When Ruth Jebet moved to the United Kingdom six months ago, her goal was simple: pursue a master’s degree and widen her horizons. Unlike back home, the UK promised students the opportunity to take on part-time work to cover bills and stay afloat while studying. It sounded manageable, even hopeful. But reality set in quickly.
“In my class, only eight of us are from Africa, and four of them are already citizens here. The rest are from India, Pakistan, or they’re British nationals. During conversations, I started to notice something: people here casually talk about saving for holidays, buying a car, putting down a deposit for a house, or exploring new investments,” she shares.
“Meanwhile, I’d be there staring at my Revolut app, calculating an entirely different equation: ‘How much can I afford to send home this month after paying my bills?’ Not because I had extra cash or because life here is cheap, it’s actually quite the opposite, but because that quiet voice in my mind keeps whispering a harsh and familiar pressure that every African knows too well: ‘They are counting on you…’”she continues.
For many, this pressure, commonly known as black tax, is more than financial. It is emotional, cultural and deeply rooted in obligation.
Popular reggae musician Cathy Matete is grieving the loss of her cousin, who she believes collapsed under the weight of black tax.
“He came from a turbulent childhood, raised by a single mother who worked multiple odd jobs just to keep her children in school. Like many young people in this country, even after graduating from college, finding stable employment was a challenge,” Cathy shares.
She added, “He turned to online work and, for the first few years, it didn’t work out. Eventually, things began to improve. By then, he had started his own family, and life finally seemed to be looking up. But with that progress came growing responsibility. A significant portion of his income went back home to support his family. Over time, the demands increased and, despite working tirelessly, he was often left with nothing for himself or the family he was building. There was no surplus, no room to breathe.”
The Aftermath
After a year, he fell ill. At first, the seriousness of his condition was not clear, until he was rushed to intensive care. His health declined, and so did his spirit.
“He kept asking himself what all the struggle had been for, working so hard yet feeling like he had nothing to show for it. Though medically he still had a chance, emotionally he was exhausted. His final words were, ‘I did my best, but I’m tired now. Please take care of our child.’ And then he passed on,” she says quietly.
For Cathy, the lesson was painful but clear: responsibility has limits. Saying “no” does not mean one does not care — it means choosing sustainability over burnout.
Grace Yasin remembers her first pay cheque vividly. Before she could plan how to use it, most of it was already spoken for.
“This was immediately after college, when I got a job at a boutique earning a salary of Sh15,000. My mother told me I had to give her Sh5,000 every month. On top of that, I was still expected to contribute to household expenses, such as food and bills, since I was living under her roof. My job was quite far, and a large portion of my salary went on transport. By the time I got to work and back home, I could hardly afford lunch, let alone buy myself anything personal.
“This went on for about two years. Eventually, I lost interest in working because there was absolutely no reward for me. I quit and started doing promotion jobs, standing in supermarkets for 10 hours a day and earning Sh500. But the cycle at home remained the same. I was expected not only to support the household but also my sister, who was unemployed and had a newborn baby. I was told that since I had no children and ‘hardly any responsibilities’, I should help her, especially because she had supported me during college,” she narrates.
The weight of expectation left her drained.
“I began to feel like I didn’t deserve nice things, or even the simple joy of going out and having fun. My money always seemed to have a better use elsewhere. My morale at work dropped completely. Eventually, I left and went to stay with a friend in Lamu for a short break. For the first time in a long while, it felt good to live in a place where no one expected me to chip in, where no one planned my money for me. After two months, I returned home jobless — but I was still expected to continue doing my part, without any concern for where the money would come from. I was 23 years old at the time.”
When she finally secured another job, she lied about her salary simply to save something for herself. Even then, buying a new pair of shoes sparked chaos at home. That moment broke her resolve to comply.
“That was when I decided I had to stand up for myself. I started saving whatever little I could and planned to move out. Two years later, I finally did. I also had a baby, who became my primary responsibility. I used that as a boundary, to explain that I could no longer help the way I used to,” she says.
It was a difficult transition, but she stood her ground.
Expert advice
Olivia Ambani, an award-winning singer, songwriter and founder of the Money Conversation series, speaks out on the often undiscussed issue of black tax, shedding light on the emotional blackmail and strain many young professionals face when supporting their families.
“This is something that is happening to a lot of people and it holds people back because you are working to build your own family, then here come your parents and there is a lot of emotional blackmail in it,” she says.
She adds, “A lot of people are very young and the whole financial expectation falls on them, which continues the cycle of poverty. In some cases, parents even drink the money that has been sent home. Culturally, it is hard to refuse to send the money because how dare you not help your parents?” she says, highlighting the cultural pressures that exacerbate the problem.
Ambani stresses that recognising and acknowledging the issue is the first step towards breaking the cycle.
“The first step is to realise and acknowledge that it is happening to you, because there is a lot of strain and pressure that people try to numb. Get a counsellor or talk to a close friend. Then set boundaries in terms of the amount to give every month. Alternatively, do the shopping or pay the bills directly. Include your other siblings if you have more than one. Let everyone pick a bill. Have a conversation with your parents. Not all parents are open to this, so if it is difficult, find someone who can help,” she advises.
She emphasises the importance of prioritising one’s own financial security.
“Make sure your parents have health insurance because, the older they get, the harder it becomes; some insurance companies will even refuse them. Insurance reduces some costs. And sometimes allow your parents to make their own decisions and handle their own problems,” she says, stressing the need for planning and independence.
As an advocate, Ambani calls for more open conversations about money and more informed financial decisions for young people. She encourages individuals to invest in themselves and in their financial education. She warns against enabling poor financial behaviour.
“You need to know who people are. We keep hoping our parents will change but if they always have bad money habits, chances are, they will always be like that. Accept it and protect yourself. Know and accept who they are. You can’t be giving them money when you know they are bad at managing it,” she says.
Defining black tax
A 2023 report by the University of Johannesburg describes black tax as the expectation placed on middle-class earners to support extended relatives who once supported them. While rooted in love and cultural obligation, it often results in financial strain.
Whiting (2009) defines it as the financial burden incurred when black people send money or goods back home to support family. It is a practice tied to survival, pride and generational responsibility, but also to emotional weight.
Jebet, who’s also a psychologist explains: “Across many African communities, black tax is more than a bank transfer; it is an emotional and cultural contract, described by many as a blend of pride and pressure.”
She cites a 2026 Guardian feature noting that remittances are seen as “both a burden and a badge of pride”. Yet the constant juggling of school, work and family responsibilities often leaves senders emotionally drained, guilty and helpless.
Finding balance
Despite the challenges, experts say there are ways to navigate black tax sustainably.
“The goal is not to cut family ties but to make support sustainable for you, the sender, and for your family, the recipients. First, create a dedicated black tax budget, fixing a monthly cap at a certain percentage of your net income. Once that amount is depleted, no further payments should be made that month,” advises Jebet.
She adds, “Secondly, ensure clear communication. Research has shown that clarity minimises misunderstandings. Use phrases such as: ‘I will help with what I can, but I also have financial responsibilities here.’”
She adds that helping relatives start income streams, supporting skills development and sharing the burden among siblings can reduce dependency.
Where there are multiple working siblings or relatives, advisers recommend creating a shared family fund. Each contributor pays into a central pool monthly, and one trusted member manages it transparently. This distributes responsibility and reduces the pressure on a single individual.
Tracking contributions
Transparency, including shared tracking of contributions and expenses, prevents resentment.
“One person’s income should not carry an entire clan. Your generosity should not cost you your mental health. If today you collapse emotionally or financially, you will not be in a position to help anyone. So take good care of yourself. Setting boundaries does not make you selfish, it is acceptable to say no, and you do not have to feel guilty about it,” she says.
Mental health professionals emphasise the importance of distinguishing between genuine responsibility and inherited guilt. Feelings of shame, fear of being labelled “selfish”, or anxiety about community perception often drive over-giving.
Therapy or counselling can help individuals unpack: survivor’s guilt, cultural expectations, fear of social rejection.
One also needs to reframe success: sociologists note that in many communities, visible success triggers increased expectations. Experts advise practising “financial privacy”, avoiding oversharing promotions, bonuses, or lifestyle upgrades that may inflate perceived capacity to give. Discretion protects both relationships and finances.