Chris Ihidero Unedited: WHY I REJECTED MY MFR

By Chris Ihidero 

When the names of recipients of this year’s national honours were called at the presentation ceremony last week, one name was conspicuously absent: mine. A few weeks before the names of this year’s recipients were publicly announced, an emissary from the presidency had arrived humbly at my door quite early one morning pleading that the president was on his knees in Aso Rock, begging me to please accept my nomination and the honour of being a Member of Federal Republic. While I was impressed by the president’s eagerness to have me on his side, my long-held belief, that it is something that shares a semblance with something that one uses to compare something to something, would not let me accept this so called honour.

I am a humble man. Pride has no place in my heart. It is true that there is so much this country needs to be grateful to me for but I am not one to demand respect just because of the things I have done for this country. Even when the emissary from Aso Rock began singing my praises in order to convince me, I only listened with one ear. According to him, my interviews with Pastors Chris and Biodun restored the faith of many Pentecostal Christians across the nation, returning lost flock to their shepherds. It was because of me, he insisted, that Pentecostal Christians can now masturbate without guilt or be shagged by their pastors without a need for congregational explanations. My propagation of the Nigerian Sex and Dating Code, he asserted, is why Nigerian men no longer forcefully push their lovers heads towards their members 2 seconds after kissing. These were the worthy reasons Mr. President thought it wise to honour me with an MFR, in appreciation of my worthy contributions to national polity. But who am I to take the glory for the Lord’s doing? After all, WE ARE NOTHING BUT PENCIL IN THE HANDS OF THE ALMIGHTY.

If you are going to give national honours to every Tom, Dick, Genevieve and Omotola, at least try and do it appropriately. You give Omotola and Genevieve MFR for playing in front of a camera and you want to give me the same? If you and the millions of people who read this column admit that my writings have been instrumental to monumental changes that this column has brought about, like the duplication and sale of Atiku’s penis, why then insult me with the same award you give mere mortals? Was it not GCON they gave that Dangote person? And for doing what, selling cement? SMH. Things should be placed in their appropriate places. This is akin to the classic case of the man who loves having oral sex with his wife but got very annoyed with her the day he found pubic hair in his plate of rice. People couldn’t understand his anger but I see his point clearly: rice is rice and oral sex is oral sex; there’s no need for the two to mix. You wouldn’t put rice inside…that place, would you? In refusing this award, my dignity stands in its rightful place, unblemished by association with lesser mortals.

Far be it from me to brag, or be pompous but even the N10million that comes with the MFR was not enough to tempt me to disappoint you, my dear readers. The millions of emails and letters I receive daily assure me that you all would have been let down by someone you hold in such high regards, someone who restores your faith in humanity, the last hope of millions of oppressed Nigerians. I couldn’t do it. Even my desperate desire for a new car didn’t make the N10million more attractive. What is N10million? I will walk the streets of Lagos barefooted before I allow my name to be said in the same breath with that of many of the people that were awarded this year. I mean, they did not even give Dr. Ameyo Adadevoh, someone one would have been proud to call a fellow recipient. The excuse given by the neck less one with bulging eyes is as abominable as the size of his stomach and rump. No posthumous national award my black hairy ass. Tueh.

Mr. President’s deep disappointments at my rejection of the MFR have been conveyed to me since the event held. I understand his pain. His plot to get me on his government’s side has failed and now he cries. But that’s fine; when you beat a child you should allow him cry. Yours is the beating, his are the tears. Principles are principles. A man should live or die by his beliefs.

I choose to stand with you my dear readers who look up to me as the last bastion of forthrightness.

Viva la revolution!