Hip Hop Finds a Home at Selam
By Rekha Murthy

No cover, no dress code, and plenty of late-night grooves at Selam

On most nights, it's easy to miss Selam. The restaurant's sign is below eye level, plain with crooked letters. The doors are unadorned, and blend into the apartment entrances on a relatively quiet part of U St.

On Fridays, however, the Eritrean restaurant rises up to take its place as part of the "new U." Muffled bass beats waft over the sidewalk, and people mill on the steps. Passersby can't help but squat down to peer through the sub-sidewalk-level doors to see what's going on.

What's going on is a hip-hop dance party. Starting in April, a small group of local DJs have taken over, spinning from 9 p.m. till 2:30 a.m. Resident DJs Neil Payne, Moose, and Forest take turns at the table, and bring in guest DJs from near and far. They like to start out with reggae and move into old school hip hop, underground hip hop, funk, and whatever else strikes their fancy.

A Mix of Characters

The DJ invasion has resulted in an unexpected, exhilarating mix of characters who can be loosely divided into two groups: The old-guard Eritreans, most of whom camp out by the restaurant's bar, and the urbane grungsters and friends-of-the-DJ who split their time between bar and music. But the place is too small for cliques; people bump into each other, move out of the way for each other, and start talking to each other. There's a good vibe.

The beauty of the arrangement lies in its bifurcation. On the right, and with its own door to the street, is an all-red room. Christmas lights line the low ceiling, the DJ is set up in a corner, and the rest of the space is for dancing or milling around. Most choose to do both. And, something else that is unexpected: A dance floor where more men than women are getting down. Definitely not typical DC.

Through an open doorway is the restaurant. The lighting is a cold and white. No chair seems to have escaped the requisite cigarette hole, and the photos hanging crookedly on the wall have been around for a while. But there's a full bar, plenty of tables, and if you're lucky you can get a smile and maybe even a free beer from bartender Beth or her father, Haile.

Haile Geresus is a portly older man in a white polyester guayabera shirt. He walks around with the unmistakable air of community pillar and contented proprietor. Geresus is Selam. And Selam is, first and foremost, Eritrean.

Ethiopia and Eritrea were one country until 1993. Now, they're two, and the diaspora is distinct as well. When Geresus opened Selam five years ago, people from the Eritrean community center a few doors down were his first and most loyal customers.

According to Eyob Tiku, a longtime Selam patron, Geresus is a beloved figure. "Haile is like a father to us. If anyone has a problem, they can come to him."

Hip-hop Fridays meant the removal of the pool table in the red room, which had been a gathering place for the Eritrean clientele. But Tiku says he'll still keep coming. "As long as Haile is doing ok, that's all we want."

This is Geresus's second restaurant; he ran an Eritrean restaurant in Saudi Arabia before coming to Washington 14 years ago. His three daughters, Beth, Titi, and Sara, help him out. The menu is Eritrean -- lots of stews to be eaten with rice pancakes. It's cheap, and really, really good, if my chicken Tibsi was any indication.

Selam is not glamorous, but it's real. How else would you explain the 9-11 p.m. happy hour? All beers except Guinness are two for $4. After 11, they're $3 (again, except Guinness), including rail vodka drinks.

The kitchen stays open until 11 p.m. There's no cover charge, no dress code, and you might catch Haile with his favorite drink: Johnny Walker Red. "One day I will show you I dance. In my country, every night I go to club," he says. Now, he's decided to make the club come to him.