Deorike Diary Logs

Giving Time TIME 🌱Back from St. Andrews, I didn’t just carry memories of the legendary greens — I carried life itself.

A refill of organic compost from the golf course and seaweed from the shore came home with me, treasures of earth and ocean.

The compost enriches my soil, blending with local mixes to create fertile ground that breathes vitality into every plant.

The seaweed, once washed, dried, and stored, becomes more than nourishment — it transforms into skincare magic, packed with minerals that soothe, hydrate, and renew.

This journey wasn’t only about travel. It was about weaving nature’s wisdom into daily rituals, letting the land and sea remind me of balance, patience, and care.

"The earth does not belong to us; we belong to the earth." 🌍💚

This year’s tomatoes came in like stubborn little warriors — sun‑baked, rain‑starved, and still determined to show up.

The harvest wasn’t great, and honestly, I can’t blame them. I was away for almost four weeks, and the girls did their best, marching out with watering cans like tiny soldiers but cans can only do so much when the sky refuses to help. Still… good thing they were home. Without them, I doubt I’d have seen even a single tomato blushing red on the vine. So I picked what I could, grateful for every imperfect fruit.

Gardening teaches you humility, but it also teaches you patience — that quiet, stubborn kind. The kind wrapped in my mantra: Giving TIME, TIME. Even in a drought, even with missed weeks, even with thirsty soil… something still grows and now, I will save the seeds.

With better rain and better timing, these tomatoes will return stronger — carrying the memory of this tough season in every sprout.

As the saying goes: “He who plants a garden plants hope.”

Herbal Teas Around the World.

When I Give Time TIME, my healing begins long before the first sip touches my lips.

It starts in the steam, in the scent, in the quiet pause where the world softens and my body remembers what wellness feels like.

Every cup I brew is a journey.
Mint from Morocco, luiza from Italy, soursop and moringa from Nigeria, papaya leaf from China, saffron from Portugal , and the rosemary, sage, oregano, thyme, and mint growing right here in my UK garden — each one carries a story, a landscape, a tradition.

While they’re refreshing, they’re also quietly working:

Calming my digestion.

Feeding my skin.

Strengthening my immunity.

Balancing my mood.

Nourishing the parts of me that need that extra care.

My friends and family know the rule: When you travel, bring me tea.
It’s the one gift that feels like a blessing wrapped in a sachet. So I heal daily — sip by sip — because who knows what I’m keeping at bay with every warm, fragrant cup.

“A cup of leaves can steady a wandering soul.”

The kind of heat that makes your spirit sit up straight — that’s exactly what I walked into.

I grabbed some scotch bonnets the other day, thinking it would be the usual dance: two if they’re gentle, four if they’re showing off.

This batch? This batch came with ancestral confidence. A quarter.
Just a quarter — and my whole pot started speaking in tongues.The moment it hit the oil, the aroma rose like a warning. My eyes watered, my kitchen paused, and even the spoon leaned back like, “You’re on your own” but the flavour… rich, deep, unapologetic. The kind of heat that doesn’t just burn — it tells a story and because I believe in future blessings, I saved every single seed.

Tiny fire-filled promises waiting for the right soil, the right season, the right moment.

Sometimes the smallest things carry the biggest punch.
Giving Time TIME.“Great things often come in small, fiery packages."

The kind of heat that makes you pause mid‑stir — that’s where this story begins.

The other day, I bought some scotch bonnets that clearly came with an attitude. I’m used to peppers that announce themselves boldly — the kind that let you know they’re in the pot without trying to take over the whole neighbourhood.

Normally, depending on how hot they are, I’ll use two… maybe four if I’m cooking for people who like to test their courage, but this batch?
A quarter.
Just a quarter — and my pot was already filing complaints.

The moment it touched the oil, the aroma rose like a warning siren.

My eyes watered, my kitchen went quiet, and even the spatula seemed to whisper, “Be guided.” Yet the flavour was everything: warm, deep, full-bodied heat that didn’t just burn — it told a story and because I believe in future blessings, I saved every single seed. Tiny fire-filled promises waiting for the right season, the right soil, the right moment.

Sometimes the smallest things carry the biggest punch.

Giving Time TIME.

“Great things often come in small, fiery packages."

Marrakesh felt like a dream stitched in colour.

Mint tea steaming in the cool mornings, spices swirling through the souks, and the heartbeat of the Medina guiding my steps.

I watched Argan oil being made by hand — slow, deliberate, beautiful — a reminder of Giving Time TIME.

Rooftop breakfasts with sunlight kissing the city awake became my favourite ritual.

Three nights weren’t enough.

Marrakesh isn’t a place you rush; it’s a place you feel.

Next stop: Fez!

“Dima l’khir kayn.