The thing about fintech strategy decks is they're all written by people who pretend they've never cried about money. As if we're all just rational actors optimising our financial journeys, rather than humans who occasionally check our bank balance through our fingers like it's a horror film.
I was given a week to untangle MTN MoMo's strategy. Seven days to find something worth saying about mobile money in a market where every brand promises the same revolutionary access with identical blue gradient logos.
And that's when I noticed it: we've been marketing financial products like they exist in a psychological vacuum. As if sending your last 200 rand to your mum carries the same emotional weight as ordering an Uber. Curious.
WHAT YOUR BANK BALANCE IS ACTUALLY TELLING YOU
Money in Africa isn't just currency. It's emotional permission. It's the ability to say yes when the group chat announces another wedding collection. When your cousin needs school fees. When December demands you don't show up empty-handed.
But here's the thing no fintech brand wants to admit: this relationship with money shifts dramatically throughout the year. It's not a static proposition. It's a seasonal emotional cycle that everyone feels but nobody names.
Q1: THE MORNING AFTER
January isn't a fresh start. It's a hangover.
The calendar flips, but December's ghosts linger like unwelcome houseguests, appearing every time you check your pitiful bank balance. Nobody's posting their January bank statements on Instagram, are they?
The psychology here isn't aspirational – it's restorative. People aren't interested in "wealth building" strategies in January; they're performing financial penance. Trying to prove to themselves they can be disciplined after their December spending bender.
This is why budget apps always launch in January and die by Valentine's Day. They fundamentally misread the room. People don't suddenly become interested in financial optimisation; they're just trying to make it to payday without having to ignore their mother's calls.
Q2: THE QUIET RESURRECTION
By April, something shifts. The self-flagellation subsides, and a cautious "maybe I could" energy emerges. Not manic hustle-culture optimism, mind you – just the ability to think beyond survival.
What fascinated me was how the timing of money becomes more emotionally critical than the amount. The difference between cash arriving on the 20th versus the 25th can make or break an Eid celebration. Being reliably present begins to matter more than being impressively generous.
It's less "building wealth" and more "building possibility." Money transforms from burden to seed.
Q3: THE IDENTITY TAX
August hits, and suddenly everyone you know has three side gigs and the perpetual eye bags to prove it. Money morphs again – this time into caffeine, the substance keeping ambition from collapsing under its own weight.
Here's what nobody talks about: money in Q3 isn't about accumulation; it's about validation. Income streams become identity markers. The ability to say "I'm a consultant/DJ/dropshipper/crypto bro" signals ambitious complexity in a way that "I have a good salary" never will, regardless of the amount.
The hustle isn't about the money. The money is about the hustle.
Q4: THE COMMUNAL RECKONING
As bonuses land and holidays approach, money completes its final transformation: from personal resource to social performance.
The most fascinating psychological shift is that money literally stops being yours. It becomes communal evidence that you haven't forgotten where you came from. The group chat fills with wedding contribution requests. Your mother casually mentions which relatives need school fees. Your hometown expects physical proof that the city hasn't changed you.
Black tax isn't just obligation – it's an emotional investment in the ecosystem that raised you. Participation isn't optional; it's the price of belonging.
THE UNLOCK
Sitting with the MTN brief for a week, I realised the core problem: we've built an entire financial industry around individual empowerment in a context where money is fundamentally communal.
It's not about transactional freedom. It's about relational capacity.
The ability to say "yes" when life asks something of you – that's what financial products should enable. Yes, I can contribute to the funeral. Yes, I can help with school fees. Yes, I can show up at the wedding with an envelope that won't embarrass my family.
Instead of innovating on features, what if MoMo positioned itself around this core emotional truth?
WHAT I LEARNED
Here's the thing about good insights – they should make you wonder why nobody said them before. Of course money is communal. Of course financial seasons exist. Of course transactions carry social weight.
But sometimes the most obvious truths are hiding in plain sight, obscured by an industry that's more comfortable talking about features than feelings.
The financial inclusion conversation was never just about access to banking. It was about honouring the fact that in a communal economy, money was never meant to be private.
It was always a conversation – albeit one we've been having with our eyes closed.