The Reality Of Life Outside The High-Income Bracket.

2026-08-13

🔑 Living When Every Rand Already Has A Destination.

There is a particular kind of reality that exists when you are not wealthy, when you are not comfortably middle-class, and when there is very little money left over at the end of the month after the necessities of life have taken their share. It is a reality that can be difficult to explain to somebody who has never had to count the remaining notes in their wallet before deciding whether they can afford something as ordinary as bread, milk, or a cup of coffee.

It is not necessarily a life of absolute poverty, and that distinction matters. There are people who have a roof over their heads, who have some form of income, who own a telephone, who have access to the internet, and who may even have a vehicle. From the outside, such a person might not look poor at all. Yet appearances can be extraordinarily deceptive because what matters is not simply what a person possesses, but how much financial room exists between their income and the unavoidable expenses of staying alive.

That space between income and expenditure has been getting smaller.

For people in the higher income brackets, rising prices can be an irritation. A few rand added to the price of bread, milk, coffee, fuel, or electricity may be noticed, but the increase can often be absorbed without fundamentally changing the household’s behaviour. When your income is already stretched close to its limit, however, those same increases have a very different meaning. They are not merely numbers on a price tag. They become decisions.

Do I buy this? Do I buy less of it? Do I buy something cheaper? Do I postpone the purchase? Do I borrow the money? Or do I simply go without?

That is the economic reality that exists below the comfortable income brackets, and it is a reality that is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

🔑 It Begins With A Shopping Trip.

Recently, I was confronted with a very simple example of how much money can disappear when buying food.

A purchaser returned from obtaining basic grocery supplies. Among the goods were twenty bags of maize meal, each weighing 12.5 kilograms. That is 250 kilograms of maize meal before the other groceries are even considered. There were also four shrink-wrapped quantities of sugar, together with various other items that had been purchased as part of the same shopping trip.

The total came to approximately R26,000.

When you hear a figure like R26,000, it is tempting to think about the number in isolation. Twenty-six thousand rand sounds like a substantial amount of money, and it is. But then you look at what that money actually bought, and the perspective changes.

This was food.

It wasn’t a luxury vehicle, an expensive electronic device, a holiday, or some extravagant consumer purchase. It was a collection of ordinary goods that people need to eat, use, sell, or distribute. The physical quantity was substantial enough to represent a considerable portion of the load space of a Ford Ranger, and even after all that food had been purchased, there were still soft drinks to be added.

Coca-Cola and Kingsley cold drinks had not yet joined the load.

That moment made me think about something that is easily lost when we talk about inflation in percentages. Food inflation is not experienced as a percentage by the person standing at the checkout counter. It is experienced as a total.

The till does not say, “Your food inflation this month is 3 percent.”

It simply says, “You owe R26,000.”

And if you are the person responsible for paying the bill, that number is the reality.

🔑 The Small Increases Are The Ones That Follow You Home.

Perhaps the most deceptive part of rising prices is that individual increases can appear almost insignificant.

Take coffee as an example.

A small, thin coffee that I remember paying somewhere around R55 for is now costing approximately R67. On its own, twelve rand does not sound like a catastrophe. Nobody is going to suggest that a twelve-rand difference in the price of a cup of coffee represents the collapse of civilisation.

But that is precisely how inflation sneaks into everyday life.

It doesn’t necessarily arrive as one enormous increase that everybody immediately notices. It can arrive in small increments, spread across dozens of things that people purchase repeatedly. A few rand on the bread. A few rand on the milk. Another increase somewhere else. A little more for transport. Another increase in electricity. Something costs more at the supermarket than it did a few weeks ago.

Bread that once cost around R20 is now sitting at approximately R23.

Milk that was around R20 is now approximately R22.

Again, none of these numbers appears enormous when considered separately.

The problem is that people do not buy bread once in their lives. They do not buy milk once. They do not purchase electricity once. They do not travel once. They do not eat once.

These expenses repeat.

That is why the effect of rising prices can become much greater than the individual increases suggest.

A three-rand increase becomes three rand every time the bread is purchased. A two-rand increase in milk becomes another small subtraction from the household budget. The coffee becomes another twelve rand. Then another product increases. Then another.

Eventually the collection of small increases becomes one very large problem.

🔑 The R150 Question.

For someone earning R150 for a day’s work, the economics become particularly unforgiving.

R150 sounds like an amount of money until you start dividing it between the things that have to be paid.

Suppose you buy a loaf of bread for R23. You have already spent more than fifteen percent of that day’s entire income on one item.

Then you need milk.

Then perhaps something for supper.

Then transport.

Then electricity.

Then something else that you forgot about.

And somewhere in the background there is rent, communication, clothing, medical care, household maintenance, and the possibility that something will break.

This is where I think people who have never lived close to the financial edge sometimes misunderstand what budgeting actually means.

They say, “You must budget.”

Of course you must budget.

But budgeting does not manufacture money.

If you have R150, you can divide that R150 into categories as carefully as you like. You can create envelopes, spreadsheets, notebooks, banking accounts, jars, or little piles of cash on the table.

At the end of the exercise, you still have R150.

The skill of budgeting is important, but there is a point at which the problem stops being poor budgeting and becomes insufficient income.

That distinction matters enormously.

🔑 The Monthly Arithmetic.

My own basic monthly expenses illustrate the problem quite clearly.

Rent is R1,800.

Fibre costs approximately R570 a month, which I generally round to R570 when I am doing the household arithmetic.

Prepaid electricity can cost approximately another R1,000.

Those three expenses alone therefore represent approximately R3,370 every month.

At R150 per working day, that is roughly twenty-three days of income.

Almost an entire month’s worth of working days can disappear simply into accommodation, internet connectivity, and electricity.

And that calculation still hasn’t bought a single loaf of bread.

It hasn’t purchased milk. It hasn’t paid for transport. It hasn’t paid for clothing. It hasn’t dealt with an unexpected medical expense. It hasn’t repaired anything. It hasn’t bought anything that could reasonably be described as entertainment. It hasn’t helped a friend or family member. It hasn’t allowed for the days when there is no work.

This is the part of financial hardship that is so easy to miss when looking at somebody’s life from the outside.

You see the room. You see the computer. You see the telephone. You see the vehicle. You might even see the occasional cup of coffee.

What you don’t necessarily see is the arithmetic happening in the person’s head.

🔑 When The Vehicle Stops, So Does The Income.

For somebody who earns a daily wage, the ability to work can be more important than almost anything else they own.

A vehicle can therefore become much more than a means of transportation. It can become the bridge between the person and their income.

That is what happened when the Ford Ranger developed problems.

When the vehicle was working, I could work. When the vehicle wasn’t working, working became considerably more difficult.

That distinction sounds obvious, but its consequences are enormous when the income is calculated by the day.

A person earning R150 a day cannot simply say, “I’ll lose a week of work.”

Five days represents R750.

Twenty days represents R3,000.

Those aren’t abstract figures when you are living on a narrow margin.

I lost approximately R3,000 in one month because of the vehicle problems, and another approximately R750 during the preceding month. Put together, that is around R3,750 of income that simply did not arrive because the circumstances prevented me from working.

At R150 a day, that represents approximately twenty-five working days.

In other words, a month of earning power can disappear surprisingly quickly.

The bills, however, don’t disappear.

Rent still expects to be paid. Electricity still gets consumed. Food still has to be purchased. The internet bill still arrives.

The world doesn’t pause because your vehicle has broken down.

That is one of the great dangers of living without financial reserves. When you have savings, an unexpected expense is an inconvenience. When you have no reserves, an unexpected expense can become a chain reaction.

🔑 The Difference Between Having Little And Having No Margin.

There is an enormous difference between having a low income and having no financial margin.

A person with a low income but several thousand rand sitting safely in savings has at least some protection against disaster. A person with the same income and nothing saved has virtually none.

That person can be doing everything right and still be vulnerable.

The tyre can burst. The vehicle can break. The refrigerator can stop working. A child can become sick. A family member can need help. A working day can be lost because of weather. A customer can fail to pay. A job can disappear.

Any one of those events can turn a carefully balanced month into an impossible one.

This is why poverty is not always about irresponsibility.

Sometimes it is simply about having no buffer.

There is nothing between ordinary life and crisis.

🔑 There Are Many People Living Like This.

My circumstances are not unique. That is probably the most important reason for writing this.

There are other people around me who are facing their own versions of the same problem.

One person may lose their employment while still carrying a bond of hundreds of thousands of rand. Another may be earning R150 a day without even having a pension to supplement that income. Another may be supporting children or relatives while trying to survive on an income that was already insufficient before the latest round of price increases.

Their circumstances are different, but the underlying mathematics is remarkably similar.

Income comes in. Essential expenses take their share. Whatever remains must somehow cover everything else.

The difficulty is that there is often very little left.

And when there is very little left, even a relatively small change can have a disproportionate effect.

🔑 The Elderly Are Especially Vulnerable.

There is another group that deserves particular attention in this discussion: the elderly.

When a person is working, there is at least theoretically the possibility of earning more. A person can work an additional day. They can seek another job. They can take on additional work. They can start a small business. None of these things is easy, but the possibility exists.

For an elderly person living on a fixed pension, that flexibility is greatly reduced.

Their income does not necessarily rise simply because bread becomes more expensive.

The pension payment may arrive on exactly the same day and contain approximately the same amount of money.

The supermarket, however, does not care how much the pension increased. The electricity meter doesn’t care. The landlord doesn’t care. The pharmacy doesn’t care.

The elderly person therefore faces a particularly cruel form of inflation.

The money remains the same while the purchasing power of that money changes.

That means that a pensioner can become poorer without losing a single rand from their bank account.

🔑 The Poor Pay For Uncertainty.

One of the strange things about poverty is that being poor can actually make ordinary purchases more expensive.

A household with sufficient money can buy larger quantities. It can purchase products when they are discounted. It can maintain equipment before it breaks. It can service a vehicle regularly. It can replace worn tyres before they become dangerous. It can buy insurance. It can keep emergency savings. It can afford to think about next month.

A household without that financial capacity is forced to concentrate on today.

The cheaper small packet may be purchased because the larger packet cannot be afforded. The vehicle may be driven a little longer because there is no money for preventative maintenance. The repair may be postponed because food takes priority. The emergency fund may never materialise because the money required to create it has already been consumed by necessities.

There is a profound difference between knowing what would be financially sensible and actually having the money required to do it.

🔑 Inflation Changes Behaviour.

Eventually, rising prices change the way people live.

They change what people eat. They change where people shop. They change how often people travel. They change whether people repair or replace things. They change whether somebody can afford a coffee with a friend. They change whether somebody can contribute when another person asks for help. They change the small pleasures that make life feel normal.

This is why I don’t think inflation should be discussed only in terms of economic statistics.

Statistics are necessary, but they are not sufficient.

A percentage can tell us that something increased. It cannot tell us what somebody stopped doing because of that increase.

Perhaps they stopped buying coffee. Perhaps they stopped buying meat. Perhaps they stopped visiting family because transport became too expensive. Perhaps they stopped buying medication. Perhaps they simply started eating less.

The statistic records the increase. The human being experiences the consequence.

🔑 The International World Eventually Arrives At The Kitchen Table.

It is also impossible to ignore the international environment in which all of this is happening.

Wars, fuel prices, shipping routes, fertiliser costs, weather conditions, exchange rates, commodity prices, electricity costs, and international supply chains may appear to belong to a completely different world from the person trying to stretch R150 across a day.

They don’t.

Eventually, the international economy arrives at the kitchen table.

It arrives in the price of fuel. Fuel affects transport. Transport affects distribution. Distribution affects the cost of getting goods to shops. Fertiliser affects agriculture. Agricultural costs affect food production. Energy affects manufacturing and refrigeration. International instability can affect shipping and commodity markets.

The process can be complicated, and it would be irresponsible to blame every individual price increase on one particular war or crisis.

But the connection between the global economy and the household economy is real.

The further down the income ladder a person is, the less room they generally have to absorb those external shocks.

That is the real vulnerability.

🔑 A Percentage Does Not Eat Dinner.

Perhaps this is the point I keep returning to.

We can talk about inflation percentages all day. We can discuss annual rates. We can compare one month with another. We can examine graphs. We can listen to economists explain the latest figures.

All of that has value.

But eventually somebody has to stand in a supermarket and buy dinner.

That person doesn’t buy an inflation rate. They buy maize meal. They buy bread. They buy milk. They buy sugar. They buy meat when they can afford it. They buy vegetables. They buy electricity. They buy transport.

And when the total reaches the checkout, the only question that matters is whether the money in their pocket is enough.

That is where economics becomes personal.

🔑 What Does It Actually Cost To Live?

Perhaps we need to ask a different question.

Instead of asking why people cannot simply budget better, perhaps we should ask what it actually costs an ordinary person to live with reasonable dignity.

Not luxury. Not extravagance. Not holidays at five-star resorts.

Just dignity.

A safe place to live. Enough food. Electricity. Communication. Transport. Basic healthcare. Clothing. Some ability to deal with emergencies. And perhaps the occasional coffee without having to justify it to yourself afterwards.

That last part might sound frivolous, but it isn’t.

A life in which every single rand is devoted to survival eventually becomes psychologically exhausting.

People need small pleasures. They need social contact. They need the ability to occasionally say, “Yes, I can afford that.”

Dignity is not a luxury.

🔑 The Hidden Cost Of Constant Financial Pressure.

There is also a psychological cost to living permanently close to the edge.

Every unexpected expense becomes something to worry about. Every price increase is noticed. Every payday brings calculations. Every unpaid amount remains in the back of the mind.

You begin calculating before buying. You compare. You postpone. You reconsider. You sometimes buy something and then wonder whether you should have bought it. You sometimes decide not to buy it and wonder whether you are depriving yourself unnecessarily.

This constant calculation can become exhausting.

It means that money occupies mental space even when you are doing something completely unrelated to money.

You are eating, but thinking about the next grocery purchase. You are driving, but thinking about fuel. You are working, but thinking about whether the vehicle will make it through another month. You are sitting at home, but thinking about electricity.

Financial pressure is therefore not merely a shortage of money.

It can become a shortage of mental breathing space.

🔑 This Is Not A Story About Self-Pity.

I don’t want this article to become a plea for sympathy.

There are millions of people around the world who are struggling with circumstances considerably worse than mine.

The purpose of writing about this is not to say, “Look at how badly I have it.”

It is to say, “Look at what ordinary life can look like when there isn’t much financial room.”

There is a difference.

I am not ashamed of earning a modest income. I am not ashamed of being a pensioner. I am not ashamed of working for R150 a day when work is available.

Work is work.

The problem is that the cost of living does not always respect the value of the work being performed.

That is the uncomfortable part.

A person can work honestly and diligently and still find themselves unable to keep pace with the cost of living.

🔑 We Need To See The Person Behind The Number.

When we talk about poverty, unemployment, pensions, wages, inflation, or food prices, it is very easy to reduce people to statistics.

A pensioner becomes a number. An unemployed person becomes a percentage. A casual worker becomes a category. A household becomes a figure in a report.

But behind every one of those numbers is somebody making decisions.

Somebody deciding whether to buy bread. Somebody deciding whether to pay electricity. Somebody deciding whether they can afford the taxi. Somebody deciding whether they can help their child. Somebody deciding whether they can repair the vehicle. Somebody deciding whether they can afford medicine.

And sometimes somebody standing at a checkout counter and quietly removing an item from the basket.

That is what the statistics cannot show.

🔑 The Economy From Ground Level.

Perhaps the best way to understand the economy is sometimes to stop looking at it from the top.

Look at it from ground level.

Look at the pensioner standing in the supermarket. Look at the casual worker waiting for the next day’s work. Look at the person whose vehicle has broken down. Look at the family trying to stretch a bag of maize meal. Look at the person checking the electricity meter. Look at the worker calculating whether the day’s income will cover the trip home. Look at the person who has R150 and already knows that R150 is not enough.

From that perspective, the economy becomes much more than markets and percentages.

It becomes human.

And once it becomes human, the questions change.

Instead of asking whether inflation is technically under control, we can ask whether people are actually experiencing relief. Instead of asking whether an increase is statistically small, we can ask whether the household can absorb it. Instead of asking whether someone has an income, we can ask whether that income is sufficient to live.

Those are much harder questions.

They are also much more important.

🔑 How Much Is Left?

At the end of every month, every household eventually reaches the same calculation.

Money came in.

Money went out.

What remains?

For a high-income household, the answer may include savings, investments, discretionary spending, holidays, entertainment, and money put aside for the future.

For a low-income household, the answer may be almost nothing.

Sometimes the answer is debt. Sometimes the answer is a promise to pay next month. Sometimes the answer is help from a friend. Sometimes the answer is simply, “Nothing.”

And that is perhaps the most frightening word in household economics.

Nothing.

Because when there is nothing left, there is no protection against tomorrow.

🔑 Life Outside The High-Income Bracket.

Life outside the high-income bracket is not necessarily a life without happiness.

People still laugh. They still cook. They still tell stories. They still create things. They still love their families. They still help one another. They still dream. They still pray. They still find ways to make something out of very little.

That resilience should never be mistaken for evidence that everything is fine.

People can be remarkably resilient while still being under enormous pressure.

The fact that somebody survives difficult circumstances does not mean that those circumstances are acceptable.

It means that human beings are capable of surviving more than we sometimes realise.

🔑 The Reality Is In The Difference.

The reality of life outside the high-income bracket can perhaps be found in the difference between what something used to cost and what it costs now.

It can be found in the difference between what a person earns and what they need. It can be found in the difference between having savings and having nothing. It can be found in the difference between a working vehicle and a broken one. It can be found in the difference between being able to absorb an unexpected expense and having that expense destroy an entire month’s budget.

And perhaps most importantly, it can be found in the difference between surviving and living.

There is a great deal of space between those two words.

People living on modest incomes occupy that space every day.

They work. They budget. They improvise. They postpone. They repair. They reuse. They borrow. They help one another. They do whatever they can to keep moving forward.

And yet the pressure continues to increase whenever prices rise faster than their ability to earn.

🔑 The Final Question.

I don’t have a simple answer to the problem. I don’t think anybody honestly does.

Governments have responsibilities. Businesses have responsibilities. Workers have responsibilities. Consumers have responsibilities. International events have consequences that nobody can completely control.

Economics is complicated.

But the human requirement is remarkably simple.

People need enough income to live.

They need food. They need shelter. They need electricity. They need transport. They need healthcare. They need security. And they need some small amount of financial breathing space so that an ordinary unexpected event does not become a catastrophe.

Perhaps that is what we should mean when we talk about a decent standard of living.

Not luxury.

Not excess.

Just enough room to breathe.

Because when every rand already has a destination before it arrives, there is no room left for life itself.

🔑 End.

The economy may be discussed in boardrooms, parliament, financial institutions, newspapers, universities, and television studios.

But for millions of ordinary people, the economy is experienced somewhere much simpler.

It is experienced in the kitchen. It is experienced at the supermarket. It is experienced beside the electricity meter. It is experienced behind the steering wheel. It is experienced when the payslip arrives.

And it is experienced at the end of the month, when the bills have been paid and the groceries have been bought.

Then comes the final calculation.

How much is left?

For those of us living outside the high-income bracket, that question is not an economic theory.

It is everyday life.