If you were to take a linguistic DNA test of the English language, the results would be largely Germanic, with heavy influences of French, Latin, and Greek. However, if you look closer at the map of English vocabulary, you will find tiny flags planted by trade winds originating from the lush archipelagos of Southeast Asia. You might be surprised to learn that you likely speak a bit of Malay (and its standardized variant, Indonesian) every single day.
English has always been a linguistic vacuum cleaner, sucking up vocabulary from every culture the British Empire touched, traded with, or fought against. During the Age of Sail, the Malay language served as the lingua franca of the maritime Silk Road. From the bustling ports of Malacca to the spice-rich Moluccas, European sailors adopted local terms for goods, behaviors, and animals that had no Western equivalent.
Today, we represent these loaned words as standard English, often oblivious to their tropical roots. Let’s trace the etymological currents of some fascinating words that traveled from the Spice Islands to the Oxford English Dictionary.
Running Amok: A Frenzy of Etymology
The phrase “running amok” is generally used in English to describe wild, unruly behavior or a situation spiraling out of control. However, the origin of the word amok (from the Malay amuk) tells a darker, more culturally specific story.
In 18th and 19th-century colonial literature, “running amuck” was described as a specific psychopathological behavior observed among Malay tribesmen. It referred to a sudden, unprovoked outburst of violence where a warrior would attack anyone in their path—friend or foe—in a desperate, suicidal frenzy. Visitors like Captain James Cook recorded these instances with a mixture of horror and fascination.
Historically, the state of mengamuk was sometimes viewed through a spiritual lens or as a way for a warrior to regain lost honor through death. Over centuries, English speakers stripped the word of its specific violent context, softening it to describe anything from a mischievous toddler to a chaotic bureaucratic process.
The Culinary Surprise: Ketchup
Perhaps the most shocking loanword in the American pantry is ketchup. Nothing seems more Western than slathering ketchup on a hamburger, yet the word and the sauce originated in Southeast Asia.
The word stems from the Malay word kicap (pronounced “kee-chap”) or the earlier Hokkien Chinese term kê-tsiap, which filtered through the Malay peninsula. Originally, this was not the sweet tomato paste we know today. It was a dark, pungent fish sauce or fermented soy brine. British sailors in the 17th century developed a taste for this savory condiment and brought the recipe back to Europe.
Because Europeans didn’t have access to the native Asian soya beans or specific fish, they began improvising with mushrooms, walnuts, and eventually—in a purely New World twist—tomatoes. The name, however, survived the journey intact.
Creatures of the Archipelago
When European naturalists arrived in Southeast Asia, they encountered biodiversity that defied description. Rather than inventing Latin names immediately, they often adopted the descriptive names used by the locals.
Orangutan
This is perhaps the most famous transparent translation. In Malay and Indonesian, orang means “person” and hutan means “forest.” Put them together, and you have the “person of the forest.” It is a testament to the distinct human-like qualities of these great apes that the local terminology classified them as people rather than beasts.
Gecko
If you have ever heard the loud, clicking chirp of a tropical lizard at night, you know it sounds distinctively like “geh-koh.” The Malay word gekok is onomatopoeic—it mimics the sound the animal makes. English speakers adopted the sound as the name, giving us the word gecko.
Cockatoo
The exotic bird cockatoo derives its name from the Malay kakatua. Breaking it down further, linguistics folklore suggests it could be related to kakak (older sibling) and tua (old), perhaps referencing the bird’s wisdom or long lifespan, though it is more likely another onomatopoeic reference to the bird’s call (“ka-ka!”).
Fabrics and Materials
The Dutch and British East India Companies were primarily trade organizations. It is no surprise, then, that the names of the goods they filled their cargo holds with became permanent fixtures in the English language.
- Gingham: That checkered fabric associated with picnic blankets and Dorothy’s dress in The Wizard of Oz? It comes from the Malay adjective genggang, meaning “ajar” or “separate.” It originally referred to a striped fabric where the colors were separated. When the fabric was imported to England, the striped pattern evolved into a checkered pattern, but the name remained.
- Rattan: The material used in wicker furniture comes from the Malay rotan. As the British colonial style became fashionable in the 19th century, the word traveled alongside the furniture into English sitting rooms.
- Bamboo: While the plant exists across Asia, the English word comes specifically from the Malay bambu (likely influenced by Kannada), which displaced earlier Portuguese terms.
The “Kampung” and the Compound
Here is an example of a “false friend” evolving into a loanword. If you read stories by Somerset Maugham or George Orwell about life in the colonies, you will often read about the “British Compound”—an enclosed area of living quarters.
While English already had the word “compound” (meaning a mixture of things), the definition referring to “an enclosure of buildings” is actually derived from the Malay word kampung, meaning a village or community settlement. British settlers anglicized kampung into “compound”, merging it with their existing English vocabulary. In modern Malaysia and Indonesia, a kampung represents the traditional village soul of the nation, a stark contrast to the concrete jungle of the cities.
Cooties: A Classroom Infection
Every American child knows the terror of “girl cooties” or “boy cooties” on the playground. It refers to an imaginary germ or infection. However, the origin is quite literal.
During World War I, soldiers often complained of lice infestation in the trenches. The slang term they used was “cooties.” This traces back to the Malay word kutu, meaning a louse or biting parasite. The word likely entered British military slang via sailors or soldiers stationed in British Malaya before migrating to the battlefields of Europe and eventually the playgrounds of America.
Language as a Map of History
Words like paddy (from padi, meaning rice plant) and sarong (from sarung, meaning sheath or covering) remind us that language is not static. It is a living map of human history, trade, and exploration.
Malay was the perfect language for trade in the 16th century because of its relatively simple grammar—it has no conjugations, gendered nouns, or plural inflections (plurals are formed simply by saying the word twice, known as reduplication). This accessibility allowed it to spread rapidly, carrying with it cultural concepts that English speakers found irresistible.
So, the next time you sit on a rattan chair, look at a gecko in the garden, or dip your fries in ketchup, remember the long journey those words took across the Indian Ocean to reach the tip of your tongue. You are speaking the language of the Spice Route.