[STORY] Agent? Which agent? Did I tell you I’m selling my house?

I never thought my casual interest in real estate investment would turn into the wildest story of my life.

It started on a random Saturday when I decided to check out a few properties for sale in Lekki.

I had been saving up, following every tip about “location, location, location,” and reading endless guides about how buying property in Lagos was the smartest investment for Gen Z trying to escape rent wahala.

I booked a viewing through a realtor I found on Instagram. His bio screamed “Trusted Realtor. Best deals in Lekki, Ajah, Ikoyi.”

The page had drone shots of waterfront estates, luxury apartments with infinity pools, and captions like: “Secure your dream home today!”

When I got there, he greeted me with too much energy.

“Ah, my client! You came on time. You’ll love this property—it’s a hot cake. Serious buyers only.”

We drove into an estate with tall white gates and palm trees lined neatly like something out of a Netflix show. My Gen Z brain was already imagining TikToks: “Come house hunt with me in Lekki…”

The house itself was gorgeous—marble floors, glass balcony, a kitchen island with LED lights. I could already picture brunches with friends, sipping mimosa while pretending I owned it.

But something felt… off.

Halfway through the tour, I noticed the neighbors staring too long. An older woman carrying a basket of plantains paused, frowned, and whispered to another man fixing his car.

The realtor brushed it off.

“Don’t mind them. They’re jealous. New developments always cause noise.”

I shrugged and kept following him. But then I spotted a family photo on the wall—kids in school uniforms, a couple smiling.

“Wait,” I asked, “Isn’t this house empty? You said it was ready for purchase.”

He laughed nervously.

“Ah… yes, yes, but the owners are relocating to Canada. Just formalities. We’re staging it.”

Still, my gut didn’t relax.

We stepped outside to view the backyard. That’s when the plot twist happened.

A man in his forties stormed in, face tight with anger.

“Excuse me! What are you people doing in my compound?”

I froze. The realtor tried to smile.

“Sir, it’s me, your agent. I brought a serious buyer.”

The man barked back:

“Agent? Which agent? Did I tell you I’m selling my house? You think I don’t know scammers bring strangers here pretending it’s for sale?”

My chest tightened. My dream of real estate investing in Lagos was about to end with me in a police case.

I stammered, “Sorry sir, I was just viewing. I didn’t know—”

He cut me off, glaring. “Viewing what? You people want to scam someone? Over my dead body.”

The neighbors, now gathered, started murmuring. One woman shouted, “I told you! Another fake agent again!”

The realtor panicked. “No, no, oga, please calm down. She’s serious. I can explain.”

But the man pulled out his phone. “I’m calling the police.”

I felt my stomach drop. Imagine explaining to my parents: “Yes, I was arrested for trespassing because I wanted to buy a house.”

I quickly pleaded, “Sir, I swear I didn’t know. I just wanted to invest in real estate. Please, let me leave.”

The man eyed me, then sighed. “Young lady, listen. These so-called agents will show you houses they don’t own. If you’re not careful, you’ll lose millions. Verify everything from the Land Registry. Don’t trust Instagram.”

I nodded furiously. “Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

The realtor tried to chase after me, whispering, “Don’t mind him. He’s just bitter.” But I was already dialing a Bolt.

As I rode home, I couldn’t stop laughing—half from relief, half from madness. I had walked straight into a real estate scam in Lagos, and almost became headline news.

That night, I tweeted:

“Today I learned: In Lagos real estate, you’re not just buying land—you’re buying peace of mind. Always VERIFY. Don’t be like me #HouseHuntChronicles”

My DM blew up with people sharing their own wild experiences. Apparently, I wasn’t alone.

So yeah, lesson learned. Real estate might be the best investment, but in Lagos, it comes with drama fit for a Nollywood series.

And me? I’m still house hunting—this time with proper documents, a lawyer, and eyes sharp like CCTV.

Because one thing is certain: these streets? They don’t forgive.