In one of Tyler Perry’s films, a striking moment caught my attention—quiet, fleeting, yet so unforgettable.
A woman of modest social standing turns to a well-dressed, high-powered executive and asks him a simple question: “How much does a gallon of milk cost?” The executive, played by Perry himself, is caught off guard. He fumbles for an answer, and is openly embarrassed by his ignorance . Though milk is purchased regularly in his household, its price is a detail that clearly escapes him.
That scene has remained with me, resurfacing again and again. Not because of what was said, but because of what it revealed. The woman’s question, seemingly straightforward, cut deeper than the digits labelling the price of milk . It underscored a chasm between two worlds—one where the cost of a basic necessity is a daily consideration and another where it is so inconsequential that it totally does not register in the mind.
The price of milk, then, becomes more than a number. It becomes a litmus test. A way of measuring not just economic disparity, but emotional and social disconnect. It asks: Who is paying attention? Who knows what it means to make a dollar or one lilangeni stretch? It asks: who understands what it feels like to carry the burden of choosing between groceries and rent, or medicine and electricity units?
In a society that prides itself on progress and innovation, it is worth asking whether the people in positions of influence truly understand the lived realities of those at the margins. The truth is that for many people in power—politicians, executives, even well-intentioned philanthropists—poverty is something abstract — a line on a graph or a bullet point in a report. But for a large segment of the population, poverty is personal. It means waking up before dawn to catch multiple buses. It is actually measuring the last pour of milk and wondering how to stretch it until payday. It is the awkward sound of a growling stomach at the worst possible moment.
We often equate leadership with strategic vision— big thinking, innovation and foresight. But another question can be asked: what is the value of vision if it cannot perceive the realities faced by the marginalized majority? What good is leadership if it overlooks the basics? Understanding the price of milk is not about keeping up with changing digits on the shelf — it is about being aligned to the quiet yet persistent struggles that define so many lives.
This disconnect is not new or irrelevant in our society. History is full of moments where the powerful failed to see the full picture, not out of malice but out of distance. And distance — emotional, economic, experiential — is a dangerous thing when it becomes entrenched. When leaders are too far removed from the ground-level experiences of those they serve, they risk making decisions that may look good on paper but fall flat in practice — this is why we have a growing narrative about being a country that excels in crafting the best policies, but sadly remain on paper — never translating into practice.
Consider the quiet calculations made every day by a single parent trying to make ends meet. They weigh bus fare against groceries, utilities against rent, school supplies against shoes that no longer fit. These are not extraordinary stories.
They are common, yet often invisible — hidden in plain sight, ignored not because they are undetectable, but because those who are placed in strategic positions to effect positive changes are disconnected from the reality on the ground.
It is easy to assume that data and statistics are sufficient. That reading out academic reports or donating to a rural community creates understanding. But real empathy does not live in meticulously prepared data. It lives in experience. Real understanding is forged not through observation alone, but through proximity —through genuine, humble curiosity about how others live. When you have never had to ration diapers, skip meals, or count coins at the pay point, it becomes harder to design systems that truly work for those who experience these problems.
This piece is not intended to condemn wealth or success. Nor is it an attempt to romanticise hardship. Rather, it is a call for a more grounded, human form of leadership — one that pairs competence with compassion, efficiency with empathy. The best leaders are not those who can balance a spreadsheet to the last penny, but those who know what that last penny means to someone who needs it.
Privilege, by its very nature — I think — tends to obscure. It smooths the rough edges of life. It can make problems seem smaller than they are, because they are experienced from a distance. But privilege also brings responsibility — not just to give, but to understand. To listen. To see. And, most importantly, to learn through experience. That is exactly what the question in the movie is about — it is not just a staged scenario but a genuine mirror — for real life situations in our very own society.
Imagine the transformation we would realise if more leaders made it a point to spend time in communities outside their own socioeconomic circles — not for photo opportunities, not for brand alignment or brief campaigns, but for the sake of understanding. Imagine if corporate executives regularly sat down with the people who clean their offices, or if our legislators took public transportation and talked to fellow riders, not for a day, but as a regular habit. The insights gained would be invaluable. Policies and business decisions would be rooted not just in analysis, but in awareness.
And imagine what it would mean for the thousands of people whose struggles are too often overlooked. What might it feel like to be seen — to know that those with power and the means to change their situation are paying attention, not out of pity, but out of heartfelt understanding and solidarity?
Of course, this kind of awareness requires more than symbolic gestures. It demands intentionality. It requires a commitment to stepping outside comfort zones and listening without being defensive or bias. It would mean recognising that not knowing the price of milk is not a crime — but refusing or neglecting to care about it might be.
There is a tendency in society to believe that if we just work hard enough, everything will balance out. A belief that, only through hard work, will people be equalised socially and economically. But that belief, while noble, does not always hold true. Circumstances vary — they really do — mostly because people come from broken or uneven safety nets. Luck and timing also play bigger roles than we often admit. And so, those who ‘make it’ have a choice: to view success as proof of superiority, or to use it as a platform for understanding and for elevating others.
The latter path — the path of humility and empathy — is what transforms leadership from management into stewardship. This is what allows a CEO to consider the daily cost of living when determining wages, or a policymaker to advocate for programmes that reflect real-world needs. It is what leads to decisions that do not just look good in quarterly reports but positively impact the lives of real people.
We should — perhaps—all be asking more often: “How much does a litre of milk cost?” Not because we need to memorise its price, but because we need to check in with our own awareness regarding other essential commodities and services. We need to ask whether we are paying attention to the basics, or whether we have drifted into a place where the everyday needs of others no longer register.
This question, deceptively simple, is not about groceries. It is about connection, reality and unity. It is about whether we are willing to shrink the distance between privilege and poverty, not through grand speeches, but through small, sustained acts of attention, action and care.
Understanding how much essential food commodities cost further brings us closer to grasping the true meaning of food security. Food security is not just about self-sufficiency; it also encompasses accessibility and nutritional value. As leaders advance the food security agenda, critical questions must be addressed: How can nutritious food be accessible to those living below the poverty line? And importantly, accessibility should not only be about proximity — it must also be about affordability.
In the end, the price of milk, bread, data, electricity units or that of fuel stand only as symbols. A reminder that leadership is not about always having the right answers, but about asking the right questions — whose answers we are willing to engage with, thoughtfully and with compassion.
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