Before there was Curaçao, there was Cu rra ssow.
Not a sailor’s tale, not a Portuguese invention, but a name spoken by the Caquetío, the island’s first people. Born from the breath of Arawakan languages, Cu rra ssow existed long before European conquest, long before cartographers drew borders or colonial governors renamed the land.
Today, our island is known worldwide as Curaçao, but that name is a mask—layered with distortion, foreign mythologies, and colonial rewriting. To reclaim Cu rra ssow is not just to restore a name—it’s to uncover a buried truth and to speak life into memory.
The First Name Was Indigenous
Historical sources and linguistic studies—including those of Dutch historian Jan den Hartog—trace the island’s original name to Indigenous roots. On early Spanish maps, it appeared as Curaçote, Curasaote, and Curazao, until the Dutch sealed it as Curaçao.
But the true name—Cu rra ssow—was never European. It was born from Indigenous tongues and lives on in the name Kòrsou, which better preserves the sound and spirit of the original than the colonial version ever did.
Korsow with a W: The People’s Orthography
Before the official rules of Papiamentu were set, many Curaçaoans—especially in letters, graffiti, and popular writings—spelled the island’s name as Korsow, ending in W.
This wasn’t an error. It was an act of oral fidelity. The “W” reflected the breathy resonance of the final syllable in Cu rra ssow. It preserved the sound without needing permission from institutions. Our ancestors, without linguists or ministries, instinctively wrote the truth.
Korsow with a W was ancestral knowledge in motion.
Guáma: Not a Bird—But Bird Droppings
A misunderstood word at the heart of our history is Guáma.
It was not the name of a bird, but of guano—bird droppings rich in phosphate and nitrogen. On Seru Guáma, now Tafelberg, massive deposits formed over time. In 1874, Englishman John Godding began mining phosphate there, launching one of Curaçao’s earliest extractive industries. This sacred ecological space was turned into a commercial mine—and exported to fertilize foreign lands.
Even the modern term curassow for the bird Crax rubra may echo the name Cu rra ssow. Although it wasn’t the source of the guano, the linguistic connection points to deeper origins in the Arawakan world.
The ‘Island of Healing’ Is a Colonial Fantasy
The oft-repeated story that Curaçao was named Ilha da Cura—“Island of Healing”—is just that: a myth. It claims Portuguese sailors with scurvy were cured by fruit on the island and named it in gratitude.
But research shows:
• Curaçao had no citrus trees before colonization.
• Spanish oranges withered in the dry soil and turned into the bitter laraha.
• There is no evidence of any healing expedition.
It’s another polished lie. A European fantasy layered over Indigenous truth.
The ‘Roasted Priest’ Lie
One of the most grotesque myths says Curaçao comes from cura asado—“roasted priest”—suggesting that Indigenous people killed and ate a missionary.
It’s propaganda. The Caquetío were not cannibals. These myths were invented to justify conquest, forced conversion, and slavery.
They were not misunderstandings. They were deliberate tools of dehumanization.
Erased Names Across the Region
Curaçao was not alone:
• Klein Curaçao was once Nicola.
• Aruba was likely Oruba.
• Bonaire was once called Bonay.
Colonial mapmakers rewrote these names to fit their tongues—and erased the voices beneath them.
Kòrsou Lives. Korsow Reminds Us. Cu rra ssow Rises.
Despite centuries of distortion, Cu rra ssow lives.
It lives in Kòrsou, in old writings that say Korsow, in the winds of Seru Guáma, and in the people who never forgot.
We were not healed by oranges.
We were not cannibals.
We were never nameless.
We were Cu rra ssow—and we still are.
To say Kòrsou is remembrance.
To write Korsow is resistance.
To reclaim Cu rra ssow is liberation.
Final Words
Cu rra ssow—that is our true heritage.
Hidden, silenced, renamed—but never erased.
—Tico Vos – Nos Ke Sa
