And He Strikes Again!

As I was eating lunch with the other teachers, Vice Principal knocked on the lunchroom door. He had a huge grin on his face when he entered the room. After saying a few words in Korean, I heard my name. The first thoughts that came to my mind were, "Oh man. Here it comes. I'm in trouble. Vice Principal saw me walking inside with my outdoor shoes this morning didn't he!"

I was so wrong.

VP moved out of the way and revealed a tiny little boy standing behind him. Baby Boy was scanning the lunchroom with wide eyes. His gaze landed on me and he looked at VP, who gave him a nod to say "go ahead." Baby Boy scurried over to where I was sitting. He handed me a tiny bottle of apple juice with both his hands and bowed. With a little grin, he turned around and ran out of the lunchroom.

Baby Boy strikes again!

Friday

Woke up to dark skies and rain today. 

Realized that my favourite oatmeal was finished. 

Stepped in a puddle on the way to school. My socks still haven't dried.

Lunch was the same as yesterday.

Forgot my mug at home. No afternoon tea.

-

Baby Boy (see previous blog, "Mr. Clean's Got a Secret And It Isn't Bleach!") was waiting in my classroom with his yogurt from lunch. He reached out to me with his yogurt in hand and triumphantly stated, "For you!" 

Things are looking up :)

Mr. Clean's Got a Secret and It Isn't Bleach!

I walk into my classroom first thing in the morning to find the usual group of grade 4 students cleaning. In Korean schools, children are assigned the responsibility of cleaning the classrooms which I don't think is that bad of an idea.

For a long time, the same three girls, who incidentally remind me of a younger version of the Golden Girls because of their constant drama, showed up everyday to fulfill their responsibilities. More recently, a little Cabbage Patch boy has been cleaning alongside the girls. His round and chubby face paired with his short plump body cause his peers to affectionately call him "Baby Boy," which he seems to have no problem with. When he started coming in for the daily cleaning sessions, I assumed he had nothing better to do before school and at lunch. Today, my coteacher reveals the real reason. 

As I walk into my classroom, Baby Boy runs to the door, waves and smiles and then runs back to the desk he was so determinedly scrubbing before I arrived. Soon after, my coteacher calls Baby Boy over and asks him something in Korean. Baby Boy protests what she says but eventually smiles and nods. Coteacher pats Baby Boy on the back and puts her finger to her lips to assure Baby Boy that his secret is safe with her. 

As soon as Baby Boy leaves the classroom, coteacher says, "Amarta. I know Baby Boy's secret..."

"Um. What is it?"

"A long time ago, I asked him why he came to clean everyday. He didn't answer. When I asked him if it was because he wanted to see you, he denied it. So, I asked him again today and I told him I wouldn't tell anyone. This time he confessed that he comes 'to see Amarta Sam' (Sam is a nickname that Korean students call their teachers)."

Yet another reason I sometimes feel like a celebrity in my school :D 

 

A is for ajjuma

One of the first Korean words I learned when I arrived here was "ajjuma," which is simply what you call an old Korean woman. Like myself, most foreigners that I know recognize a certain category of ajjumas. No matter where in Korea I am, I can always count on seeing street ajjumas, as I like to call them. I notice them sitting on the sidewalk and selling onions, garlic, and chili peppers; or slowly pushing carts full of flattened cardboard boxes and plastic bags filled with aluminum cans; or carefully bending down to collect trash from the street. Their uniforms consist of large visors, shirts with some sort of loud pattern, gloves, and of course, face masks. They all sport the same short and slightly wavy hairystyle. The thick rough skin that covers their hands seems to present clues about the hardships they've endured. The visible dirt under their fingernails separates them from the colourful and manicured fingers of the posh ajjumas I see in the expensive department stores and cafes that line Gwangalli Beach.

This is all I know about the street ajjumas. There's so much more that I wonder about though.

How old are they?
Where do they go at the end of the day?
How do they determine their territory/turf? What happens if an ajjuma crosses her territory's boundary? Do the Gwangan street ajjumas have bulgogi (aka beef) with the Suyeong street ajjumas?
Why don't they pick up their grandchildren from school like the other halmoni (grandma) ajjumas I see at work?
Why don't I ever see men doing the jobs that the street ajjumas do?
How did they end up selling vegetables or picking up other people's junk?
Do they have families? Do they have husbands? Did they ever have husbands?
Why don't their legs hurt from sitting in the same position on the ashphault all day?
What made their backs become so hunched over time?
What did they do before they became street ajjumas? 

But the question that most commonly comes to my mind when I see the street ajjumas is, how am I supposed to feel when I see these women? Proud because they seem to be independant women making "a living" for themselves? Or sympathetic because if I ever saw my grandma working on the street like them, my heart would break into a million pieces? Or worried when it looks like the rain is about to pour down on them?

I just don't know.