I Told My Client “Walk Away” from a ₦450 Million Lekki Duplex – Here’s Why

Two nights ago, I was scrolling through property listings on my phone—something I do every evening after 12+ years hustling in Lagos real estate—when my old client, Chidi, messaged me out of the blue.

“Maamie, I need your help urgently. Found the perfect duplex in Lekki Phase 1. Waterside view, 5 bedrooms, boys’ quarters, all that luxury real estate stuff people search for. But the seller is acting funny. Can you come look at it tomorrow morning? I’ll pay your consultation fee double.”

I smiled. Chidi always calls me when he’s about to make a big move. He’s the type who searches “houses for sale in Lekki” or “affordable lands in Lekki” on Google at 2 a.m., then panics when he sees the prices. I’ve walked him through three failed deals already—once because the title had issues from the 90s, another time the survey showed encroachment. Real estate in Lagos teaches you patience the hard way.

“Send the address,” I typed back. “I’ll be there by 9. Bring a surveyor if you haven’t.”

The next morning, the sun was already brutal on Admiralty Way. I pulled up in my old Toyota, the one with the faded “ProdigalHomeGal – Real Estate Consultant” sticker on the back windshield. Chidi was waiting outside the massive black gate, sweating in his crisp white shirt, pacing like a man who just discovered his wife might be hiding a side boyfriend.

“Maamie!” he shouted, hugging me like family. “This place is it. Gated estate, good road, close to the beach. I can picture my kids running around the compound. But the agent keeps dodging questions about the C of O.”

I raised an eyebrow. “C of O? Or Governor’s Consent? You know how these things go. Let’s go in.”

The property was stunning—modern architecture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lagoon, marble everywhere, a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a magazine shoot for “luxury homes for sale in Lagos.” The agent, a young guy named Tunde in a shiny suit, greeted us with too much smile.

“Welcome, ma. This is prime real estate. Very hot right now. People are searching ‘duplexes for sale in Lekki Phase 1’ nonstop. We have three other offers already.”

I walked the grounds slowly, eyes scanning. The fence line looked off. Too close to the neighbor’s borehole. I pointed. “Chidi, see that? Boundary issue possible. Have you done a proper search at the land registry?”

Tunde laughed nervously. “Ah, ma, no need. Everything clean. I have the papers right here.”

He handed over a folder. I flipped through—survey plan, deed of assignment, but the dates felt recent. Too recent. I pulled Chidi aside near the swimming pool.

“Bro, this smells like double allocation. I’ve seen it a hundred times. Seller collects money from multiple buyers, then disappears. Or worse, the land belongs to family who never agreed to sell. Remember that Ikoyi plot in 2018? Guy paid 120 million, woke up to bulldozer.”

Chidi‘s face fell. “But Maamie, the price is good—450 million. Negotiable to 420. And location… people pay premium for Lekki waterfront properties.”

I sighed. “Location is king, yes. But fake papers kill deals faster than bad location. Let me call my lawyer friend. We’ll do a quick search.”

Tunde hovered. “Madam, time is money. Other buyers coming this afternoon.”

I ignored him and dialed my contact at the Lagos State Land Registry. While waiting, Chidi and I sat on the balcony, wind from the water cooling us.

“Maamie, be honest,” he said quietly. “Am I rushing? My wife keeps saying ‘buy now before prices go up again.’ Everyone on Twitter is talking about real estate investment in Lagos booming.”

I looked at him straight. “I’ve closed over 80 deals in this city. Made money, lost deposits, cried with clients whose life savings vanished. The truth? Good properties don’t vanish overnight. If it’s real, it waits. If it’s scam, it rushes you. This one is rushing.”

My phone buzzed. Lawyer: “Maamie, that survey number? Registered to a different family. Different parcel entirely. Double sale alert. Seller has been doing this since last year.”

I showed Chidi the message. His shoulders dropped.

Tunde saw our faces and started backpedaling. “Ah, small mix-up. Let me call oga…“

But Chidi cut him off. “No need. We’re out.”

We drove away in silence. Chidi stared out the window at the palm trees lining the road.

“I almost lost everything,” he muttered. “Again.”

I patted his arm. “You didn’t. That’s the win.”

Two weeks later, I got another call from him. This time calmer.

“Maamie, found something in Ikota. Not flashy, but clean title. 4-bedroom bungalow, good neighborhood. Seller is relocating abroad—real family man. Price 280 million. Survey done, C of O genuine. Can you come view with me?”

I laughed. “Now you’re speaking my language. Send the listing.”

When we arrived, the house was modest but solid—red roof, green lawn, mango tree in front bearing fruit. The owner, an elderly man with kind eyes, welcomed us personally.

“My children are all abroad,” he explained over tea in the living room. “I want this home to go to someone who will love it like we did. No rush. Take your time.”

Chidi walked every room, touching walls like he was meeting an old friend. I watched him smile—real smile, not the tense one from Lekki.

After the tour, outside under the mango tree, Chidi turned to me.

“This is it, Maamie. This feels… right.”

We negotiated hard but fair. Closed in 10 days. No drama, no drama queens. Just honest papers, surveyor confirmation, and a happy seller who even left the fridge stocked as a goodbye gift.

On moving-in day, Chidi invited me over. His wife cooked jollof, kids running wild in the yard. He pulled me aside by the gate.

“You saved me twice now. First from losing money, second from losing peace. How do I thank you?”

I grinned. “Referrals. And maybe name your next plot after me—’Maamie’s Safe Haven Estates.'”

He laughed loud. “Deal.”

As I drove home that evening, sun setting over Lagos traffic, I thought about all the searches people type—”homes for sale in Lagos,” “best real estate agent in Lekki,” “how to avoid property scam in Nigeria.” They think it’s about finding the flashiest house.

But after all these years, I know the real win isn’t the biggest duplex or the fanciest waterfront view.

It’s the quiet moment when a client finally exhales, looks around their new home, and says, “This is mine. And it’s safe.”

And that, my friend, is worth every early-morning viewing and every suspicious folder I’ve ever flipped through.