What Bogo looks like

Like Maroua, Bogo has lots of plane trees although now and then people come along and cut them down.  They don’t look pruned afterwards when dead wood is cut off and new growth encourages a better shape and strength possibly because the tools are so primitive they are hacked at and new growth leaves them stunted and mis-shaped.  When there is so little shade and green I hated to see the trees cut.

At the heart of Bogo is a huge market place where traders from Chad used to drive cattle en route for Nigeria.  There is a large coral area for beef cattle on Thursday market days.  Think cows, sheep, goats, donkeys, horses in their hundreds in the dust, roped together and hundreds of Arabic tribesmen type herders. The council generates its income from Chad herders driving their cattle over the border and selling them at Bogo market. Every individual animal pays a tax for transit, sale and slaughter. The crisis for Bogo is that the Chad herdsmen are driving them straight to Nigeria and the income for Bogo council and all the other small traders in the town is depleting.

There are covered areas for market stalls and several streets of small lock ups.  Some of these are for storage only and only opened on market days – others are for trades such as tailors and carpenters.  There is a mini-bus station and a huge tree in whose shade the young moto drivers and their bikes loll for most of the day.  The shops open about 8am and keep going until it gets dark then a smaller area opens up all evening which is mainly frequented by men out socialising.

Because there is lots of space most of the streets are laid out in a grid pattern and it is quite attractive to wander around.  On one side is the Christian area and in one corner, on the edge of town a terrible rubbish dump.

Houses of richer people are surrounded by high walls.  Within those high walls an entire extended family could live so there may be 4-8 smaller dwellings with very little space in between all in the same compound.  Only the very rich people would have plants and trees in their compounds.  Public gardens of any sort are rare even in big cities and I never saw a landscaped park as one might see in a European country.

I looked for a picture of the Thursday market to accompany this, but did not have one.  I tended to be very discreet taking photos in Bogo or only do it when it was an official event or there were not many people about.  I saw what happened with other VSO volunteers.  If they took out a camera or any gadget, they would be surrounded by a curious, jostling crowd within minutes and the boys especially would start posing for pictures.  I felt uncomfortable about it.  At times it seemed voyeuristic when I was trying to blend in.