Where We Come From
Washing blankets on the terrace with Nene never felt like work. She made it play. Simple meals became special when she gave them silly names, like Chocolate Ooti.
For a long time, I thought Dweller was my story of coming home. Over time, I understood it came from her.
Later in life, she waved children over and said, “Chak chaminasi lak-o.” Come, come. Let us eat together. When names slipped away, generosity stayed.
Nene didn’t speak much about principles. She lived them. Using what was close. Wasting nothing. Doing right by people. Care lived quietly in daily routines.
That way of living stayed with me long after I left home. I grew up believing that love like hers did not need words. You felt it, like sunlight.
Today, it shapes how we work. We stay close to the source. We choose ingredients that have long been part of everyday life. We work alongside women whose hands know these fruits and herbs well. We move at a pace where care remains visible.
That care guides our choices in everyday ways. In steady work for women who make our ingredients, and fair, reliable income for those who grow and harvest them. In choosing local fruits and herbs that have long been part of daily life. In creating space for young people to learn skills, stay connected to where they come from, and carry this knowledge forward. We grow value from where it begins.
If you ever find yourself holding a cup of Dweller tea, I hope it gives you a pause. Something familiar. The kind Nene made space for every day.
- Dweller Eli