My father was a provider.
That's the word we used. Provider. It sounds noble when you say it like that. It sounds like a title, like something you earn. And in many ways, he did earn it. He woke up before the sun, drove through Lagos traffic that would break a lesser man, and came home when the house was already dark and quiet. He paid school fees, put food on the table and kept a roof over our heads in a country that seemed determined to take it from us.
And I barely knew him.
Not because he was cruel or because he was absent in the way that fathers are absent in the movies, where they disappear and never come back. He was there. Physically. He sat at the head of the table. He attended the important events. He was present in the way that a chair is present.
But he never asked me how I was doing. Not really. Not in a way that expected a real answer. He never told me he was proud of me. He never said he loved me. He never hugged me. I knew he did, in the way that you know the sun will rise — it's a fact, not a feeling. But I never felt it.
And here's the thing that took me years to understand: he wasn't a bad father. He was a father who had been taught that providing was loving. That's what his father taught him, what his father's father taught him, and what the whole culture taught him.
But it left a hole in me. A hole I'm still filling.
If you're reading this, maybe you have a similar hole. Maybe your father was a provider too. Maybe he was worse — maybe he was absent entirely, or angry, or cruel. Maybe you're a father yourself now, and you're terrified of passing the same hole down to your own children.
Or maybe you're just a man who wants to be better. Not perfect. Just better.
This is for you.
The Problem With Being a "Good" Father
Most men think they're good fathers. And by the metrics we've been given — provision, protection, presence in the house — most of them are. They work. They pay. They stay. They don't hit anyone. They show up.
But here's what the research says: showing up isn't enough. And "providing" isn't the same as parenting.
The State of South Africa's Fathers 2024 report, compiled by Equimundo and Stellenbosch University, found that only 35.6% of South African children live with their biological fathers. Forty percent live with men who are not their biological fathers. That's not just a statistic about absence — it's a statistic about a culture that has normalised the idea that fathers are optional beyond conception.
But even among men who are present, there's a deeper issue. A study of Black South African fathers published in the Journal of Family Issues found that fathers were most involved in roles relating to protection, advising, and providing — and least involved in academic involvement and emotional-social development.
Men are showing up for the practical stuff. They're not showing up for the emotional stuff.
And here's why that matters: the same study found that when fathers are emotionally and developmentally involved, children show better social-emotional functioning, higher interpersonal skills, and a stronger sense of self-assurance. The presence matters — but not just any presence. The right kind of presence.
Why African Fathers Are Stuck (And Why It's Not Your Fault)
In Nigeria, Ghana, Kenya, and across much of Africa, fatherhood is not just a role. It's a test. A man who cannot provide is not just struggling — he is failing at the most fundamental thing a man is supposed to do. The pressure is immense, economy is brutal and expectations are impossible.
A 2026 study of young fathers in Libreville, Gabon, found that men feel intense pressure to succeed as providers at a time when "the effects of colonisation, urbanization and capitalism have weakened family solidarity and fostered individualism." The old systems that once supported men — extended family, community, village — are eroding. And in their place, there is nothing but the lonely pressure to perform.
A separate study of Igbo fathers in Lagos found that contemporary fathers are actively "renegotiating masculinity through care, emotional intimacy, and domestic participation." But the same study noted a "dual burden": men are expected to provide and be emotionally present, while still being judged by traditional standards of masculinity that don't value the latter.
In Nigeria, fathers are battling what one report called a "silent, severe mental health crisis driven by crushing economic hardships and deep societal pressures." A Tanzanian study found that 63% of stressed fathers turned to negative coping strategies like substance use. In Kenya, one in ten fathers experience severe mental health challenges due to the stressors of parenting.
We are asking men to be better fathers while ignoring the fact that they are drowning.
The Lie of "Quality Time"
There's a myth that has infected modern parenting discourse: the myth of "quality time." The idea that you don't need to be around your children constantly — you just need to be intentional when you are and just need to make the time you spend count.
This is a lie. Or at least, it's only half a truth, and the missing half is the one that matters.
Children don't need your quality time. They need your presence. They need the boring stuff. The school runs. The evenings when nothing happens. The moments when you're just there, not doing anything special, just existing in the same space as them.
A Ghanaian father, quoted in a 2025 article about rethinking fatherhood, said it perfectly: "Fathers must not be feared. They must be loved, cherished, and respected. And that comes from showing up."
Showing up. Not performing. Not providing. Not being the disciplinarian. Just showing up.
I think about my own father. He was there for the big moments. The graduations. The birthdays. But he wasn't there for the small ones. He wasn't there for the conversations about girls, or the questions about life, or the quiet moments when I just needed someone to sit with me and not say anything.
I don't blame him. He was doing what he was taught. But I want to do better.
The Myth of the Fun Dad
You know the type. He's the one who shows up on weekends and takes the kids to the cinema, buys them ice cream, plays video games with them, and then disappears back into his work during the week. He's the "cool" parent. The one the kids look forward to seeing.
But the fun dad is often the absent dad in disguise. He's trading emotional depth for entertainment. He's buying affection instead of earning it. And when the kids grow up, they realise they don't actually know him. They know his jokes. They know his wallet. But they don't know his heart.
A Ghanaian father, interviewed for a 2025 fatherhood series, shared a moment of realisation. He had been the "disciplinarian" — the one his wife warned the kids about. "Your father will punish you," she'd say. And the kids grew up fearing him. One day, he decided to change. He started apologising when he was wrong. He started spending time with them without the threat of punishment. And within weeks, his children started waiting up to see him before bed.
That's the shift. From fear to love. From performance to presence. From being a father to being a dad.
The Science of Showing Up
Research consistently shows that children with engaged fathers have better outcomes across almost every metric you can name. Higher self-esteem. Better academic performance. Stronger emotional regulation. Lower rates of risky behaviour. Better mental health.
But "engaged" doesn't mean "present." It means emotionally involved. It means knowing your child's fears, their dreams, their frustrations. It means being the person they come to when something goes wrong — not the person they hide from.
A 2026 study of unmarried Black fathers found that children of fathers who were both highly involved and cognitively stimulating — meaning they read to them, talked to them, engaged their minds — had the lowest levels of internalising symptoms and the best social-emotional functioning.
Your presence matters, but your engagement matters more. Being in the house isn't enough. Being in their life is what counts.
What Actually Works (A Framework, Not a Cliché)
Let's talk about what you can actually do.
Start with the small stuff.
You don't need to take your kids to Disneyland. You don't need to buy them expensive things. You need to be there for the boring stuff. The school runs. The homework sessions. The evenings when nothing happens. The moments when they just want to sit next to you and watch TV.
Those are the moments that build the foundation.
Say the thing you're afraid to say.
Tell your son you're proud of him. Tell your daughter she's beautiful. Tell them you love them. Not once. Not on their birthday. Regularly. Every day if you can.
I know it feels awkward and unnatural. Perhaps, you were raised in a house where those words were never spoken. Say them anyway. Your children need to hear them. And you need to say them.
Apologise when you're wrong.
This is the hardest one. Many of us were raised by fathers who never apologised, never admitted fault, but believed that apologising was a sign of weakness.
It's not. It's a sign of strength. And it's one of the most powerful things you can do for your children. When you apologise, you teach them that it's okay to make mistakes, that relationships require repair and that love means saying sorry.
One father, interviewed for a 2025 fatherhood series in Ghana, described how apologising to his child "marked the beginning of a warmer connection." That single act of humility did more for his relationship than years of provision.
Stop delegating discipline.
In many homes, the mother is the one who disciplines the children, and the father is the one who comes home to deliver the "real" punishment. This turns you into a monster in your children's eyes. It makes them fear you instead of love you.
Split the discipline. Be the one who corrects with love, not the one who terrifies. When you're the one who also comforts, the discipline carries weight without carrying fear.
Build a "dadvisory board."
This is a concept from Kevin Maguire's The New Fatherhood. He suggests building a group of other fathers you can turn to for advice, support, and honest conversation. Men who will tell you the truth. Men who will admit they're struggling too.
You don't have to do this alone. Find other fathers who are trying to be better. Talk to them. Learn from them. Lean on them.
Take care of yourself.
You cannot pour from an empty cup. If you're depressed, anxious, burned out, or struggling, get help. Talk to someone. See a therapist. Join a men's group. Do whatever you need to do to be okay.
Your children don't need a perfect father. They need a father who is present, who is honest, and who is trying. But you can't be that if you're falling apart.
A Letter to the Father Who's Still Reading
If you've made it to the end of this article, I'll assume you're the father. The one who wants to be better. The one who is trying.
Here's what I want you to know.
You are not your father. You are not doomed to repeat his mistakes. You are not trapped by the patterns you inherited. You can break the cycle. You can be the father you wish you had.
It won't be easy. It will feel awkward. It will feel unnatural. There will be days when you fall back into old patterns, when you snap at your kids, withdraw into your work, and forget to say the thing you meant to say.
That's okay, because the goal isn't perfection. The goal is progress.
Your children don't need you to be perfect. They need you to be there, to try. They need you to show up, again and again, even when it's hard. Even when you're tired and don't know what you're doing.
The strongest thing a man can do is not to provide. It's to be present, emotionally available, and the kind of father his children actually know.
You deserve to have that relationship. And your children deserve to have that father.
The cycle ends with you.
Written by a Praelex Man, Edited by Chidiebere Daniel
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