BLACK TAX.
My parents were ecstatic. This was after I had broken to them the good news. I had gotten a job. I had just been hired as a telemarketer in one of the financial institutions in Nairobi. It might seem like a rival achievement to many but to them, it was something else. Their excitement oozed out in the one-hour conversation in which I was grilled to the core. I had to outline the details of the job, which bank was it? who was my superior ? was he male or female?. I had to respond to all these questions in the most understanding tone. They invented me after all.
The elephant in the room was my salary. My African parents not only worked hard but they sheltered harder. Like many other middle-class children, I grew up in a nuclear family with very present parents. Parents who ensured that assignments had been completed and hair plaited. My parents believed in education, can you blame them, I mean my mother is a teacher. From a very young age, my three siblings and I lead a comfortable life. We were provided with not only the basics but we got snippets into the top tier life. We not only attended private schools but once in a while we indulged in family dinners in a hotel or two. My father is the breadwinner in our family both literally and figuratively. He moved heaven and earth to ensure that we are as comfortable as possible.
Everything has a price. The price for all the hard work that my parents put in to ensure we turn out okay was not in vain. It was time for the investment to bear fruit. The news about the job whilst still in campus made their day. I not only proven to be their child but had also surpassed their expectation. They were excited and really proud of my strides. But one thing had to happen. I was to send them money from time to time to cater for A or B in the house.
“My mother calls it ‘the black tax.’ Because the generations who came before you have been pillaged, rather than being free to use your skills and education to move forward, you lose everything just trying to bring everyone behind you back up from zero.”~ Trevor Noah
I had been introduced to black tax by Trevor Noah in his book Born A Crime. To me, the idea of sending home a few coins did not hurt. To whom much is given much is expected this was the wave that I happily rode on. It was not until my many relatives started asking for money that I understood the retribution of black tax. Black tax curtails growth. It ensures that as an individual no matter how much you earn and at what stage you will always fall back because of family. Since someone invested in you, you have to invest back. It for tat at it’s best.
Black tax is not intentional but can be deliberate. If most black parents had enough then they wouldn't have to ask from their kids. Everyone would leave comfortably without seeking from the other. But this is not the case hence many young people are found grappling between their meagre earnings and the monthly allowance that has to be sent home. The effect that black tax has on most of us is that we are left with close to nothing. The fact that we work in big cities which are run by full-time capitalists does not help at all.
This isn’t to say that there is anything noble in enjoying the benefits of your success on your own, especially without those that helped raise you, but when does sharing become harmful? When you find yourself not being able to take care of your necessities because you are too busy helping others, a line needs to be drawn. You need a balance to be able to sustain the help you lend out to others ~Corywise.
Having paid my fair share of black tax, I have come learn that one is allowed to keep their income private, say no and put boundaries as this is the only way I will save and survive.