By Isaac FRIMPONG (Ph.D.)
Odeneho’s story is familiar to many Africans.
He was the only one in his family to attend secondary school. He went on to teacher training college. While still living on a trainee allowance, he sent money home to support his brother’s child’s education. Later, after travelling abroad with help from his sister, he provided start-up capital to his brother’s wife to start a small business. A few years later, he asked about the business progress. The response was, “I gave part of the money to your brother as a loan and used the rest to feed the household.”
It is a story that is familiar, whether you are in Ghana, Nigeria, Kenya, or across the African continent. Some call it support, while others say it is a duty. But to many, it is known as the Black tax or the Family tax or the Lineage tax. Whatever name you call it, it describes an unwritten obligation placed on those seen to have “made it”, however modest their success. The expectation is simple: if you have moved ahead, you owe everyone who has not.
This article examines the current shape of the Black tax. While it is rooted in the cultural principle of reciprocity and responsibility, for many, it has become a growing cost. The question is no longer whether Black tax exists; it does. The actual question is whether it is still sustainable in today’s social and economic realities.
Not Law, But Still Binding
The concept of “Black tax” is not enshrined in any constitution, certainly not in Ghana and likely not elsewhere in Africa. What starts as support can turn into expectation, strengthened not by law but by culture and subtle pressure. If you ignore it, you are seen as selfish or ungrateful. But honour it, and you may impede your progress.
The practice has deep roots in African traditional principles of reciprocity, solidarity, and shared expectation, which form the foundation of informal social support systems long before states provided healthcare or pensions.
In many African villages, houses were built close together, symbolising a way of life where people raised each other’s children, shared food, and offered spiritual or herbal healing. Life was collective, and help flowed in all directions. Scholar Göran Hyden (1980) described this as the “economy of affection”, where “who you know matters more than what you know, sharing wealth is more important than growing it and helping someone today guarantees help tomorrow”.
But urbanisation and migration have weakened that. Now, the support that used to be shared among many is resting on fewer people. Sometimes, one person in Accra, Lagos, Nairobi or London is expected to support two, three or four households back home. Why is it happening?
Governments Step Back, Families Step In
Black tax is not just about family or culture. It shows what happens when public systems fail. Many African states have yet to deliver basic services, such as education, healthcare, housing, jobs, and pensions to millions of their citizens. These are public responsibilities, but in their absence, they have become private problems. So, when a brother needs surgery, a niece cannot pay school fees, or your parents need a maintenance allowance, it is not the state that steps in; it is you.
This is not just about moral obligation. It indicates deeper structural issues such as widespread poverty, unfairness, and inequality, and the lasting effects of colonial legacies that continue to shape economic realities. In contrast, developed countries also face poverty and inequality, but stronger safety nets from the state often cushion the burden. For example, after World War II, the United Kingdom moved to eradicate the “Five Giants” (Want, Disease, Ignorance, Squalor, and Idleness), showing what is possible when governments step up. In much of Africa, the opposite has happened. Public problems are now solved through private solutions. So, what does Black tax look like today?
Different forms of black tax
According to the World Bank 2023 data, personal remittances reached $2.43 billion in Ghana, $4.23 billion in Kenya, and $19.55 billion in Nigeria, more than foreign direct investment in these countries. Most of this money goes to food, fees, hospital bills, funerals, and rent. This is just the recorded or formal part. It excludes informal direct transfers to siblings, parents or extended family for daily consumption needs or as start-up capital for business. But Black tax is not only about money; there are other, less visible forms, but equally important:
- Emotional labour: Expected to attend weddings, funerals, and naming ceremonies, or skip it and you are described as arrogant.
- Unpaid caregiving: From helping raise siblings’ children to caring for ageing parents, energy and time add up.
- Social capital pressure: “Your friend works in the office of the vice president; find my son or daughter a job.” “You live abroad; send me a mobile phone or something.”
- Guilt as insurance: “Have you forgotten where you come from?” “God will bless you if you help.” “After everything I have done for you.” These phrases turn affection into obligation.
What often starts as love or is framed as favour can, over time, drain people. Those who seem to have “made it” end up stretched emotionally, financially and socially. It can delay savings, withhold investment, and make it harder to build or transfer wealth.
Yet, at its core, Black tax reflects the spirit of Ubuntu: “I am because you are,” a demonstration of looking out for each other. But Ubuntu is not one person carrying everyone else. When support flows one way, it stops being mutual and becomes unsustainable. And when the giver eventually needs help, there is often no one left to return the favour.
What needs to change
Black tax is not going away anytime soon, but it needs to evolve in the following ways:
- Set boundaries: Support where you can, but not at the expense of your flourishing.
- Communicate clearly: Be clear about your income, limits and goals.
- Prioritise self-reliance: Support should lead to independence, not long-term dependency.
- Effective public service: Real change comes when governments provide basic services.
Until these systems improve, the Black tax will keep growing.
Conclusion
Black tax lives at the crossroads of culture, economic pressure, and government failure. For some, it is a source of pride or an expression of love. For others, it is a heavy burden. But with honest conversations, stronger systems, and more balanced expectations, Black tax could change from a burden to something more empowering.
Maybe the question is not whether the Black tax is good or bad. How do we make it fair and sustainable?
Isaac is a Researcher and Consultant
