For the first few months when I was still a nobody in Kenya, I was devoting my time to wandering around and getting to know this country of a thousand colors and smells, a thousand landscapes to admire and looks and smiles from every person I met.
Nairobi had been the destination I had wanted to visit for a couple of months. This was only possible when what was then my "boyfriend," later to become husband, decided to leave for the Big City to shop at the Masai market.
It is a huge market that is still held in Nairobi today where the Maasai sell various items. And along with them today on the square you can also find some Kenyans from other tribes selling typically local handicrafts. 
We left for Nairobi by traveling on a bus that ran a daily route departing from Malindi and, traversing much of the country, arriving in the capital in twelve hours. The first stop was logically an "African cafe." A typical little place where one could have breakfast. I, as I had become accustomed to doing in Malindi by now, took my nice cup of hot milk, a packet of instant coffee to dissolve in it, and a chapati. Chapatis: I love them, especially when they are still warm. John, asked for his classic breakfast, which I confess I still somewhat disdain. Two meat-filled samosas, a soup of boiled kid bones, and a chai (milk and tea strictly inherited from the customs of English settlers). This has never been (and I doubt it will one day become) my typical breakfast. Refreshed and especially more awake than the time of arrival in Nairobi , we headed on foot to the Maasai market. On the way I stopped a thousand times to look at the windows of the many stores along the way. Not beautiful, but certainly colorful. I remember an untold number of electronics stores. I noticed a perfumery not far away. In Malindi, there is still no real, single perfume shop. I decided to go in to ask if they had perfumes readily available in Italy. In fact, I had brought some perfume samples from Italy that had been given to me by a friend in my town who owned a perfumery. John had really liked one of those samples, and I hoped to be able to find it in Kenya as well. "That would be a nice thought," I said to myself. It was difficult, but I was hoping. Some people will remember it because it was Alberto Tomba's perfume. 
Perfume that 16 years ago was quite sold especially among young people. I went in without telling John what I was looking for specifically and, still with him by my side , I turned to the young lady behind the counter. In English I asked, "Sorry, did you have Tomba's parfum?" 
Do you have Tomba's parfum ? The response was immediate and unexpected. A mega chuckle. My English was definitely bad, but I didn't understand. 
"Okay sorry, Tomba. Yes. Tomba perfume. And more laughter. And with her laughing other customers nearby, and also that witty masai next to me, who was not explaining. In fact, I looked at him and, still in a loud voice, I said, "But
what is there to laugh about? I'm asking for a perfume. The Tomba perfume that you had liked so much." More giggling. 
I was beginning to get nervous. Not being able to understand what the mega laughter was all about. Finally the masai made up his mind. "Tomba," in the Kiswahili language, means "to fuck." Like doing "kashanga kashanga." 
What the heck. Could you have told me that before?
I looked at the saleswoman, smiled at her with a "sorry" and left the store empty-handed. From that day on, the perfume is his choice.
Since then, before I ask for something in Italian, I have the habit of knowing if the term of what I am looking for corresponds to something ... pornographic!