Mela = festival, fair, or gathering, often vibrant, chaotic, and filled with food, music, vendors, and temporary joy.

It’s a playful way of saying:

Web3 is being treated like a pass to a tech festival — just hype, flash, influencers, and vibes — but not real infrastructure.

In other words, the government sees Web3 as:

• A noisy show for young people

• A playground for speculators

• A trend, not a tool

You're arguing it needs to be seen not as a carnival, but as core infrastructure — like roads, hospitals, and ID systems.

The Ghost of JKUAT Wifi

Let’s face it—if you walk into a government office and say the word blockchain, three things will happen:

1. The IT guy will start sweating.

2. The finance guy will ask if it's related to wash-wash.

3. And someone from procurement will mutter, “Si tulisikia hiyo ni ya watu wana invest kwa meme coins?”

Yes, there are criminals in Web3. And yes, some people are out here betting their rent money on frog NFTs. But that’s like saying because conmen use Telegram/WhatsApp, we should ban text messages.

The problem is governments only see three types of people in Web3:

• Criminals – optimistic they won’t get caught.

• Investors – optimistic they’ll double their money.

• Speculators – gambling with their money and other people's money and calling it “market research.”

Meanwhile, back in the real world, Web3 is quietly building the next revolution—and no, it doesn’t involve selling “Mela Tickets for Mt. Kilimanjaro.”

Let’s be honest: the Industrial Age packed its bags in the '90s. We’re now in the Network Age—where the CEO of the most successful online health platform is an 18-year-old who can’t spell “appendicitis,” but has 4,000 doctors on Telegram.

Want more examples?

• A ride-hailing app run by a 19-year-old with no driver’s license.

• A construction supply platform created by a high school dropout in Kibera.

• A global fashion DAO built in Nairobi that sells digital shukas for avatars.

In this age, whoever aggregates skills, trust, and community wins. Web3 is just the tech that lets you do it without needing to know someone at Huduma Centre or a Cousin in Government.

Let’s talk about these new degrees:

• Bachelor of Puppetry – University of Connecticut (U.S.)

• Masters in Cross-Continental Yoga and Gendered Astronomy - not real but you get the picture

• Diploma in Non-Violent Typing for TikTok Therapists - too much violence on tiktok

• Master of Arts in Happiness Studies - Centenary University (USA), in partnership with “Dr. Tal Ben-Shahar.”

Meanwhile, a large number of Kenyan students didn’t report to campus last year. Not because they were lazy—but because a 2M loan for a 4-year degree in something that pays 15K a month is now officially a bad investment. Do you know what is a good investment? Learning how to do smart contracts in 3 weeks and earning in USDC as you learn.

Becoming a fashion influencer working with local and international brands and honing your skills through free you tube videos.

Let’s talk about laggards — those noble folks Simon Sinek says would still be using touchtone phones if only Telkom hadn’t cut the line. These are the same people who buy newspapers, still print emails, and think TikTok is a clock repair app.

Now enter the tech world — full of AI, blockchain, flying robot dogs — and yet, somehow, these same companies ask:

"Do you have a degree?"

Really? In what? PowerPoint animations and Excel nightmares?

We’re living in an age where a 19-year-old with a laptop in Rongai can build a fintech app by accident while trying to fix their Cousin's Quickbooks — but Google still wants a bachelor's in advanced Power Napping & Meeting Attendance before they'll even look at your CV.

Let’s be honest: insisting on degrees in tech today is like asking someone applying for Uber Eats if they know how to milk a cow — technically admirable, totally useless.

The truth is that degrees are now mostly just expensive receipts you hang on your wall while a YouTube-certified 14-year-old runs your company’s backend from his grandmother’s house.

It’s not about merit anymore. It’s politics. It’s HR saying,

"We need a filter."
Well guess what? So do Instagram reels — doesn’t mean it makes you a better person.

In the words of the modern philosopher (probably on TikTok):
“If your code works, I don’t care if you learned it from a YouTube tutorial, a fortune cookie, or a magic spell.”

Soon, even medicine will become a 3-month certificate. Doctors will be trained like Uber drivers—efficient, decentralized, and available on demand.

We’re in a world where you don’t retire—you just keep reskilling until you die. Learn Solidity today, learn AI prompt engineering tomorrow, and maybe get certified in TikTok strategy by Friday.

Adaptation is no longer an advantage; it’s oxygen.

Web3 offers tools for verifiable skills, trustless systems, and automated income streams. It’s not just a tech—it’s an alternative operating system for the economy.

Web3 is not just a place where criminals gamble on frog coins. It’s the platform that will:

• Help doctors earn directly from patients globally.

• Allow musicians to be paid in seconds with no middlemen.

• Enable farmers to crowdfund before planting.

• Let students prove their skills without bribing for certificates or faking KCSE results.

It’s more than a mela ticket—it’s a ticket out of inefficiency, corruption, and youth hopelessness.

And if you still think it's all a scam... just wait until the next Huduma Centre is a DAO.

So, the Kenyan government has been trying to move land records onto the blockchain. Sounds like a good plan, right? Transparent, secure, immutable.

But here’s the catch — the people tasked with implementing this system are the same ones currently feasting on the “File iko kwa mdosi” economy.

They’ve been eating maplot plots and “kitu kidogo” tokens for years.

So, here’s the new idea:

How it works:

• Every time someone tries to eat from the system, their bribe is automatically converted into a “CorruptCoin” (CRC) — a token that's traceable, ranked, and publicly viewable.

• Their wallet gets filled, yes — but so does the public dashboard.

• A leaderboard shows the top 10 Most Efficiently Corrupt Officials of the Month™️.

Why this works:

• They still get paid (let’s be honest, they’ll find a way).

• But everyone knows, and that destroys the secrecy they thrive on.

• Suddenly, your auntie’s land file isn’t “lost in the system” — it’s on-chain, baby. And so is the guy who tried to charge her KES 50K to “find it.”

• Citizens can stake tokens on who they think will be corrupt next. If they're right, they get rewarded — like fantasy football, but with civil servants.

• Eventually, corruption becomes too embarrassing to keep doing publicly.

Because let’s face it: Kenyan corruption thrives in silence.
Bring it to the light, and suddenly no one wants to be the guy trending on “#WhoAteWhatWednesday.”

In the age of decentralization, it’s not just land that needs a ledger — it’s lifestyle audits.
So, let’s stop pretending we can eliminate corruption the old-fashioned way.

Tokenize it. Shame it. And yield-farm justice.