My Father’s Protection Gave Me A False Sense Of Security


My daddy is a living, breathing Mufasa. He is the epitome of a fierce protector, warrior and provider. Even at 75-years old, my dad will give you this work in spirit (his body isn’t as strong as it used to be). We’ve always had his protection. ALWAYS. We were duped.

I thought all black men were like my daddy and the men in our family. I learned that was a fallacy as an adult. More times than not, black women have not been not given the “luxury of protection” as my mami, sister, nieces, and grandchildren are. With said “luxury”, my parents have built strong, confident kick ass women who aren’t afraid to be ferocious or fearless. We aren’t even afraid to shed blood if necessary especially for our babies (my child as well as nieces and nephews).

I remember my daddy, effortlessly, shutting down my grandmother’s attempts at disrespecting my mother. I recall her negative words about us and my old dude WAS NOT FOR THE GAMES. He shut his OWN MOTHER DOWN. Men didn’t dare to speak to us sideways or even look at us funny unless they wanted a problem with my dad. Which they didn’t because a martial-arts trained boxer, who was also a Vietnam Vet and nice with firearms, would have surely fucked them up.

Protection- Kimbo Slice

I, honestly, had no idea that other sisters weren’t being revered in that same way.

Note: *I cleared this with the Mister before I wrote it*

Thank you for allowing me to share this very personal part of our life with my readers, babe.  *besos*


I had given every brother the benefit of the doubt that he was like my dad including my husband. I came into our marriage with the expectation that my husband should and would shut bullshit down on sight. Because that’s what my dad would do.

That has not always been the case.

My husband and I have a fairly good marriage in terms of loving one another and being friends. He’s my dude. Even when we fight. It’s pretty fair to say that certain people in his family “don’t care for me” and the feeling is mutual. However, we differ in that I’m content with not being bothered with them in any form so at my husband’s request- I remained silent when they began their shit.

It’s the contrary of who I am as a person but I obliged. I expected him to “go in and let have” and he didn’t. He may have had a conversation but he didn’t give them that fire which I needed him to bring. It has been and is a sore spot for me still. Although now, I’m not so quiet about it.

I, constantly, compare him to my father. It isn’t fair but it’s what I know. I watched my mother sit pretty knowing that her husband had her back. Not to say that Mr. NWT doesn’t have my back but for him- he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. For my dad, it was wife or nothing.  I know that my husband will kill a stranger for me but when it comes to those other people- it gets a little foggy for him.

Fortunately, I can take care of myself. There are black women who aren’t so lucky.


It’s ingrained in us to treat black women and girls, even abroad, like shit. Whether it’s through infidelity, physical, mental or verbal abuse; black women get the shitty end of the stick. We do not get reciprocity. Our voices are useless unless they are tied to black men’s struggles and it’s sickening. Black women are under relentless scrutiny by fuckboys and even other black women. When our struggle results in our death, “we should have chosen better”. We should have backed down. We should have complied. It’s always something and nothing. We are expected to have all the answers while black men fumble and fuck us up under the guise of “finding himself”.

We have to eat your shit because of your shortcomings. We have to “guard our words” because of your fragile ass ego. We have to build you up while you tear us down. So many expectations with little gratification. Oh dear black man, “Kang”, your most prized possession you shit all over and tell us that we are too fake while you chase the Kardashians of the world.

You will watch us be brutalized in the street and not one of you will step your punk asses us to straighten out your brother. If YOU ARE the good guy, why aren’t you policing the many pieces of shit who exist? The ones who speak against us. You stand, idly, by while other black men rape, beat and kill us and it always ends up being “our fault” in some way. How did we get here? How can you stand to look at yourselves when you are the epitome of weakness? We’ve been down for you since ropes were tossed around our necks and our babies were cut from our bellies and used as target practice. More times than not we got the brunt of YOUR PUNISHMENTS for protecting you.

How soon we forget?

Now, you sit in fuckboy drum circles calling us everything but a child of God. Yet somehow,  we are supposed to still love you after this? Should we still call you brother after this?

Our protection and existence are contingent upon sisters caring for one another. Black men have dropped the ball and we need to forge ahead leaving all dead weight behind.

Learn how to fight. Don’t be afraid to use a firearm. You don’t have to be a ride or die chick. You will more than likely be on the dying end of that mantra. Protect yourselves, sisters.

Our survival is of paramount importance.








K. Araújo, a native Detroiter, is a cross between Claire Huxtable, Rosie Pérez and Millie Jackson. Widow, bruja, Oni Yemaya, palera,  professional dragger of filth and Mami to the dopest Ethiopian EVER, she is the Editor in Chief of “Negra With Tumbao”, Staff Writer for “The Urban Twist” and a freelance contributor for major publications like The Root, VSB, Huffington Post, My Brown Baby and The Glow Up.

​Keka has been known to shake what her mama gave her, is the hell and high water, an expert salsera and cussologist with a penchant for the finer things in life and is and forever shall be- unapologetically black.

14 Replies to “My Father’s Protection Gave Me A False Sense Of Security”

  1. Girl, this article brought tears to my eyes, it rings so true.

    1. It took me awhile to get through this… Real talk.

      1. Your strength inspires me, keep doing you:)

    2. Thank you for reading!

  2. Great post, NWT. It’s nice to hear your perspective. You are/ were fortunate to be and feel so protected by your dad. If only that was the norm for all Black women everywhere.

    1. Thank you. I wish it were too. Imagine my shellshock when I realized that it wasn’t. LIke even you are raising a boy by yourself… we’ve got to be more diligent in teaching them to be protective of us.

  3. La Katiolaise says:

    NWT thank you for this article! It made me sad and happy at the same time. Sad because I miss my «papounet» as I use to call him and happy because, like you, I was blessed with a wonderful dad. He was my hero and my everything. I knew for a fact that he had our backs (mom, baby sis and I) and, as long as he was here I felt invincible! He was my safe haven and whenever I was scared, anxious or upset, the sound of his voice would literally fill up my heart with joy and calmness. It’s been almost 7 years, it was rough but I’m getting better and..stronger 🙂 Besos!

    1. Awww my love!! We have to celebrate great fathers. I’m sorry for your loss… I am blessed to have my parents still… I can’t imagine. You and I had loving dads who adored us.. that is priceless. We are here to help each other through this life. I am my sister’s keeper! <3

  4. Other_guy13 says:

    This is a great article I feel like everyone should read. Keep it up!

    1. Thank you!!! Feel free to

      1. Other_guy13 says:

        I will….worth the read.

  5. […] put others before his wife. A mother, sister, or friends… whoever.  This is a mistake. Your wife is the first person who you turn to when shit gets heavy. You expect her to be there. It’s imperative that you […]

  6. […] put others before his wife. A mother, sister, or friends… whoever.  This is a fatal error. Your wife is the first person who you turn to when shit gets heavy. You expect her to be there. It’s imperative that you […]

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