When the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) announced its September 2025 update, it did more than just add a handful of new words—it opened a window into the vibrant, flavorful, and sometimes mischievous world of Caribbean English. For many, the dictionary is a staid record of the English language, but for speakers across the Caribbean, this update was a long-awaited recognition of the region’s rich linguistic tapestry. On September 24, 2025, the OED officially welcomed 12 new Caribbean words, each with a story as colorful as the islands themselves.
Among these, perhaps the most tongue-twisting is “carry-go-bring-come.” Dating all the way back to 1825, this phrase is more than just a mouthful—it’s a whole social phenomenon. According to the OED, it means “gossip, or a person who spreads it.” It’s a term that captures the essence of community chatter, the kind that can make or break reputations, and it’s not confined to just one island. Variations abound: in Saint Vincent, folks say “bring-and-carry,” while in Trinidad and Tobago, “bring-back-carry-come” is the go-to phrase. In the British Virgin Islands, it morphs into “bring-come-and-carry-go.” If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a juicy tidbit passed around at a family gathering, you’ve felt the power of carry-go-bring-come in action.
The OED’s recent updates have been part of a broader effort to track the evolution of English worldwide. As noted in the dictionary’s own commentary, recent quarterly updates have spotlighted distinctive words and phrases from regions as far-flung as East Africa, New Zealand, Wales, and now, once again, the Caribbean. This focus on “World Englishes” isn’t just about adding flavor to the dictionary—it’s about recognizing the global nature of the language and the communities that shape it.
Food, unsurprisingly, features prominently among the new Caribbean entries. “Bulla,” for instance, is a small, round, flat cake from Jamaica, made with flour, molasses, brown sugar, and a medley of spices—ginger, nutmeg, coconut, and even pineapple. First recorded in English in 1940, the word “bulla” comes from the Spanish “bollo,” meaning bread roll. According to the Associated Press, it’s a treat that tempts anyone with a sweet tooth and a love for traditional baking.
Another culinary delight is “buss up shut.” Despite what it sounds like, it’s not a command to quiet down. Instead, it’s a beloved Trinidadian dish—fried unleavened bread with a flaky texture, similar to paratha or roti. The name is a playful Caribbean pronunciation of “bust-up shirt,” a nod to the way the bread’s ragged, torn appearance resembles a well-worn shirt. The OED traces its earliest written mention to 1988, but its roots in Caribbean kitchens stretch much further back.
Then there’s “pholourie,” a snack that’s as fun to eat as it is to say. These are fried balls of dough made from flour, ground split peas, and spices, usually served with chutney. The OED notes that “pholourie” is a borrowing from Indian languages—Hindi offers “phulaurī,” while Bengali has “phuluri”—reflecting the Indo-Caribbean heritage that flavors much of Trinidad and Tobago’s cuisine. The first known use in English comes from a 1936 calypso song, “Bargee Pelauri,” by Rafael de Leon, better known as “Roaring Lion.”
“Cou-cou” is another dish that’s made its way into the OED. First recorded in 1843, it’s a comforting blend of cornmeal, okra, and butter, stirred together until firm and often shaped into a ball. It’s typically served alongside steamed or fried fish, and no proper cou-cou can be made without a “cou-cou stick”—a flat wooden paddle, first mentioned in 1985, used to stir the mixture to the perfect consistency.
“Saltfish” rounds out the culinary additions. This word, dating from as far back as 1558, refers to fish that has been salted and dried—a staple in Caribbean pantries for centuries. While once a general term for any salted fish, it now most often means salted cod or similar white fish, widely consumed across the islands.
But the OED’s update isn’t just about what’s on the table. It also captures the region’s cultural practices and social nuances. “Bobolee,” for example, is a word from Trinidad and Tobago, first recorded in 1939. It refers to a stuffed and dressed-up effigy—originally of Judas Iscariot, but now of any controversial figure—paraded through the streets and beaten on Good Friday. The word’s origins are unclear, but it’s thought to have roots in a West African language. In the 1970s, “bobolee” also took on a figurative meaning: a person who is easily deceived or scapegoated.
Another evocative phrase, “cry long water,” means to cry copiously—or, sometimes, insincerely. It’s a vivid image, suggesting tears streaming like a river, and it’s been in use since at least the 1970s. The origins may also trace back to African expressions, a testament to the region’s linguistic diversity.
“Broughtupsy” is a word that might raise eyebrows outside the Caribbean, but on the islands, it’s a badge of honor. First recorded in 1974, it refers to good manners and courteous behavior, the kind that comes from a proper upbringing. It’s a gentle reminder that how you carry yourself matters, and it’s a value passed down through generations.
The OED also added “Jamaican Creole,” acknowledging the language’s influence both as a noun and an adjective. And “tantie,” a term of respect for any older woman (not just a biological aunt), found its place in the dictionary as well. Both words speak to the importance of family and community in Caribbean societies.
According to the OED, there are now about 500,000 words and phrases in its pages, some dating back to the 11th century. These latest additions not only enrich the dictionary but also affirm the dynamic, evolving nature of English as it’s spoken around the world. The Caribbean’s influence is undeniable, and with each new entry, the language grows more inclusive and representative of its speakers.
For many in the Caribbean, seeing their words in the OED is a point of pride—a recognition that their voices matter and their culture is woven into the fabric of global English. And for the rest of us, it’s a delicious invitation to explore new flavors, stories, and ways of seeing the world—one word at a time.
