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One hundred years of Samosas

A feverish tale of over one thousand samosas, one of the world's most feared (& revered) online communities, 20 hour days, hope awakening from its slumber, a whistle heard once more, & two dead moths

An update on this (supposedly) Utamaduni Day
It's been a long time since I heard my dad whistle.

He has many types of whistles.

His fave is when he puts his fingers to his mouth, and sets his eyes set on you in anticipation of your jump when the loud sound screeches out.

My favourite of his whistles is when he is happy.
It's been a tough year.

What I didn't say in that long thread (but those who follow me will know), is that Raju has been teetering on the precipice of the afterlife for a while.

For months we would go to bed, and wait sleepless for THAT knock on the door

And yet he rose.
Even though many have remarked how this is a story of hope, the truth is hope had been in deep slumber for a long time in our home.

(and I suspect it may the same for many homes in Kenya right now)

Yet it takes one step.

Mum took the step and made that first batch of samosas
We sold 60 through whatsapp.

Not great.

Then we looked at each other, and asked, what would it take to move 1000 samosas?

A couple of weeks maybe?

Let me put it on twitter, Mum, I said.

I have some time. I can log in the orders. You make, we'll sort out the rest.
HEH!

The love and support was like the frothing rapids of Sagana River!

WE WERE NOT PREPARED!!!!!!

Within 24 hours we had maxed out on our capacity and had to stop taking any more orders.

The next week was a flurry.
The spare pair of hands we'd hoped would help us make the pastry disappeared.

As did the next pair.

It's Christmas.
Everyone travelled.

And anyone who's ever made samosas knows that actually the trick is in the pastry....it is laborious, but is the absolute base of it all
So we set out, mum and I, balancing excel sheet orders, twirra DMs, order sheets, rolling out pastry, lightly roasting it, making the mix, filling the samosa pockets, folding them, packing the boxes, frying them, sending them off with smily Dan and my darling brother
We were clocking 20 hour days to keep up.

It was tough, but the incredible support that came from here made our work so joyous.

My mum, many times look at me, and said 'what have you done Aleya?!!?'

I had no idea of what that thread would lead to.
One day, we finished folding at 2.30 am.

At 4 am, I woke up to start frying, but the house was already fragrant with the smell of fried samosas.

As I stood outside the kitchen, I hear whistling.

When I entered, my dad was standing at the karai, frying samosas, and whistling 😭
For the first time I understood why my grandmother aged the way she did.

She used to wake up at 4am every day to do this.

My dad says he watched how this sort of life killed his mum, and there was no way he would let my mum and I go through the same.
But you know what....

....You showed us that there was hope.
Then we showed ourselves that we could do it.

And even though the samosas weren't always consistent, they were consistently filled with so much love.
And because you showed us that this thing is possible...now we want take some time and reflect, take stock, and figure out how to do this thing properly - how to streamline operations so we can scale effectively (without doing 20 hour days, and so I can still write)
So we are closing for a little while as we figure this out...

...but I promise to come right back here the moment we are ready to launch.

Because this is where the rebirth happened.

And I have so many dreams of the most delicious flavour combinations
My dad is whistling.

❤️

And it is because of you.

As @theMagunga says, KOT can be as sweet as it can be deathly.

And you were sweeter than the sweetest Jalebis.

Shukraan.

From the inside of my epiglottis.
Today is Utamaduni Day (or wharrever) - I'm often asked to contribute to the conversation about Kenyan culture, as someone with Indian sub-continent heritage

I didn't know how to express what being Kenyan is, until today.

It is this.

This.

At our best, we are ride or die.
My DMs are still open if you'd like your name on the waiting list when we fling open our doors again.

Slide in there.

Until then, may 2020 bring you the things you didn't even know you wanted.
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