Profiles and People: The Real Roar of a Lion King

Beyond the fantasy of fingertips

Photo by Ken Mwaura@Pexels

✍🏾 “The fear of a king is as the roaring of a lion: whoso provoketh him to anger sinneth against his own soul.”

lion — kephir

From kaphar; a village (as covered in by walls); also a young lion (perhaps as covered with a mane) — lion.

A primitive root; to cover; to expiate or condone, to placate or cancel — appease, make an atonement, cleanse, forgive, be merciful, pacify, pardon, purge, put off, reconcile.

Tawny hides of deer blend into the sloping hill beyond the patio and disappear completely unless I spot a white tail bounding or make out an ear twitching in the distance.

When it comes to untamed wildlife — much less a lion sighting or hearing the terror of a roar — grazing deer get about as close as I’ve come to experiencing life in a jungle, except for nearly stepping on a coiled cobra in a rainforest while on a Fulbright trip one summer.

Local tribal kids helped me out that day, as a small group of young children scooped up rocks from the dirt and threw with deadly aim, far better than my wild left hand might have done. While the youngsters launched a fusillade toward the cobra until it remained still in the middle of a well-worn path beneath the thick canopy, I watched dispassionately without interfering with their tribal customs.

Whether those children saved my life or just had fun with rocks in their hands only divinity will ever know for sure. As for me, I appreciated what they did and considered their aim a timely favor.

From the first day in a plush hotel — where a lady behind the counter put an extra pastry on my plate every day to that group of kids beside the path — the people I met treated me so well that I easily imagined how royalty felt long ago, when a red carpet rolled out for each carriage stop.

If lions ruled over the jungle, I felt kinship with some distant lineage that came with privileges, based solely on my experiences over a couple of months while traveling with a van-load of other educators and a couple of professors.

At the hotel breakfast bar, local markets with trinkets and souvenirs for sale and even in the hut of a Tribal King who grinned after showing me a vintage porcelain cup from Europe — I noticed a distinct difference in how people embraced me compared with most of my other colleagues on the trip, excluding two who eventually filled me in the reason why I might have gotten so much attention.

Admittedly — from comments in earshot throughout the years, whether from students teasing my posture or a random stranger flattering me at a party — I’ve had a history of standing out when in public, so I took the extra glances tossed my way in stride when traveling for six weeks that summer.

For that trip at least, I basked in all the glory that my tawny hue of masculinity conferred for whatever reason, and I rarely questioned the rationale behind an extra pastry on my plate or a less expensive purchase that others paid a small fortune to take back home with them.

Unlike some who flashed cash and bought goods at whatever ridiculous price a local offered, I saw through the customs that invited a much longer conversation than a brief chat before a bad exchange.

Several days into getting used to haggling for a bargain, I had grown comfortable with responding to an outlandish number by lowering my deal by just as much, and so I returned with some decent artistic pieces, although on the last evening there, I pretty much went all-in for several canvas paintings I really admired, and I paid a handsome sum in return — still an excellent deal from my perspective, considering it only cost a sizable portion of my wardrobe that I rarely wore anyway and an underwater camera that had a broken part.

Years later, whenever a photo of the snow-capped summit of Kilimanjaro or a wild safari encounter with lions came across my social media feed of mostly dance acquaintances, I made up for the difference between our experiences by remembering my trek in the rainforest and those kids stoning a cobra or sending a quiet blessing to the staff at the hotel for smiling warmly in my direction.

Though only for a little over a month that summer during my first years as a teacher, I tried on the mane of the Lion King for size and returned home much happier for taking the opportunity to see that side of Africa for myself.

Ironically, while I drew up only imaginary lions in my mind, the real indomitable Lions of that nation’s soccer team played their hearts out in the World Cup hosted by the United States. Just to add to the feline motif that year, Hollywood also produced a box office hit that set a record that still stands as one of the most popular animated films ever made.

Fresh from the rainforest trip to the heart of Africa, I ate through my popcorn before the first scene even ended — so enchanted by the opening song about the circle of life. In 1994, lions pretty much dominated the airspace and seemed to rule the universe of my world, as I quickly shelled out cash for the Super Nintendo video game that still works.

Since childhood, I’ve had an interesting relationship with the powerful majesty of lions — going back to my disappointment with the chubby feline in the Wizard of Oz who ran from danger in a hot second to the first and only real lion I ever touched and heard roar in anger, though it almost cost me a couple of digits when I slipped my fingers through a fence for a pinch of fur.

Walking in single file behind a Benedictine nun, I brought up the rear end of the line in more ways than one on that occasion. Consequently, only I knew the reason why the lion had thundered out a roar that shook my spine and nearly burst my eardrums.

While everyone else had looked back instantly to see what had happened, I refused to stare into the eyes of that lion — perhaps sensing a righteous anger that threatened to consume me in my entirety on the spot, if possible.

The following Wednesday — during our usual walk over to the cathedral for Confession — I had a longer session on my knees for penance after the topic of recent sins came up for me, though I managed to talk around the details of what I had actually done — simply calling it another act of disobedience, with a little lying on the side as well.

Other than Wild Kingdom airing on Sundays or the annual Cowardly Lion hiding behind Dorothy, lions rarely, if ever, came up again until a high school teacher went around the classroom to ask what we had chosen for a research paper topic.

Having blown off the homework to brainstorm for ideas over the weekend, when my turn came around, I blurted out my interest in lions and got stuck with that every time we walked over to the library.

My fascination with the king of the jungle mostly came because of traits I identified with or probably felt insecure about — from its tawny fur resembling my own skin tone to its beautiful mane flowing down its back in comparison to my small afro refusing to grow an inch.

Back in my Army days, when some guy asked me — as a part of his armchair psychological test — to give him words to describe my favorite animal, I thought about it and chose my words carefully, totally unaware of how the terms mirrored a lion in a greater realm.

“Beautiful and majestic.”

This morning’s reading presents divinity as the sole protector and guardian of a faithful pride — a group watched over by the jealous eyes of the only true Lion King in the universe.

Far from screen productions painting unrealistic characteristics or the imagination of a child running wild with fantasies beyond reality, the real King — unlike a pretender — walks comfortably in power and only roars angrily to warn of imminent danger, mainly to those close to losing out on eternity or naive souls doing wrong without better wisdom at their fingertips.

How have you followed the lead of The Lion King?

Source: KJV Proverbs 20:1–30 (2.1)

“The fear of a king is as the roaring of a lion: whoso provoketh him to anger sinneth against his own soul.”