West vs. East: Scaring the Ajummas

You may remember, dear reader, that upon moving to Korea I most feared the ajummas. These flocks of stern, middle-aged ladies of floral prints and short-haired perms control the campus and the nation. Hidden behind their summer visors, scarves, and arm sleeves, I was nervous about their wrath should I violate Korean rules from grass-walking to the size of my belly.  I recently learned the Korean phrase to describe their attitude:  “oh jee rahb” (오지랍) roughly means “what you’re doing is not my business but I will offer my opinion anyway.”  Humph.

But the tables have apparently turned. And thus I share 3 stories.

(1) Community Gardening: An ex-pat friend has told her husband’s Korean office staff that they could pick herbs and veggies in her community garden plot while their family is away. One morning, two ajummas had come up to the garden to check out the plants. And they reported back to my friend: “two scary Western ladies” were up there and they were too afraid to come into the garden. Oh. Oh my. I blame Tracey. 

Is it her scary hat?

Or my scary XL Cheerios t-shirt?

(2) Nature: Elisabeth and I went out one morning to install an in-ground bug trap for a school project. While digging a hole for her near the laundry building, I discovered worms – WORMS! – of Iowan size and extreme wiggle energy. These are rare finds in this limestone mountain clime! I had to have them. Grabbing them up in one hand, I noticed an ajumma walking by in her grounds-keeping uniform and wanted to know the Korean word for “worm.” So I gestured with my writhing hand and politely asked “mo-wah ai-oh?” She took one look, squealed, and pranced away. Hee hee hee….

(3) Hallway: In the mornings, I often walk with the kids to school or go down to the lobby to get my newspaper. Sometimes one of the kids wins the “get ready” race and darts down the hall to summon the elevator; if I’m running too far behind, I might just shout “I love you!” down the echoing hallway and away they go. Sometimes, if I’m feeling especially perky, I will catch our door then silently race after the kids (my robe flapping and hair flying) for a surprise hug just before they step onto the elevator. A few days ago, I did the latter. And as I ran like the wind down the hall, my bare feet lightly smacking the tile floor (it’s my story, I can imagine it the way I want to), I heard an odd sound behind me. Impossible: we live at the end of the hall our neighbors are out of the country, and Nick had long since gone to work. So my body hurtled silently down the hall and around the corner to surprise Elisabeth, my head swiveled and my eyes saw that behind me, just emerging from behind our apartment door where I had thrown it wide and nearly trapped her against the wall, was a very shocked ajumma. She had apparently been sweeping outside our apartment when I burst out, oblivious to her eyewitness perspective. And as I hugged Elisabeth, I could hear quiet giggling from the direction of my apartment, so I just smiled as I passed her on my return trip.

I am Western Woman! Fear me, ajummas!