulists who would pick innocent children and use them for money ritual.several times Mallam ibrahim had warned us strictly never to let anyone take us in his car to a strange place.

'if anyone offered you a ride, decline and tell him you are good with your legs.' mallam ibrahim had always warned us.
But with mr.patrick,i felt safe.what did i have to lose anyway? I was only but a poor beggar with no hope of a bright future.if i didn't go with him,i was certainly foolish.i'd lived all my eights years on the street as a beggar. There must be change and that change must begin with me! Inside me!
We arrived at a primary school in sabo and mr patrick introduced himself to the headmaster,mallam bako.
'l could see that he was very determined and that was why i decided to bring him down here,' mr.patrick said.
'thank you very much,' blinked mr.bako excitedly. 'you have done a great thin.. Imagine that everyone on the street thinks the same way: we would have no destitute around anymore.'
mr.patrick gave the headmaster a lot of money; 'please keep this for his books and uniform.i hope that will be enough to last him three classes'.
'yes', beamed the headmaster, 'it will definitely be enough.'
'thanks a lot' winked mr.patrick and soon we both hit the road.
'As i said earlier,i am on my way to Abuja now but all that is required for you to go to school for three years has been paid for mallam Bako appears to me like a good man and will help you in every thing you need.be very humble and always listen to his advice',

Following thread.now update asap

I'm back after a long hiatus... get ready to enjoy