“I Belong to the Universe”: Themba Gorimbo, Black Tax, and the Cost of Making It
When Zimbabwean-born UFC welterweight Themba Gorimbo says he has cut ties with his family and no longer identifies with any country, it lands as more than a personal revelation. It is a deeply political, cultural, and emotional statement about success, obligation, and survival in a world that celebrates African excellence while rarely interrogating the costs that come with it.
In an interview with CNN, Gorimbo revealed that he has severed all family contact, citing relentless financial demands placed on him once he “made it.” These expectations, commonly described across the continent and diaspora as “black tax,” became, in his words, unbearable.
“When I was struggling, nobody was there. When I started making money, everybody was there,” Gorimbo said.
From Harare to the Octagon
Gorimbo’s rise is the kind of story African sports mythology is built on. At 17, he fled Zimbabwe for South Africa, chasing a future few around him could imagine. Years later, training between Johannesburg and Las Vegas, he broke into the UFC in 2023 with a historic win that made him the first Zimbabwean to compete — and win — in the promotion.
Zimbabwe embraced him quickly. He was named Sports Person of the Year, met the President, and became a symbol of national pride. Yet behind the public accolades was a quieter, harsher reality: financial pressure from extended family and community that did not pause for his instability, injuries, or early career struggles.
Black Tax: Solidarity or Survival Burden?
Black tax is often framed as communal responsibility — successful individuals supporting families locked out of economic opportunity by structural inequality. In theory, it is solidarity. In practice, it can become extraction.
For Gorimbo, the expectations escalated as his profile grew. He describes moments of deep hardship, including fighting while financially broke — a reality made painfully visible after his viral post-fight interview showing just $7 in his bank account.
That moment would unexpectedly change his life. Actor and wrestler Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson stepped in, offering financial support and mentorship. The intervention helped stabilize Gorimbo’s career — but did not resolve the family dynamics pulling at him from another direction.
Giving Back, On His Own Terms
What complicates any attempt to paint Gorimbo as selfish or ungrateful is his continued commitment to giving back — just not in the way expected of him.
Despite cutting family ties, he has funded boreholes and a solar-powered library in his hometown, investing in infrastructure rather than endless individual demands. It is a deliberate shift: from obligation to agency, from guilt-driven support to impact-driven contribution.
“I give where it makes sense,” he has said in various interviews. “Not where it breaks me.”
“I Belong to the Universe”
Perhaps the most striking part of Gorimbo’s statement is his rejection of national ownership.
“I belong to the universe, not any country.”
It is a sentiment increasingly echoed by African creatives, athletes, and entrepreneurs who feel claimed when they succeed, but abandoned when they struggle. National pride, in these cases, can feel transactional — loud in victory, silent in vulnerability.
A Mirror Many Will Recognise
Gorimbo’s story resonates far beyond MMA. Across Africa and its diaspora, countless professionals carry similar tensions: love for family versus self-preservation, gratitude versus resentment, community versus collapse.
His decision is extreme, and not one many will agree with. But it forces an uncomfortable question: At what point does collective responsibility become personal destruction?
In choosing distance, Gorimbo has chosen survival — emotionally, financially, and psychologically. Whether history judges him harshly or kindly, his honesty has cracked open a conversation many live silently.
And perhaps that, more than belts or titles, will be his most enduring impact.
