The legacy you wanted to leave your children

My grandmothers are still with me. And that's exactly why I couldn't keep waiting to create Molevi.

These last few years I've watched them go through difficult moments. Each one was a quiet reminder that my time with them is not infinite. I started to imagine the day I won't be able to hear them call me by the nicknames only they use, the day I won't be able to ask them, one more time, for a story from when they were young.

I want to preserve the essence of who they are: the way they changed my world, the details only they know how to tell, the tenderness with which they've been by my side my whole life. I want my children to hear them in their own voice, telling their own stories.

Molevi was born from that certainty: you have to ask while you can still listen. So that, when the silence arrives, and it will, something bigger than memory remains: their voice.

Dioselina, whom I called Mita, shared her love among 10 children, 32 grandchildren, and 14 great-grandchildren, and somehow she never ran out for anyone. Mita wasn't only my grandmother, she was my mother. She raised me from the age of one, with a devotion that knew no limits.

She was the heart of the family. The reason we all came together on holidays, the reason December made sense. She carried joy in her voice, kindness in every gesture, generosity as a way of life. I had the privilege of seeing my children meet their great-grandmother, of watching them receive that same warmth she always gave.

Mita kept stories only she knew how to tell: the afternoon when, at eighteen, I set out into the world; the mischief of my teenage years she remembered in more detail than I did. Each one was a treasure.

In January 2026, Mita went ahead of us on the road. Today I would give anything to hear her again, and for my children to hear her too. It was in that silence that I understood why Molevi has to exist.