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.