About Pringles, Wrestling with Luxury in a Land of Need

Mar 9 , 2025
By Kidist Yidnekachew

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The other day, after lunch, my family and I wandered into a supermarket. The children had finished their meals and were eager for a treat. As we browsed the aisles, the children darted around, grabbing whatever they could, while we admonished them to come closer, put that down, or refrain from picking that up. Anyone who has shopped with young children knows the challenge: they desire everything displayed on the shelves.

Amid the usual chaos, there was a sudden silence. My spouse and I were engaged in conversation when we noticed the children standing still, clutching a bag of chips, and not just any chips but Pringles. They also wanted a small can of juice. We agreed to indulge them but decided to check the prices first. To our surprise, a can of Pringles cost nearly 1,000 Br, and the small can of imported juice was around 600 Br. The idea of spending 2,000 birr on two cans of Pringles was out of the question. Our children were crestfallen, but we promised them something just as delightful, ice cream, which we ultimately bought instead.

Later, reflecting on the experience, we were struck by the absurdity of paying such a hefty sum for imported snacks. A quick Google search revealed that the same can of Pringles costs about 14 dollars, which converts to over 1,700 Br. While 14 dollars might seem reasonable abroad, the conversion to birr carries a different weight. Locally made chips, by contrast, cost around 25 birr. Spending 2,000 Br on snacks felt extravagant when we considered the numerous ways that money could be utilized, like a month's kindergarten tuition. It just did not feel right.

Out of curiosity, I searched for Pringles online. The listed price was 136.50 Br in Addis Ababa, but when I tried to add it to my cart, the product was unavailable. This price disparity, especially for imported goods, is baffling. I shared the incident with a friend living abroad, expressing my disbelief that anyone would spend so much on chips while children go hungry on our streets. In developed nations, such indulgences might go unnoticed, but here, feels akin to an affront to the less fortunate, which does not sit right with me.

My friend, however, countered by stating that it is one's prerogative how they spend their money, whether on chips or charitable giving. It's not the spender's fault that others are destitute, absolving them from any guilt or obligation. A sense of entitlement prevails when individuals believe that those with means are duty-bound to assist them, holding them responsible for their hardships. In her view, it's not the responsibility of the affluent to solve systemic poverty. People should take initiative instead of adopting a victim mentality and always seek handouts.

She was especially firm on this point, perhaps because her parents frequently requested financial help, leaving her drained. In the country where she lives, self-sufficiency is prized. Even children aren't expected to support their parents in adulthood; rather, parents ensure their children are well-equipped for the future. Her pragmatic, unapologetic stance contrasts sharply with my own, yet we share a strong friendship despite our differing outlooks.

Despite my altruistic inclination towards aiding others, there are instances where I feel torn. Treating my children to pizza or ice cream feels indulgent when I see barefoot children begging outside the restaurant. I give them what I can, but it never feels enough. I wonder how I could do more for them. Yet, I understand my friend's point of view. There is a fine line between compassion and fostering dependency. It reminds me of the children who tug at your clothes for money. When those who appear affluent refrain from giving, on occasions, the mothers look at them in disbelief, as though they owe them.

It all raises complex questions about obligation and responsibility. While my instinct leans toward generosity, I cannot shake the thought that this entitlement impedes progress towards sustainable and self-driven solutions. Charity alone cannot dismantle the systemic forces that keep people in poverty. There must be a balance between personal kindness and the pursuit of long-term, structural change. Until then, moments like the Pringles incident will continue to spark these difficult reflections.

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PUBLISHED ON Mar 09, 2025 [ VOL 25 , NO 1297]

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