"Here Comes the Lion"

I just watched Mufasa. Let's talk about it!

I can’t stop thinking about this film. It shook something loose in me. Not because it was flashy or nostalgic, but because, at its core, it told the truth about power, pain, and what it means to lead.

This isn't just a retelling of The Lion King. It’s a reimagining that doesn’t shy away from the darkness beneath the throne. It speaks to how leaders are shaped by their upbringing, trauma, and the legacies of those who came before them. It also shows how healing is possible—if you choose and fight for it.

Let’s talk about Eshe, who didn't hesitate to face crocodiles to save Mufasa and Taka. She admits afterward that she likely wouldn’t have survived if the crocs had been older. But she went anyway. That moment says everything about courage born of love. It mirrors what it feels like to protect others when you’re not even sure you’ll make it out. Survivors do this every day.

And then, there’s the fight against Shaju and Azibo. Eshe tries to hold them off so Mufasa can escape, ready to die for him. But Mufasa refuses to leave her. He doesn’t let her sacrifice herself. They fight together. And he kills Shaju, the Outsiders’ crown prince, not out of bloodlust, but because there was no other choice. That’s what happens when survivors are pushed too far—we fight back, and we change the story.

Even Obasi, the slothful king many wrote off as a coward, gets his moment. When it truly counts, when his son is about to be hunted down, he finally rises. He stands his ground. It's too late for him—but not for his son. It’s messy and complicated. But it’s honest. And I think many of us have known people like Obasi, who had power but didn’t understand the responsibility until it was nearly gone.

Kiros has his moment too, but in a darker way. His takedown of Obasi is brutal, and he's right—Obasi was a terrible king. But Kiros doesn’t understand that power isn’t just about strength. It’s about purpose. And that’s what he lacks. That’s why, despite his dominance, he loses.

Sarabi? She’s brilliant. She uses elephants as living weapons—not because she wants to, but because she has to. She sees the bigger picture and makes the hard call. She is strategy and survival personified.

But let’s get to Mufasa—because this is the lion who moved me most.

His speech to Milele... I still have chills. He steps forward not as a king with armies or crowns, but as a stray. A lion with no pride, territory, or real backing—except his values. He speaks not from a place of dominance, but of connection. He calls out the tribalism, the isolation, the fear. And he reminds them: “My breath is your breath. Your fight is my fight.”

And then he says it: Nants Ingonyama Bagithi. The battle cry that started it all. But here, it means something more profound. It’s no longer just about a new king being born. It’s about a new world being possible.

One where predator and prey stand side by side. One where difference doesn’t mean division. One where the broken aren’t discarded, and the lost aren’t left behind.

That’s the world Mufasa builds. A pride made of all species. A chosen family. A Circle of Life that includes everyone.

Can we take that in for a moment?

Because this is precisely what the world needs right now, we are still governed by leaders trapped in cycles they never questioned. Leaders performing the same toxic patterns they saw growing up—violence as power, dominance as leadership, fear as loyalty. Scar didn’t become Scar by accident. He was dismissed, overlooked, and made to feel small. And that hurt metastasized into cruelty. That’s how toxic masculinity is born—through shame, silence, and severed belonging.

But Mufasa... he unlearns all of that.

He’s the antidote.

He collaborates. He humbles himself. He uses his brain as much as his brawn. He listens to lionesses, other species, and voices that society told him didn’t matter. He leads with empathy. And it makes him unstoppable.

That’s the kind of leadership we need in this world, especially in movements like anti-trafficking, where power imbalances are everywhere—between survivors and service providers, between funders and grassroots organizers, between those who are believed and those who are silenced.

Survivors, especially, need leaders like Mufasa, who say, “I may not know everything, but I will not leave you behind. I will fight beside you.”

This story reminds us that we win when we come together despite differences, trauma, and pain. We don’t just survive; we build something better—a Milele of our own.

And maybe that’s what “Here comes the lion” really means.

Not a king on a throne. But a movement. A roar. A rising.

Lara K. - May 4, 2025