Nearly two years had passed since I left home to chase my dreams, and life had been a relentless grind. Studio sessions, interviews, and the pressure of being in the spotlight were all-consuming. But no matter how far I went or how busy I became, my family remained my anchor. Whenever I felt overwhelmed, a call to my mom was all it took to bring me back to center. Her voice was my sanctuary.
It was during one of those calls that I realized something important—Sekyiwa's birthday was coming up. October 3rd. I'd missed too many family moments in the past two years, and I wasn't going to let this one slip by. I decided to plan a small, secret celebration with my mom.
The night before her birthday, I called my mom.
"Ma, we gotta do something special for Sekyiwa," I said.
She laughed softly. "You mean besides her just being surprised you remembered?"
"Come on now, Ma. You know I'm not that bad," I replied, grinning. "Let's make it something she'll remember."
We spent the next couple of hours brainstorming. Nothing over the top—just a quiet celebration at home. I wanted it to feel warm and personal, the way family gatherings used to be before life got so chaotic.
The next morning, I showed up early with balloons, streamers, and a small cake I'd picked up from a local bakery. Mom was already in the kitchen, her apron on and the scent of fried chicken wafting through the house. She was making all of Sekyiwa's favorite dishes, from baked macaroni and cheese to candied yams.
"Tupac, help me set up the table," she called from the stove.
"Got it, Ma," I said, grabbing plates and napkins.
We worked together, transforming the small dining area into a cozy party space. A simple banner that read Happy Birthday, Sekyiwa! hung above the table, and the balloons added a splash of color.
Sekyiwa came home from school in the late afternoon, tired and ready to collapse on the couch. As soon as she opened the door, her eyes lit up.
"Surprise!" we both shouted.
She froze, her backpack slipping off her shoulder. "Wait...what's going on?"
"It's your birthday, isn't it?" I said, stepping forward to give her a hug.
She smiled, a little teary-eyed. "You guys didn't have to do all this."
"Of course, we did," Mom said, pulling her into a hug. "You're my baby girl. You deserve it."
The three of us sat down to eat, laughing and sharing stories. I told Sekyiwa about some of the crazier moments I'd experienced on the road, like the time Dre almost lost his mind during a live interview because of my antics. She rolled her eyes at my storytelling but couldn't hide her smile.
"Pac, you're ridiculous," she said, shaking her head.
"Yeah, but you love me for it," I shot back, grinning.
After dinner, while Sekyiwa was opening her small pile of gifts, Mom pulled me aside into the kitchen.
"Tupac, I'm proud of you," she said quietly, her voice steady but full of emotion. "You've been through so much, and yet you never forget where you come from. That means everything to me."
I nodded, unable to find the words to respond. She didn't need me to say anything. She already knew how much her support meant to me.
Before I left that night, I slipped Mom an envelope with a couple thousand dollars inside.
"Ma, this is for you," I said, handing it to her.
She looked at me, surprised. "Tupac, you didn't have to—"
"I know I didn't. But I wanted to," I said firmly.
As I hugged Sekyiwa goodbye, I discreetly handed her a fifty-dollar bill. "This is for you, but don't tell Ma," I whispered.
She grinned. "Thanks, Pac. I won't."
Driving back to the studio that night, I felt lighter than I had in months. The laughter, the warmth, the feeling of being home—it reminded me why I worked so hard. Fame and success were fleeting, but family? Family was forever.
For the first time in a long while, I felt truly at peace. Sometimes, the simplest moments were the ones that mattered the most.
After years of grinding in the studio, surviving controversy, and pushing boundaries, we finally got our shot at something big—a national tour. The idea had been in the works for a while, but pulling it together wasn't easy. The turning point came when a major promotion company decided to back us. They saw the potential, the energy we brought, and the numbers we pulled in with our albums. With their help, we locked in venues across the U.S.
The deal came with one major condition: we couldn't perform "Fuck Tha Police" at any of the concerts. The song was too explosive, and they feared riots or legal trouble. It wasn't an easy pill to swallow. That track was our anthem, the one that hit the hardest. But Dre and Eazy reminded us to look at the bigger picture. This tour was our chance to take over, to cement our place in hip-hop history.
As soon as the tour dates were announced, the buzz was unreal. The first shows were scheduled in Los Angeles, New York, and other major cities across the country. Within two days, tickets for the L.A. and New York concerts sold out—over ten thousand seats gone just like that.
The news hit the media like a bomb. Headlines were everywhere:
"N.W.A Sells Out in Two Days!"
"Hip-Hop's Most Controversial Group Takes Over the U.S."
Some outlets were stunned. Others were furious. The media couldn't wrap their heads around how a group like us, with all the controversy surrounding us, could pull such massive numbers. They started digging, looking for any angle to tear us down.
Reporters speculated about everything—from our finances to our fanbase. "Are they attracting the wrong crowd?" one article sneered. Another asked if our success was a sign of America's moral decay. The backlash was loud, but so was the support.
Fans took to the streets wearing our merch. People argued over us in barbershops, classrooms, and even churches. Some called us heroes for giving a voice to the voiceless. Others called us dangerous. Either way, we were the topic of conversation, and that was exactly what we wanted.
Part of the tour promotion involved doing a professional photoshoot. The setup was slick—bright lights, smoke machines, and a grungy urban backdrop that matched our vibe.
Dre stood in the center, arms crossed and face serious, while Eazy wore his signature sunglasses and Raiders cap, smirking like he had the world figured out. I was off to the side, leaning against a wall, Uzi prop in hand (this time it stayed strictly for show). The photographer kept shouting directions, trying to capture the raw energy that defined us.
"Perfect! That's it! Give me that defiant look!"
The photos were everywhere within a week—billboards, flyers, magazine ads. The tagline was simple:
"N.W.A: The Tour You Don't Want to Miss."
It worked. Every city we hit was buzzing with excitement before we even arrived.
When we rolled into a city, it felt like we were bringing an earthquake with us. The streets were alive with energy. Radio stations played our tracks on repeat. Stores sold out of our merch. Even people who didn't listen to hip-hop were talking about us.
In L.A., we were the kings. Fans camped outside the venue days before the show, blasting our music from their cars and chanting our names. In New York, where the competition was fierce, we still managed to own the city. The hype was unreal.
"Yo, you got tickets to the N.W.A show?" people would ask on the streets. If you didn't, you weren't part of the conversation.
At one point, a news crew caught up with a group of fans waiting in line. One of them, a young woman with a homemade N.W.A shirt, said, "They're real. They say what nobody else is brave enough to say. That's why I'm here."
Even in cities where we faced more criticism, the buzz was undeniable. People couldn't resist the pull of the controversy, the music, the movement.
The media went crazy trying to keep up with the tour's success. Every day brought a new headline. They dissected our lyrics, speculated about our personal lives, and debated whether we were a threat or a revolution.
One op-ed read: "N.W.A isn't just a rap group; they're a cultural phenomenon. Love them or hate them, you can't ignore them."
And that was the truth.