A neighbour at the door
Naapuri ("neighbour" in Finnish). Vetted, trained people who already live nearby. They walk with your mother on Tuesdays. They help with the phone. They pick up the groceries. They sit at the kitchen table and drink tea.
Three discreet sensors in her ceiling. A trusted neighbour fifteen minutes away. Someone real at the door when it matters.
Before we tell you what Kowti is,
you should meet Liisa.
She's 81. She lives alone in a two-bedroom apartment in Kallio that she's lived in for forty-three years.
She makes coffee at quarter past seven. She reads the paper. She waters the amaryllis her husband planted one Christmas, years ago.
Her daughter Sanna lives in Stockholm. They speak every second day. Sanna sends photos of the grandchildren. Liisa sends back voice notes she records very carefully, holding the phone too close.
Three discreet Kowti sensors sit quietly in her ceiling. And every Tuesday, Aino comes for a walk.
A phone call is not the same as being there.
A voice note is not a hand on her shoulder.
And one question she never asks out loud.
What if something goes wrong and I am not there?
This is what Sanna sees from Stockholm. Her mother's home, in her pocket.
Naapuri ("neighbour" in Finnish). Vetted, trained people who already live nearby. They walk with your mother on Tuesdays. They help with the phone. They pick up the groceries. They sit at the kitchen table and drink tea.
Three discreet sensors in the ceiling. They notice presence, breathing, rhythm, and falls. No cameras. No microphones. Nothing to wear. Nothing to remember.
If something changes, Kowti tells the family. You choose what happens next. And if nobody responds within 90 seconds, Kowti sends the nearest Naapuri on its own.
Three discreet sensors in Liisa's ceiling. They notice presence, breathing, and movement. Nothing is recorded. Nothing leaves the home.
She's reading by the window. The amaryllis is leaning toward the light. Coffee finished twenty minutes ago. Steady morning.
Presence · Rhythm · Breath · 14 per minute
Rest, breath, the rhythm of getting up. Seven hours and forty minutes. Rose at 7:14. The lamp was on for six minutes before she stood.
Presence · Breath · Rest pattern
Presence and fall shape. No camera can go here. A sensor can. Wet surfaces, hard edges. This is the room where most falls happen. Nothing is missed here.
Presence · Fall shape · Always on
Privacy isn't a feature. It's the foundation.