The terror group’s decade-long reign of violence has hollowed out villages and displaced thousands

More than 50 villages deserted, entire communities scattered, and a state that turns a blind eye.

Boko Haram’s terror is no longer a distant threat in Cameroon’s Far North Region—it is an inescapable nightmare for residents of the Mayo-Tsanaga department. The jihadist group, which emerged in Nigeria’s Borno State in the early 2000s, crossed the border in 2014. One of its first targets was Mount Gossi, near the village of Tourou, just 35 kilometers from Mokolo.

Since then, the group has entrenched itself in the region, launching relentless attacks that have shattered lives. Homes, markets, schools, and health centers have been burned or destroyed. Weapons are turned on civilians, women face violence, and children are left orphaned. Mokolo, Koza, and Mayo-Moskota have become battlegrounds where survival is a daily struggle. Yet, despite the devastation, the response remains painfully inadequate.

A landscape of abandoned villages

Over 50 villages in the Mayo-Tsanaga have been completely or partially abandoned as residents flee for their lives. Among the ghost towns are:

• Gossi
• Vizik
• Ldamang
• Magoumaz
• Dinglding
• Chougoulé
• Oupai
• Houdahai
• Ziver Montagne
• Houva
• Gouzda Wayam
• Tchébé-Tchébé
• Locktcha
• Toufou
• Zelevet
• Krawa-Mafa
• Hitéré
• Bavangola
• Gouzou-dou

In May 2022, local officials reported that 10 villages had been deserted, two were under Boko Haram control, and seven others faced frequent raids. The worst-hit areas—Gossi, Toufou 1, Toufou 2, Roum, and Hitawa—have seen their populations scatter, leaving only the echoes of destruction behind.

Life in hiding: a community on the run

Residents now live in constant fear. By night, they flee to caves and remote hideouts, sharing shelter with wildlife and insects. By dawn, they return to scavenge for food, risking their lives just to survive. The once-thriving agricultural lands lie fallow, schools have shuttered, and commerce has collapsed. The Mayo-Tsanaga is being emptied of its people, its future hanging by a thread.

Displacement figures tell a harrowing story. Over 9,000 people have been forced from their homes since the violence began, with new waves of refugees arriving every month. In June 2026 alone, 482 individuals—78 households—fled attacks in Mokolo, Koza, and Mayo-Moskota. The crisis has spilled into neighboring regions; by early July, Kalfou in Mayo-Danay had absorbed nearly 300 displaced families who traveled over 200 kilometers to escape the same terror.

The human cost extends beyond displacement. Families are torn apart in the chaos—parents abandoning children in the rush to escape, identity documents lost to flames, and generations of farming knowledge erased. The most vulnerable pay the highest price: children left to fend for themselves, young girls facing exploitation, and teenagers lured into crime out of desperation.

A feeble response: too little, too late

State security forces remain critically outnumbered and underequipped. During a June 2026 attack on Ldamang and Ldubam, only two soldiers were present to confront heavily armed militants. Civilian vigilantes armed with machetes and sticks are left to defend their communities—an unequal battle against an enemy with modern weaponry.

Local and national leaders have visited, pledged aid, and held symbolic meetings. But the promises fade as quickly as they are made. Roads remain unpaved, schools unrepaired, and security absent. The silence from those in power is not indifference—it is a calculated neglect. When the flames rise in Tourou or the gunfire echoes in Koza, the response is the same: empty words and delayed action.

With each passing day, the Mayo-Tsanaga loses its people, its culture, and its future. How many more villages must burn before the crisis becomes a national priority?