In many cultures within our country, especially among those from poor backgrounds, there is a deeply ingrained practice: when someone escapes poverty, they are often expected to provide financial assistance to siblings, parents, or relatives. While helping family members is a universal value—reflected in the African philosophy of Ubuntu—the concept of “black tax,” or generational billing, has become a distinct financial pressure in our society. For many young people, this obligation shifts family dynamics and personal aspirations in ways that are rarely discussed.
“Black tax” goes back to colonial South Africa’s legacy of systemic racial inequities that persisted after independence. Generations, particularly from marginalized communities, faced limited access to quality education, well-paying jobs, and the ability to build intergenerational wealth. As a result, those who managed to break the cycle of poverty often felt a deep moral obligation to “pull up” their less fortunate relatives. This cyclical pattern of familial financial support, though not for the same reasons, is also ingrained within Nigerian culture, shaping the life paths and personal aspirations of young people in profound ways that are not always openly discussed.
As much as this system can strain individuals, it sometimes remains the only way families escape destitution, given the government’s limited capacity and sometimes outright refusal to provide social care. With the burden hanging heavily on those who can provide, black tax becomes both a social safety net and a tether.
For twenty one year old Martha, it feels less like an obligation and more like an instinctive gesture of care. “Black tax is weird for me because the way everybody calls it, it’s mandatory. But for me, it’s not—I just see a situation and feel like I should handle that for my parents. Sometimes I think it’s an extension of my general dissatisfaction with how much I’ve done in life.” Many who shoulder black tax, are often burdened with a persistent guilt in spending on themselves. Money that could go toward someone else’s education, food, or household needs often comes with a sense of duty that’s difficult to ignore. The financial obligation is only one part, the mental and emotional pressure, often invisible, can be just as heavy. There’s a constant, sometimes unspoken, expectation to fulfill familial duties, even at the cost of one’s well-being and personal dreams.
Black tax often extends beyond just providing for the immediate family’s needs. As young earners take on the role of primary financial providers, they may find themselves treated as de facto heads of families. This shift in family dynamics can lead to a phenomenon known as “parentification.” In these situations, the young earners are expected to take on the caregiving and financial support responsibilities that would typically fall to parents, but they rarely receive the same level of care and support in return. They are no longer seen as individuals who might also need help or tenderness, but rather as providers whose purpose is to financially support the family. Refusing to meet these heightened expectations can sometimes be interpreted as abandoning or exiling a family member, even if the young earner has reasonable justifications for doing so. The change in family roles and dynamics can create a profound sense of obligation and burden for the young financial providers.
Through a gender lens, although it has become increasingly essential for women to have financial stability both before and during marriage, this is still a far dream for women burdened by black tax. This stability often remains out of reach; after meeting their obligations to family, they may have little to nothing left. As a result, they become financially dependent on their partners, which may compel them to remain in unhealthy relationships, or seek relationships on the basis of financial gain.
On the other hand, twenty seven year old Patricia says she keeps her black tax payment away from friends and especially prospective romantic partners. “Black tax isn’t easy for me. But I love my family so much and I’d protect them at all costs. People think my spending habits are bad, when I tell them I do not have money or savings and they know where I work, and how much I must earn but that’s just a lie I use to cover up what my money really goes to because I do not want people to think less of my family. Sometimes I do stuff for myself and I claim my family did it.”
Contrary to its name, black tax isn’t about race; it’s a form of “poverty tax.” It’s a way for those who have achieved some financial success to support those less fortunate. Yet, the lack of clear definitions around “help” often leads to blurred boundaries. Without accountability, family members may continuously request money with little thought as to the needs and capabilities of the benefactor. This dynamic is common among diaspora communities who remit money back home, only to see it unaccounted for and often misused.
Falomo, 29, reflects on his experience, saying, “They start to see you as a man who can hold his own, which helped transition our relationship from a paternal one to a friendship. I have nothing but positives when it comes to helping my family. It feels good to be reliable.” For him, black tax is rewarding; it brings a sense of pride and connection. But for others, the lack of transparency and a sense of entitlement create complex, often frustrating, relationships with family.
Bolu, 36, says, “Whenever I’ve asked family members who are asking me for financial help to provide their projected expenses and a budget, they rarely do. Instead, they choose to go to other relatives who are willing to give without requiring any explanations or accountability.” This lack of transparency makes it challenging for Bolu to provide meaningful support and plan their contributions effectively. The cultural aversion to accountability often leads to misuse of funds and continued dependence, rather than fostering financial responsibility and independence.
For many black tax payers, accountability is rare. Some beneficiaries assume that those helping them do so for self-gratification, viewing benefactors as eager to “get their ego stroked.” This perspective overlooks the benefactors’ hope that someone will one day step in and share the burden.
Unfortunately, the cycle of dependence often persists. Rather than raising independent family members, black tax can foster extreme reliance and entitlement. Even when benefactors provide resources, as former footballer John Mikel Obi did—giving his father 100 buses for a transport business and setting up a record label for his brother—the lack of accountability or business acumen can lead to failure. His story mirrors that of Emmanuel Adebayor and Paul Pogba, both of whom have spoken about the sense of entitlement they experienced from family.
While supporting family and friends is an honorable commitment, setting boundaries is essential to maintaining financial and emotional health. Striking a balance between generosity and self-care is vital to preserving one’s well-being and ensuring that giving does not devolve into resentment.
Black tax may never completely go away, but with accountability, transparent communication, and a shared sense of responsibility, it doesn’t have to be an endless burden. As young earners redefine their roles within the family, they also have an opportunity to reshape what black tax means for future generations—hopefully as a source of support, rather than a cycle of obligation.
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