Ef a man is what he isn’t, den he isn’t what he am,
And as sure as I’m a-talkin’ he isn’t worth a damn!
Doan’t ye be what you ain’t, jes’ you be what you is.
Ef a man is what he isn’t, den he isn’t what he is;
And as sure as I’m a-talkin’, he’s a-gwyne to git his!
Simba was disturbed by some of the feelings his young adulthood gave him. Hakuna Matata was stretching thin. He wanted a mate, he wanted meat, he wanted a territory, he wanted absolution. In short, he felt trapped, with little hope of ever achieving any of the success predicted by Gur’bruk and Kambra.
Sefu the secretary bird was unconventional, but his advice when given was not taken lightly. And it was to Sefu that he looked for help.
Of course, Sefu was not easily found. Unlike his old friends on Pride Rock, there was no way of knowing when and were the Secretary Bird would show up. Despondent, Simba paused one morning while Timon and Pumbaa continued on to the water hole to get a drink and bowed his head.
“Please, Aiheu, help me! I may not pray every night like I should, and I may be just a fugitive, but Mom said you were merciful. Please give me a second chance, God. Please show me the way--I’m so lost!”
Just when Simba was about to lose his faith in the power of prayer, Sefu surprised them at the watering hole.
“Sefu! I’m so glad to see you!”
“Hey, cat! Likewise!”
While Pumbaa wallowed in the shallows and Timon gargled noisily as he drank, Simba managed to corner Sefu for a moment and try to put into words what was only a feeling of emptiness, a dread of dying alone and forgotten, a creeping despair that eroded him like fungi on a fallen log.
“Hey, been there, done that.” Sefu looked at him appraisingly. “Some of us little folks can fit into a little hole somewhere and hide ourselves from the world. Some of us can’t.”
“Yeah.”
“I heard through the grapevine that you tried to take meat from the local tribesmen. I guess you found out they have a lot of sense for creatures without fur or feathers.”
Simba uttered a short laugh. “No darned kidding.”
“Well they have this custom of making shapes of geese out of pitch covered straw. From a distance, they look real. They are set out in the lake and when the real geese see them, they think its safe and light. Then they get whacked.”
“Is there a moral to this story?”
“No!” Sefu said. “I just wanted you to know that you’re an impostor. You’re not a jungle bum. Hakuna Matata does not fit you. You were meant to be marsh grass, and no matter how much they weave you or tar you, you can't be a goose unless you were born a goose. Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly--well, at least most of them do--and lions gotta roar. You don't belong here. You'll NEVER belong here. You belong out there, free and unencumbered. As free as the wind blows. As free as the grass grows. Born free to follow your heart." He threw back his wing, held up his head and burst out with "BORN FREE! AS FREE AS THE WIND BLOWS...."
Timon grabbed his beak shut. "Please, don't sing it!" He turned back to Simba. “Listen, kid! It does no good bringing up a lot of false hopes and stirring up a lot of pain. Hakuna Matata is the only way. You gotta be like Pumbaa here--he’s got it all figured out.”
But Pumbaa was looking at Sefu and Simba wistfully. He was anything but sure about Timon’s logic. He felt sorry for Simba.
“I was afraid this would happen someday,” Pumbaa said. “But when the time comes, I’ll let go. Simba, we’re all born into this world with a destiny. Some of us might have it easier than others, but you can’t escape your destiny.”
“What is my destiny?” Simba asked.
“That is something that you must figure out for yourself, my son. That’s between you and God. And whatever it is, I’ll be there to help you fulfill it.”
Timon looked at Pumbaa disbelievingly. But the warthog had a look of wisdom and nobility shining in his eyes that stunned him. He could not find the nerve to contradict him, and looked away, sighing. “Yeah, IF.”