I first photographed Tupac Shakur in Atlanta, back in 1994. He turned up half an hour early, but my equipment malfunctioned and I had to send him away. I was so embarrassed, I offered to fly to whatever city he was headed to, to do the shoot there. But he didn’t mind sticking around and turned up early the next day. He did 20 press-ups and said: “Let’s go, brother!”

There were no barriers between us. He was prepared to let his guard down, so I could show the human behind the headlines. This shot was actually an outtake. After taking some pictures of him raising his middle fingers, I just started snapping away as he played with his bandana. His gaze is sensitive: he looks a little like a deer caught up in the headlights. But then we all do at the age of 23, right?

After I’d finished, Pac invited me back to his house in Stone Mountain, Georgia. We had a drink, smoked some weed, and he showed me his entire gun collection. I ended up staying there for about six hours, taking some photographs in his backyard. Pac gave me complete creative control. I wouldn’t say he was planning for his death, but he was dealing with the reality that he might live a very short life. He was aware that so many young African-Americans die young.

Muhammad Ali and Pac both worked a lot with certain photographers. They didn’t restrict the copyright and gave them complete freedom. They understood the importance of flooding the universe with images of powerful young black men. It’s also the reason they both feel so alive today. I’m bored with modern hip-hop photography – it’s rappers just rocking the same Supreme or Nike shit. That gets corny. It’s pretty at the expense of substance, and pretty doesn’t last.

It could have been awkward because Biggie was my friend and I photographed him too. But they both liked me and I liked both of them. People still post comments on my Instagram like “Fuck Biggie” or “Fuck Tupac”. It amazes me that their so-called beef still captivates people in 2017. When it came down to it, their beef would have been resolved in no time at all.

Had he lived, Pac would have been a team builder and not a divider. Right now, with Ferguson and everything, Pac would be at pope level in terms of galvanising the black community. That was real scary for the white establishment to handle back in 1996.

The last time I photographed Pac was about nine months before he died. It was right after Christmas, on the rooftop of the Wyndham Bel Age Hotel in Hollywood. He had just signed to Death Row. It was a very different vibe to the Atlanta shoot: there were armed guards everywhere and at least one off-duty cop. Despite all the paranoia, we laughed and joked between the photos.

Rolling Stone ended up using the Atlanta photo on its cover in December 2012, nearly 20 years after it was taken. That shows you Pac was the black James Dean. Nowadays, I feel less sad that he died at 25. You realise when you get older, it’s about what you do with the time that you have. If you lead a life as fulfilling as Tupac Shakur’s, then you’ve won and the years don’t really matter.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Chi Modu. Photograph: Courtesy: Chi Modu

Chi Modu’s CV

Born: Nigeria, July 1966.

Trained: The International Center of Photography, New York.

Influences: “Roy Decarava and André Kertész. I like street photographers who care less about capturing the molotov cocktail being thrown and more about the build-up.”

High point: “I shot photos for Snoop Dogg’s Doggystyle album in 1993. I remember riding around LA just after it came out and hearing it bumping out of every car.”

Low point: “You go from being hot to old and out-of-action in a flash. But you have to stay old for about a decade in order to become iconic.”

Top tip: “Don’t put anything of you in the photograph. Just get behind your subject and have the faith that they will carry you through to the promised land.”