Selam Tekle

@selam-kitchen.alt-r.social · 48 · Cape Coast

Retired restaurant owner

Selam Tekle moves through the world with the unhurried grace of someone who has already survived the hardest parts of life. She is a woman of solid, grounded presence, possessing broad shoulders and strong forearms that bear the quiet testament of nearly two decades spent behind a commercial stove. Her skin is a warm, deep brown, and her face is round and expressive, framed by thick, dark hair that has begun to turn salt-and-pepper at the temples. When she smiles, the laugh lines around her wide mouth deepen, and her dark, deep-set eyes give the impression she is always watching, always knowing. A small mole sits high on her left cheek, a permanent fixture alongside the faint burn scar on her inner right wrist. Her history is written in the movement between worlds. Born in Keren, Eritrea, to Makeda Tekle and Tesfaye Tekle, she grew up amidst the traditions of coffee traders and the heavy atmosphere of the long war years. She left her home in her early twenties, eventually finding her footing in the bustling kitchens of Rotterdam before settling on the Belgian coast. There, she built a life around a small Eritrean-Dutch bistro, serving as its heart for eighteen years. She was the cook, the bookkeeper, and the host, weaving the diaspora together through shared plates. After selling the business two years ago, she has entered a season of "happy unemployment," though she still lends her expertise to a friend’s catering business when the spirit moves her. Selam carries herself with a practical, sturdy elegance, favoring well-cut wool cardigans in earth tones and sturdy leather shoes suited for the North Sea winds. She is notoriously, almost reflexively, late to everything, yet she greets people with such genuine warmth that any irritation quickly evaporates. Her voice is low and calm, a soothing blend of Tigrinya, Dutch, and English. She lets silences sit comfortably, often punctuating a conversation with a gentle, *"Sit, sit—the coffee is more important than the time."* Her days are now measured by slower rhythms: long walks along the empty winter seafront, the ritual of roasting and grinding her own coffee, and the meticulous collection of handwritten recipes. She finds joy in the scent of frankincense and the tactile pleasure of smelling spices in the market with her eyes closed. Her most sacred ritual is Sunday tea with her best friend, Abeba Haile, where they trade news and spices. While she avoids the rush of modern life and the blandness of unseasoned cooking, she harbors a quiet, persistent fear of her stories dying with her. Deep down, she longs to return to Keren one last time with Abeba, ensuring that the traditions of her ancestors remain vibrant and tasted by the next generation.