A City of Two Worlds

A City of Two Worlds

Nov 1 , 2025. By Eden Sahle ( Eden Sahle is founder and CEO of Yada Technology Plc. She has studied law with a focus on international economic law. She can be reached at edensah2000@gmail.com. )

A single evening in Addis exposes the city’s growing fault line between wealth and want. While one table orders imported wine, another woman wonders how to feed her unborn child. It’s a portrait of imbalance, one that invites reflection on generosity and what it means to belong to a thriving city.

Addis Abeba shines with a stark contrast between its extremes: wealth and poverty, comfort and struggle. It's a city full of energy; proud, busy, and ambitious. Yet, beneath this facade of progress lies another side of Addis. You can see it in the eyes of those who are struggling, watching cars pass by, and in the weary hands of people counting coins to buy bread.

This week, I watched them collide.

My husband, Mike, and I were on our way to a family birthday dinner, one of those grand celebrations his parents love to host for their children. Every year, they choose a new, elegant restaurant somewhere in the city. This time, it was Hotto, one of Addis Abeba’s trendiest spots, known for its international menu and prices that could make your eyes widen.

Before we arrived, we made a quick stop at a café to pick up some special tea. As we waited in the car for our takeout, a young woman approached our window. Although her face looked tired, her eyes had a quiet, pleading expression. When Mike rolled down the window, she leaned slightly forward and spoke softly.

She expressed that her earnings for the day were insufficient to buy dinner. She requested if we could provide some money to prepare a meal for herself and her unborn baby.

The words struck me more powerfully than I anticipated. It's surprising how some moments can break you unexpectedly. Here was a pregnant woman, working hard and doing her best, yet after a full day of labor, she couldn't afford to eat. This situation wasn't due to laziness or neglect; it was simply the harsh arithmetic of survival. Her income was insufficient to sustain two lives.

We gave her what we could, but as she walked away, repeatedly thanking us, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the city surrounding us existed in another universe from hers.

When we arrived at Hotto, the contrast was striking. Waiters in crisp uniforms moved between tables, carrying platters of sushi and steak. Soft music played in the background, and the room was filled with laughter. Around us, people toasted with imported wines, and one bottle on a nearby table was priced at over 100,000 Br.

As I looked around the restaurant that night, I felt no disappointment about myself, my family, or the people enjoying themselves. Joy should never be considered a crime. However, I did feel a quiet conviction that we can embrace our joy more mindfully. Gratitude shouldn't just involve counting our blessings; it should also include sharing them with those in need.

This might mean tipping a little more generously for servers, paying fair wages, or buying lunch for a street vendor from time to time. It could also involve supporting local programs that help the less fortunate. Generosity doesn’t always have to take the form of grand gestures; sometimes, it can be as simple as buying a meal for someone in need.

Meeting people like the expectant mother has an opportunity for empathy. We can’t fix every problem or feed every hungry person, but we can start by refusing to look away. We can notice. We can care. We can help.

Cities expand, and economies change, but true progress isn’t measured solely by the height of our buildings; it’s determined by how we treat those in need. The young woman who approached us wasn’t seeking pity; she was asking for dignity. Even as she carried another life within her, she was striving for it.

I found myself reflecting on all the unrecognised individuals who serve, build, and struggle as they make their way home. I wondered: what if we kept them in our thoughts when we spent money, when we dined, or when we celebrated? What if compassion became an integral part of our city's identity, rather than just charity given out on holidays?

Addis Abeba is filled with people like her, unsung heroes who survive on the margins of society. There's the parking attendant who stands all day in the sun, the elderly individuals selling vegetables on the streets, and the mother selling tissues at the traffic light. Then there are the construction workers who fight to provide for their families while skyscrapers rise above them. These individuals, among many others, are the ones who hold the city together.

Despite the challenges, their resilience is beautiful. Their effort is graceful. Every day, they show up, work hard, and hold onto hope. This deserves to be honored, supported, and uplifted.

In a city that’s constantly changing, what shouldn’t change is our humanity. Addis Abeba can be both modern and kind, ambitious and compassionate. It can be a city that grows without forgetting the hands that built it.

That night, as we drove home, the city lights sparkled outside the window, creating a mosaic of brightness and shadow. Somewhere in those shadows, a young woman was cooking dinner with the money we had given her. I imagined her sitting down to eat in peace, feeling her baby move inside her, perhaps whispering a prayer of gratitude.

And I thought of how small that moment was and yet how immense. One act of kindness doesn’t change the world, but it changes someone’s night. It adds one more drop of warmth to a city that needs it.

When one heart opens to another, a subtle glow begins to spread, a quiet, unseen light that requires no words, stage, or applause. It flows gently from one person's kindness into another's weary spirit. This is the moment when compassion takes the place of neglect, and giving feels as natural as breathing.

The glow of kindness doesn’t just change the person who receives it; it also transforms the one who offers it. In a world often filled with indifference, this small, human light reminds us that supporting one another is our greatest strength. Even the faintest act of care can brighten more than just one life.

If we connect silence with empathy and allow compassion to lead our decisions, then perhaps one day no one will go hungry. Addis Ababa will continue to change, with more towers rising, more restaurants opening, and more money circulating. However, none of this will matter much if our hearts don’t grow along with it.

PUBLISHED ON Nov 01,2025 [ VOL 26 , NO 1331]