Bertoua, Cameroon: My Quest to Decode 2234359 and 1120406967
i'm crouched under the eaves of a corrugated iron roof in bertoua, cameroon, trying to keep my camera from melting. the heat out here is no joke - i just checked my weather app and it's like, 34.61°c with humidity at a bone‑dry 16%. my skin's already flaking off in solidarity. i swear, if my *battery wasn't so expensive, i'd leave it in the shade forever.
the town itself is a patchwork of dusty streets and colourful storefronts, all huddled under an relentless sun. i've been here three days trying to capture the vibe without my lens fogging up (ironic, given the lack of humidity). the light is something else - harsh, contrasty, perfect for black & white if you don't mind the heat haze. i set my shutter speed high to freeze the swirl of dust and the occasional chicken crossing the road.
i should probably embed a map so you get the picture:
now, about those numbers: 2234359 and 1120406967. they appeared out of nowhere on my second day. a kid named emmanuel, selling phone credit at the market, handed me a crumpled receipt with '2234359' scrawled on it. 'it's the code for the best bargain,' he hissed, then pointed to a tattered notebook where '1120406967' was underlined twice. being the curious (and slightly desperate) photographer i am, i took it as a challenge. i spent hours asking locals, checking bus schedules, even trying to input them into my gps. the result? a wild goose chase that led me down an alley where an old woman was weaving baskets. she gave me the most disgusted look and said, 'those are just random digits, blanc'. still, the detour uncovered a hidden courtyard packed with mural artists - totally unexpected, totally photogenic.
the weather here is a beast. i've shot in deserts before, but 16% humidity feels like inhaling static electricity. my memory card fills up faster because i'm constantly shooting the shimmering mirages on the asphalt. if you ever come, bring more water than you think you need, and maybe a cactus for company - they thrive here, unlike my sweat glands.
neighbors? if you get bored, a shared taxi can whisk you to bélabo in about an hour. i heard the bar there serves beer so cold it'll freeze your mustache. also, the road to the east leads to Yokadouma, where the rainforest starts. that's a whole different world, greener and, frankly, a bit too damp for my liking right now.
speaking of local spots, i stumbled upon 'chez maman' after a local told me it's where the expats go for real cameroinian flavours. the ndolé was so good i dream about it. but here's the gossip: someone told me the place used to be a brothel back in the '80s. i can't verify, but the walls do have a certain…history. you can read more about it on TripAdvisor.
i also rely on the Cameroon Travel Board for insider tips. there's a heated thread about whether the dry season is better for wildlife spotting - guess what? i'm here in the supposed 'wet lull' and it's drier than a cracker. go figure.
oh, and i found a sweet guesthouse with AC via Yelp. the rooftop view at dusk is worth the climb, even if the stairs feel like a cardio session in this heat.
now, let me share a couple of shots that somehow survived the conditions. first, the market chaos:
and this hill‑top view i caught while hunting for that elusive code 1120406967 - turned out to be just a random hill, but the light was epic:
anyway, i'm off to see if the number 1120406967 appears on any more signs. maybe it's the bus number home. if you ever find yourself in bertoua, just remember: stay hydrated, chase the weird digits, and keep your camera covered until the sun softens. the stories you collect here are worth the sweat.
- a sleep‑deprived photographer who keeps confusing dust* for gold.
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