Nanay’s the word

Nanay is a musical term of endearment because it is like a song of praise, an endearment gifted to a woman who may not be the child’s biological mother — but is a mother he chose, and who chose him.

In the Philippines, many mothers, especially working mothers, count on their yayas as their wingmen in raising their babies. For truly, this nation runs on yayas. Many government officials, top executives and entrepreneurs are mothers, and how do you think these women functioned if they weren’t secure in the thought that their children were cared for by second mothers in their absence? Many women are at their best because their homes are manned (pun intended) by trustworthy yayas.

I once asked the then lady ambassador of the Philippines to France, who had been stationed all over the world during her diplomatic career, how she managed to do it, uprooting her family every so often. And she told me, “I have a yaya for my children who is the thread that binds our lives, wherever we may be.”

Through time, the children call their caregivers “Nanay,” the Tagalog word for mother, or “Manang” (big sister). They become part of the family.

Some of them stay decades with their wards, who, in a reversal of roles, take care of their Nanays or Manangs in their old age.

In a belated celebration of Mother’s Day, I’d like to share the love stories between “Nanays” and their “children.”

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Of her Nanay Fely Bagayas, who took care of her since the day she was brought home from the hospital as a newborn by her mother, Bessie, Antique Rep. Loren Legarda said adoringly in an Instagram post, “She is not a staff, not a worker, not a kasambahay, not a yaya, but my ‘Nanay’.”

“She embraced our family as her own, she has been living with us since the 1950s before I was born. My sons and I owe her so much. I would not be who I am today without my Nanay Fely.”

When her Nanay Fely, now 86, had colon cancer many years ago, Loren dropped everything and brought her to Stanford Hospital in California and with her son Lanz, cared for her in the hospital.

She says Nanay Fely, who hails from Paoay, Ilocos Norte, is both her “partner in life” and her rock.

“When my mother Bessie passed away, my nanay was there. When my marriage was annulled, she was there. When my sons left for abroad to study, my nanay was there,” Loren once told me.

“Since birth, Nanay took care of me,” she said. “And since then she’s been tailor, dressmaker, embroiderer, electrician, nurse in our family. Lahat.”

“She is my salbabida.”

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On Mother’s Day last Sunday, my Assumption classmate Maite Duarte posted a photo of her Nanay Nora, who was once her yaya and who had stayed with her family (dad Adolfo, mom Lydia and their four children) for almost 50 years, “a mother in many ways.”

“Nora Jamilarin was my yaya when I was two or three years old, then became the cook, and then was the mayordoma and general-in-chief of the household,” reminisces Maite, who now lives in Barcelona with husband Ricardo.

“She knew everyone’s favorite dishes, our temperaments, made sure we were safe, was strict about us following house rules and yet spoiled us. She was forever our ‘abogada’, and would be there to cheer us up. A mother in many ways, the younger generations in our family call her Nanay Nora.”

Nora, who hails from Pototan, Iloilo, retired several years ago after 49 years of service. For health reasons, she decided it was time to rest and spend more time with her family. She lives with one of her many nieces. The Duartes are still very much in touch with her, as Nanay Nora is also much loved by the Duartes’ nine grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren.

Maite continues: “Over the decades she learned from my abuelita Anita and became an excellent cook, mastering many of our family’s epic recipes — like crab sa gata, paella, callos, lengua estofada, bacalao a la vizcaina, jamón en dulce, ensalada Rusa, her ‘world-famous’ children’s party spaghetti, pan de sal, macarrones de lujo, cherry pie, churros. Name it, Nora made it. And it was always the best because Nora cooked with love. Truly.”

“I could go on and on — 49 years, remember? — but suffice it to say that hands down, she was and is, totally adored by us all!”

Maite, a mother of three herself, says with much affection, “I have always felt we can never give back all she has given us. Not in a million years.”

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When Chef Jill Ignacio Busuego’s father died in a scuba accident, her yaya Emma told Jill’s mom Lourdes that she would stay by the family’s side as long as she was needed. And she kept her word.

“My mom needed to provide for us as we were four kids all studying in private schools. So Manang Emma worked like her partner in helping bring us up. I believe my mom was able to build her private practice because she was assured someone could care for us as she would have,” Jill, who runs the popular Delicioso catering group, says.

“She would accompany us to school, enroll us, get our report cards. When I would go out on dates, she would wait by our gate until I arrived home. When my twins were born, she came to my house to train my yayas. She came for six months every day since I needed to get back to work.”

When Jill established Delicioso,  Manang Emma came to work with her. “She always had my back. Like in all businesses, purchasing was also a concern, so she helped me there,” Jill recalls gratefully.

“She was something else her loyalty and love for me and my family was one of a kind.”

Manang Emma was 20 years old when she joined the Busuego household and was 67 when she passed away in 2017. Even Jill’s classmates and friends attended the wake of Manang Emma in Manila.

Because she was so much a part of the family, Jill brought Manang Emma’s remains back home to her native Iloilo, as was the latter’s wish. Jill’s family lovingly had Manang Emma’s remains interred in the clan’s mausoleum. Even in death, Manang Emma was part of the family.