In Nigeria, where reality takes its morning tea with satire and swallows it whole, we have reached yet another record-breaking level of irony. Only here can a certificate forger formally accept the resignation of another certificate forger—and both parties still leave the ceremony feeling accomplished. Somewhere, irony packed its bags and left the country without even saying goodbye.
Picture the scene: a solemn press conference, full of dignified dishonesty. Cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward. One forger announces, “I hereby accept your resignation with gratitude for your forged service to the nation.” The other bows, replying, “It has been an honour to falsify in the service of my people.” The crowd claps. The national anthem plays. No one notices it’s being sung off-key.
It is the kind of spectacle that would make Shakespeare rewrite Macbeth as Macforged.
Forgery as Federal Character
Once upon a time, we used to divide things by ethnicity, religion, and region. But in today’s Nigeria, we have achieved true unity—forgery without borders. The North, the South, the East, and the West all have their proudly fabricated sons and daughters of dishonour. Forgery has become our most successful federal policy.
The 1966 coup was once about “unfairness” and “imbalance.” Soldiers then shouted about injustice because one region’s crook was punished while another region’s crook was promoted. Fast-forward to today, and the descendants of that ideology now sit comfortably in office saying, “Let there be equity in forgery!” If one region must suffer the shame of a forged certificate scandal, fairness demands that all other regions produce their own counterfeits.
And behold, they did.
The Forgers’ Club
Nigeria now runs like a guild of forgery professionals. They meet once a month—venue undisclosed, but rumours say it’s at a printing press near a Ministry building. The agenda is simple:
How to spell “PhD” creatively without attending a single class. How to design certificates that survive EFCC investigations. How to smile confidently during press conferences when confronted with your own signature from 1978 that looks suspiciously like your 2024 signature.
Membership is bipartisan. Entry fee: one fake certificate and a well-placed godfather.
The Forgery of Fairness
The most comical part is the patriotic outrage that follows every scandal. Citizens don’t cry out that forgery is wrong; no—they complain that their region’s forger is being treated unfairly. “Why punish our own?” they yell on social media. “What about the other forgers?”
So, in the spirit of national balance, perhaps we should establish a National Forgery Equalization Commission (NFEC) to ensure that every zone produces an equal number of fakes—so that no tribe feels left behind in the great race to the bottom.
A Nation of Certificates
In the end, we’ve all become addicted to paper. We print certificates like we print election results—liberally and with imagination. Degrees, honours, awards—none of them are safe anymore. Even honesty, if it were a certificate, would be forged by now.
So, as our nation’s latest forgery scandal unfolds and one forger accepts another’s resignation, we must celebrate the consistency of our absurdity. For while other nations advance in technology and governance, Nigeria remains the only country where integrity is optional, but a certificate—real or fake—is compulsory.
Final Word:
Until further notice, the Ministry of Forgery and Fabrication remains open for business. Please present your credentials—laminated, photoshopped, and properly attested by your local printing press.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 