My Thoughts on Cryptocurrency (Please Don’t Ask Me to Explain the Blockchain at a Wedding)

What are your thoughts about cryptocurrency?

The question that follows me to every function

Somewhere between the pilau and the speeches, someone always leans over and asks it. “So, what do you think about crypto?” They ask it the way you would ask a doctor about a mole: casually, but with real hope that the answer is short, reassuring, and free.

I have been asked this at weddings, at funerals (yes), under a hair dryer at the salon, and once by a man who was mid handshake and did not let go until I answered. So I have decided to write my answer down once, properly, and from now on I will simply hand people a link and go back to my pilau.

What it actually is (the version without a whiteboard)

Cryptocurrency is money that lives on a shared ledger that nobody owns and everybody can see. Think of a chama record book, except instead of one treasurer holding it, every member holds an identical copy, and no entry can be changed unless the whole room agrees. That is the clever part, and it really is clever.

What it is not: a guaranteed path to buying a plot in Kitengela by Christmas. It is also not “free money,” not “the end of banks,” and not something your cousin fully understands just because he once said “to the moon” in a voice note.

It is also not one thing. Bitcoin is the serious uncle at the table. Stablecoins are the sensible cousin who matches the dollar and mostly behaves. And then there are the thousands of coins named after dogs, frogs, and feelings. Those are the nephews who arrive late, eat everything, and leave with the car.

A field guide to the people of crypto

You will meet all of these in Nairobi, sometimes at the same table.

The Early Bird. Bought in “back when it was nothing,” has mentioned this eleven times, and has never once disclosed whether they sold. Drives the same Vitz as before.

The WhatsApp Prophet. Forwards screenshots of green charts at 5am with the caption “Last chance!!” Has never forwarded a red chart. The red charts are, apparently, private.

The Uncle. Has declared it a scam, a pyramid scheme, and “that Nigerian thing” without ever having opened an app. Also keeps asking you to check whether his bitcoin from 2017 is still there.

The Quiet One. Actually read the whitepaper. Speaks rarely. When they do, everyone leans in and understands roughly 40 percent, which is still the highest in the room.

The Reformed. Lost money in 2022, now says “I only do index funds” with the serenity of a monk, and checks the price twice a day anyway.

I have been at least two of these. I will not say which.

Why I find it fascinating anyway

Here is the thing I cannot shake: Kenyans invented sending money by text message before most of the world had figured out email on a phone. We are not a people who fear new money. We are a people who ask, “Does it work, and can I send it to my mother?”

Crypto, at its best, answers a real question. A freelancer in Ruaka getting paid by a client in Berlin should not have to lose a chunk of it to fees and wait four working days. A family in Kisumu with relatives in Dubai should not need a middleman who takes a bite on both ends. Stablecoins, in particular, have quietly become the boring, useful part of this story, and boring and useful is my favorite category of anything.

I also find the technology itself delightful. A global record that nobody owns, that runs all night, that does not close for public holidays, and that cannot be quietly edited by whoever has the keys to the office. As an idea, that is beautiful. As someone who has watched grown adults lose a shared Excel file, it is almost moving.

Why I am also keeping my shoes on

I have a rule for anything that promises returns: if the person explaining it gets louder when I ask a question, I get quieter and keep my money. Crypto has a lot of loud explainers.

A few things keep me cautious:

1. The price moves like a Nairobi weather forecast. Sunny, then suddenly you are wet. Anything that can rise 30 percent in a week can also fall 30 percent in a week, and it does not send a warning text first.
2. There is no customer care. If you forget your password at the bank, you queue, you grumble, you get it back. If you lose your crypto wallet keys, the money is gone, and the blockchain will not even pretend to be sorry. There are people whose life savings sit on a hard drive in a landfill. Let that sit with you.
3. The scams are world class. Fake apps, fake coins, fake “investment groups” with a very real admin who vanishes on a Friday. The technology is secure; the humans around it are not. If a stranger in a group chat is being generous with you, ask yourself why.
4. Nobody has agreed on the rules yet. Governments are still deciding what this is and how to tax it, and “still deciding” is an uncomfortable place to keep your money.

None of this makes crypto evil. It makes it a motorbike: fast, exciting, and best approached with a helmet and both hands on the bars.

So where do I land?

Somewhere in the middle, with a cup of tea, watching.

I think the technology is here to stay. I think most of the coins are not. I think the useful parts will slowly become so ordinary that we stop saying “crypto” at all, the same way nobody says “I am going to use the internet” before opening Instagram. One day you will send money abroad, it will arrive in seconds for almost nothing, and you will not know or care what rails it travelled on. That is success. Success is boring.

If you want to dip a toe, here is my unofficial, non-expert, please-do-your-own-homework approach: only put in what you could lose without crying in the car park, learn before you buy, write your keys down somewhere that is not your phone’s Notes app, and ignore anyone who uses the word “guaranteed.”

And if you are the Uncle, it is fine. Index funds are lovely. Sit next to me.

One last thought

My real opinion about cryptocurrency is this: it is a mirror. Show it to a dreamer and they see freedom. Show it to a skeptic and they see a casino. Show it to a tired person at a wedding and they see a conversation they would like to escape.

I see a genuinely interesting idea, wrapped in a lot of noise, slowly growing up in public. I am rooting for the idea. I am keeping my distance from the noise. And I am keeping my helmet on.

Now, tell me. Which one are you at the table: the Early Bird, the Prophet, the Uncle, the Quiet One, or the Reformed? Confess in the comments. I promise not to forward it to anyone.