🏡When the snails came indoors—for science
Brian and I had just ordered appetizers at a new sushi spot with a cozy patio. Miso soup with extra seaweed for me. Tempura shrimp for him.
Then it begins to rain.
A drizzle of questions:
What if organic waste is just… snail food?
What if snails were actually the perfect engineers for a circular system?
And what if it is a composting device that doubles as a harvester—beautiful enough for a store or kitchen, not banished to a shed?
EscarGrow_Prototype_1
I reach for a napkin and start sketching: a clear chamber, automated and sealed, that would one day hum softly with the a colony of localized snails munching on carrot peels.
A steep improvement from my first snail pen.
(That video? Don’t look. No, really—don’t. My cat broke in and I swear she rolled her eyes.)
That napkin drawing carried with it more than lines and logic—it carried years of design frustration.
So, I’ve spent years in product design, learning that people don’t just use products; they live with them. Every seam, every surface, every sound becomes part of their daily rhythm.
Compost bins, even the “modern” ones, often fail that test. They smell. They don’t teach.
Mchew. They look like buckets! My rich aunties would not approve.
You want me to do what? Compost? In that? Inside this house?? You must be joking!
But those same aunties love fresh escargot—and they do not love the Ghana-must-go bags full of customs drama trying to import GALs across borders. So I started imagining something else entirely.
A living appliance: Alexa-enabled, responsibly sealed, whisper-quiet.
A teaching tool: showing how scraps become soil, fertilizer… even food.
A design object: flush lines, rounded edges, matte finishes. Something you’d want to display, not hide.
Preliminary digital sketches of EscarGrow
It had to work like nature, and look like art.
Designing with snails in mind means respecting their preferences.
Snails are particular, albeit, resilient. They need humidity, airflow, and surface area. They need to be kept clean from their own waste.
So I fashioned the interior: vertical mesh curtains where snails could climb, eat, and live in three dimensions. Droppings fall away to a compost tray below. Food waste disappears quickly. The snails stay healthy.
The rest is automated: sealed water reservoir, fine mist nozzle, fans, sensors quietly tracking humidity and temperature—all coordinated by Alexa.
You can literally say:
“Alexa, set humidity to 85%.”
“Pause the fans, it’s feeding time.”
“Drain cycle, go.”
“Harvest mode on.”
And it happens.
The snails don’t just survive—they thrive. And when the time comes? You can harvest like royalty. No machete, no bush, no drama.
The first time our son, Marcus, saw the drawing, he leaned in close and said:
“It looks like a science lab.”
He wasn’t wrong.
EscarGrow is as much classroom as composter. You can:
Watch organic waste turn to soil
Measure leachate collected at the base
Track snail cycles
Even harvest your own escargot, if that’s your vibe
It’s not a black box that hides the process. It’s a clear invitation to learn.
Right now, EscarGrow stands 30 inches tall, looking like something between a sculpture and a smart appliance. Smooth matte trays stack seamlessly. The chamber glows softly with life. Buttons at the top, waiting for you to open it. Nature and design, working in concert.
This project is more than a composter. It’s proof that sustainability doesn’t have to be hidden or messy.
It can be elegant. Smart. Voice-enabled. Futuristic. It’s a reminder that:
Organic waste is only waste if we treat it that way.
Escargot—slow, humble, overlooked—might just lead us toward the future of food.
And yes, a Nigerian woman can build the first patent-pending snail harvesting system in the U.S..
What do we want? Escargot!
How do we want it? Peppered. With palm oil. Served with pride!
