The Burdens of Black Tax | Time to Break Its Chains | Derrick Muganga's Story

The day I realized its weight wasn’t just financial—but spiritual, generational—I stopped breathing for a moment. Because I saw how greatness was sacrificed at the altar of obligation.

I live in the city now. That alone makes me a success story in the eyes of those left behind in this quest for wealth and a better life. I drive a car—four tyres and an engine—and suddenly, I’m the village’s beacon of prosperity. My age mates, my cousins, my childhood friends—they’re still back home, watching from a distance. And in their eyes, I’ve made it. So, the question echoes: why don’t I support their families? Their children? Are they not human beings like me? Do I not love them? Or maybe, just maybe… I’ve forgotten them. Maybe I look down on them. Maybe I think they’re not sensible enough to deserve the blessings of my sweat. That’s the story they tell themselves. That’s the judgment they pass. And it hurts—because none of it is true. But in this tradition, perception is heavier than truth. And guilt? Guilt is the currency we pay when we dare to rise.

It hit me one evening—quiet, unassuming—when I was reviewing my budget for the month. Line after line, I saw names. Not investments. Not savings. Names. Cousins, school fees. Aunties, medication. Uncles, rent. And I realized: I wasn’t building a future. I was patching up the past. Every month, I was pouring water into a leaking pot, hoping it would somehow fill. And then I looked at my father—brilliant, disciplined, once full of dreams. He had the mind of a strategist, the heart of a builder. But he never built. Because he was too busy carrying. Carrying siblings, parents, neighbors. Carrying a tradition that demanded sacrifice, but never offered sustainability.

That was the moment. The moment I saw the cost—not just in shillings, but in stolen destinies. My family wasn’t poor because they lacked talent. They were poor because they were never allowed to prioritize themselves. And I? I was becoming the same. That realization broke me. But it also woke me. I decided I would not be another brilliant man buried under obligation. I would honor my family—but I would also build. I would give—but I would also grow. That was my turning point. The moment I chose legacy over guilt and began to rewrite my story.

I made a choice. Not to abandon my people—but to redefine what support and love looks like. To move from handouts to empowerment. From guilt to strategy. From survival to legacy. Because if we keep sacrificing greatness for obligation, we’ll keep burying brilliance in shallow graves of tradition.

My story is not unique. It’s yours. It’s ours. And it’s time we asked the hard question: are we building futures—or just maintaining cycles?

Black Tax is not just a financial burden. It’s a quiet thief of potential. It steals time, dreams, and the right to prioritize self without guilt. But here’s the truth: we cannot pour from an empty cup. We cannot build legacies if we’re only patching holes.

So how do we now redefine the Obligation that has been put onto us? This is a sacred talk that is never had because tradition has set it as an invisible rule. One that you’ll find a challenge in your pursuit to re-define what the elders determine as success and in a time where many are still giving.

It is time we had a talk with our people back how on how to re-define our support and love and sustainable solutions to their needs, without sacrificing our greatness.

 Let’s be the generation that honors our roots—but refuses to be bound by them. Let’s build systems, not just send money. Let’s create wealth, not just distribute it. Let’s rise—and pull others up by showing them how to climb, not just how to wait, let us teach men how to fish and not just deliver the fish to their plates.

Because greatness delayed is greatness denied. And we? We were born to be great.