Nothing however strikes home more than the Caribbean names we have for these nether regions-pim-pim, sand sand, fly-fly, pumpum, and coon- coon are but a few (I shudder as I write this). I note that most of them rely on some level of child like repetition- was this some attempt to make them more accessible, approachable and innocuous? Animal metaphors abound- we also use the word monkey and flying fish alongside the almost universal metaphor of the cat. Jamaicans use the word punany and it has now been adopted by the oral dictionary of Common Caribbean Usage but I must admit that the one I find most irksome, the one that has me most curious and the one that I find THE most off putting is probably the word that most Grenadians use most commonly to describe their lady parts- it is the ubiquitous saltfish.
Saltfish the ingredient is traditional salted and dried cod, originally manufactired in Norway. Salted dried cod has a storage life of many years. Dried cod and the dishes made from it are known by many different names, as it gradually became part of the cuisine of many European nations. For example, it is known as bacalao (Spanish), bakaiļao (Basque), bacallà (Catalan), morue (French), baccalà (Italian), bacalhau (Portuguese), klippfisk/clipfish (Scandinavian), saltfiskur (Icelandic) and bakalar (Croatian). In Norway, there used to be five different grades of salt cod. The best grade was called superior extra. Then came (in descending order) superior, imperial, universal and popular. These appellations are no longer extensively used, although some producers still make the superior products.
The popular salted cod was transported to the Caribbean during slavery as a form of cheap protein to feed the slaves. It was rationed to the slaves and bartered in Sunday markets and after some time it was savoured as a culinary delight- in accras de morue in Martinique, saltfish and green provision in St. Lucia, with ackee on a Sunday morning in Jamaica, and as a pungent accompaniment to bake (I say its plural bakes) in Trinidad. Saltfish was known for its firm flavoured flesh and its distinctive, pungent smell. If a neighbour was cooking saltfish three or four doors down the road, one would know.
I am not sure when the association between the vagina and saltfish began: all I do know is that it is strongly cemented as part of Caribbean culture and part of the local parlance. One of the most popular calypsos sung by The Mighty Sparrow, Calypso King of the World was his Ode to Saltfish, which was a very thinly veiled double entendre. He entreated:
“Saltfish stew is what I like/So doo-doo, give me day and night
I like you food, so don't find me rude
My favorite, I sure every man in here already eat it
Saltfish
Nothing in the world sweeter than Saltfish
Saltfish
English, colloquial, Bajans
Saltfish
It's sweeter than meat
When you want to eat
All saltfish sweet
Very well, I like the taste/Though the smell, sometimes out of place
It hard to take, but make no mistake/I want you to know, it's because it extra sweet it smelling so boy it's
Saltfish/Big money does run behind it
Saltfish/man does lick down man to find it
Saltfish/It's sweeter than meat
When you want to eat
All saltfish sweet”
This alleged “Ode” although a guilty pleasure of mine, encapsulates all the reasons that I have against naming and claiming our precious regions after a fish that is hung out to dry without a head. In Italy, and in Sicily in particular, the word baccala (saltfish) is reserved for the smell associated with dried cod fish and by association, a woman’s nether regions with odours. Sparrow’s “Ode” reiterates the very same prejudice- that a woman’s private parts are smelly and dirty. When we use the word “saltfish” to describe the essence of our feminity, we verbally and implicitly agree that our private parts are inherently grimy and filthy. A vagina is not a thing of scorn, is it the birthplace and the fountainhead of humanity. Paul Lai of the University of St. Thomas has challenged this olfactory prejudice in his piece: Stinky Bodies, Mythological Futures and the Olfactory Sense in Larissa Lai’s Saltfish Girl. Allowing our bodies to be characterized and labeled in this way goes counter to the matrifocal spirit of the Caribbean, where feminist emancipation has strode along in leaps and bounds.
And besides, it is just too ordinary a word for our most prized feature. Saltfish is traditionally the dish of last resort. Admittedly, it is much loved and eaten with much relish when prepared but it is also true that when my mother could not find a vendor or a fisherman selling fresh fish, or when we had had enough of chicken or turkey, salt fish was the go-to dish that was scraped up with lashings of onion, peppers, cabbage and garnish to create a simple, ready –go-meal? Is this what we wish to associate with our lady gardens? A fall back, ordinary option that was easily available? I am told that now salt fish is now King Saltfish (at least in the Caribbean) because it is a very expensive commodity due to falling cod stocks, however it still does not change the fact that were someone to visit, it would not be the dish of choice to be served. That says a whole lot. A nickname for our private bits deserves to take first place, centre stage.
Because of this, in the meantime I graciously use the other words, and at times, even the proper noun until someone comes up with a better alternative. Any suggestions? Hint: Something along the lines of fillet steak, Aberdeen Angus or caviar might do the trick.
(Photo compliments Tastes Like Home).
