At a Friday night hangout in Lagos, Anthony quietly pushed aside the menu and asked for only a bottle of water. His friends teased him, but he smiled faintly and said, “I’m on a tight budget, I have to send money home this weekend.”

Beside him, Tolani nodded knowingly. “Same here. I send 10% of my salary to my parents every month,” she admitted.

Their exchange may have seemed casual, but it highlights a reality many young Nigerians live with. Across the country, countless professionals in their 20s and 30s are adjusting their lifestyles, skipping outings, shelving savings plans, or delaying investments, just to meet family obligations. The practice, often called “black tax,” refers to the financial support that young adults are expected to provide for their families once they start earning.

Though rooted in culture, responsibility, and gratitude, black tax has become a silent burden. A 2023 SBM Intelligence survey noted that over 60% of Nigerian youth provide some form of regular financial support to extended family. 

For some, it is about pride and duty; for others, it feels like an invisible tax that makes independence harder to achieve. Either way, the emotional and financial weight it places on the younger generation is rarely discussed.

The unspoken burden of black tax

Black tax is not an official policy but a deeply ingrained expectation. For many parents, especially those who sacrificed to provide an education, it is almost seen as repayment. For their children, however, it often feels like living a double life: chasing personal goals while carrying the financial weight of the family.

Chidera, a 26-year-old software developer, described it as “a silent tax that nobody calculates but everyone feels.”

“Every month, I send money to my mum and two younger siblings. Sometimes I want to save for a car or invest, but then school fees come up. You can’t say no. But inside, it feels like you’re stuck in a loop, working hard but never moving forward.”

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The strain goes beyond money; it seeps into emotions. Many young professionals wrestle with guilt when they cannot meet family expectations, while also battling frustration as personal plans are endlessly delayed. The silent question lingers: How do young people build a future for themselves if they are constantly providing for others in an economy that offers them so little room to grow?

When support turns into pressure

Not all black tax is negative. For some, it is a source of pride—a way to give back. But when the demands pile up, it can quickly become suffocating.

Bola, a 29-year-old nurse, explained how it strains even her social life:

“There are months I can’t hang out with friends because I’ve sent almost half my pay home. My dad calls it my duty, but sometimes I just want to enjoy my salary. It creates this hidden resentment. You love your family, but you also feel robbed of your freedom.”

Chris, a young banker, said the pressure spills into his relationship:

“I’ve had arguments with my girlfriend because she thinks I’m stingy. What she doesn’t see is that by the 10th of the month, a large part of my salary is already gone. I’m not stingy; I’m just drained.”

The weight of expectations often leads to mental stress, especially as the cost of living rises while salaries remain stagnant. Some argue the pressure is worse for first sons, who are expected to send money home, support their partners, and still respond to endless requests from younger siblings. But first-born daughters disagree, insisting the burden is shared.

Faith, 27, described how she practically became a second mother in her own home:

“I didn’t do official adoption oh, but everything from school fees down to clothes, I provide for our lastborn. She already feels like my child. At this point, people think I gave birth to her, and I’m just 27.”

For Victor, a 32-year-old YouTuber, black tax left a mark on his finances:

“I was using my dad’s account for my business and he would use my money anyhow for whatever. I felt I had no right to complain, and before I knew it, I was 32 with no investment in my name.”

Finding balance in a hard reality

Despite the challenges, some young Nigerians are finding ways to balance family responsibility with personal growth. They talk openly with parents, set clear boundaries, or redirect support into sustainable ventures like small businesses back home instead of constant cash transfers.

Tolani, the young woman at the hangout, explained her approach:

“I sat my parents down and explained that I could only do 10% monthly. At first, it felt awkward, like I was being selfish. But it gave me structure. Now I save, and they still get something regular.”

Uchenna, 27, who works in tech support, believes black tax can evolve into a positive force if managed differently:

“Instead of just sending money, I helped my mum start a small poultry business. Now she earns her own income and doesn’t depend on me as much. It’s still black tax, but in a way that frees me long term.”

Black tax is both a bond and a battle. It ties families together through support, yet weighs heavily on those trying to carve out independent lives. For Anthony, Tolani, and countless others, it remains a constant reminder that in Nigeria, success is rarely just personal, it is communal, and it often comes with a price. The burden should not come at the cost of a young person’s mental health and future.

Cynthia Nwanonyiri