The name "Deborah" sounds nothing like "Fred,"

Does it?

Have you ever had periods of times when little incidences that happen during your day seem to be telling you a more important message?

What happened in the last couple of days seem to be teasing my faith in luck. I have always thought I have been way too lucky with life. But the days this week are very unpredictable. One day it is heightened great news, the next, something else happens. If you had drawn it, it would look like graph of voltage vs time, when an ammeter runs through it.Today, something pretty bazzire happened, and I am not sure how I should read/interpret this incidence.

(You help me figure out.)

The day before, I had met a Kenyan Social Development photographer and we had a 3-hour long conversation about, life, family, photography and development. It was very inspiring to speak with someone doing almost exactly the same thing I want to pursue. And he was very generous, giving me advice and contacts. One was the number of a lady named "Deborah," who runs vocational training programs to young women.

Without wasting anytime, I saved the number in my phone and planned to call her the next morning. And call I did. When I asked if I could meet her, she said, with a deep voice, that she is "on the field, but have some time free in the afternoon." I didn't really make judgements about the deepness (timbre?amplitude?) of the voice and just dismissed it. Perhaps I was clouded by sheer excitement of meeting her, or perhaps I simply had too much faith in my luck...

That afternoon, I went to town and called her, what time would be good for her to meet. She replied that she was nearby, and told me to wait for about 45 minutes. Then, an hour later, she called, telling me to meet her at "Kenya Cinema." I asked her what she was wearing, and she said brown.

The cinema entrance was crowded, but I didn't see anyone in a brown top. After a few minutes, I called her. And my call kept getting rejected. I looked around and a guy in a checkered shirt approached me.

"I am sent by Deborah to look for you."

I thought it was just a desprate attempt to pick me up. So I shook my head, ignored him and walked a few steps away, while trying to call Deborah again. No answer still. Call rejected.

That checkered-shirt-guy was still following me. "I am sent by Deborah. If you don't believe me, look at the message you sent me this morning."

I was confused. Why does he have Deborah's phone? Was he Deborah's chauffer fetching me from the cinema to the car? I was suspicious, so I asked him for Deborah's last name and the organization she was from.

He couldn't answer.

And finally he said, "I am not Deborah, my name is Fred, and I just played along because I was interested to meet you and know who you are." I was appaled. I think my jaws did drop wide open then, because he tried to ?fill the silence by saying," May be you got the wrong number, you should check with your friend again."

I checked where I had written the number down. I had saved a digit wrongly by mistake. At that point, I just walked off, thinking it was the best thing to do. I creened through the crowded city street trying to access my feelings, and just getting to terms with this absurdity.

I wasn't sure how exactly I felt that time, but I think it was a mix of

anger for having wasted my time waiting,
disbelief that anyone would/could pull off such an inconsiderate deciet, and
irritation upon myself for my carelessness.

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Two hours later, he called to apologize. And I told him off, ranting my anger out. But in the retrospect, I am finding reasons to laugh about this incident.

Ridicoulous.

Life can be so unpredictable at times.