This report by Godfrey George unpacks the harsh realities behind the rent spiral, examining the structural forces at play and whether proposed reforms can truly make shelter affordable in Africa’s fastest-growing megacity.
Nine Months to a Key: Seun’s Hard-Won Battle for Shelter
When Seun Akinlabi finally turned the key to her new one-bedroom flat on Ikosi Road, Ketu, it felt less like a milestone and more like the end of a war.
Nine months of relentless house hunting, dozens of viewings, and exhausting negotiations had culminated in a 25-square-metre space—barely enough, but hers at last. The 34-year-old, a relationship manager at a tier-two bank, earns N500,000 monthly, a salary that on paper appears comfortable but, in practice, is stretched thin.
As the first child, Seun bears the financial burdens of four younger siblings and a widowed mother who recently moved to Lagos from Abeokuta. “If I break, they all break,” she said from the bare living room, furnished only with a plastic chair.
Her initial rent of N400,000 quickly ballooned after additional costs—N100,000 for agency fees, another N100,000 for agreement and caution fees, and N200,000 for a mandatory prepaid meter that never arrived. She borrowed heavily—advances from work, friends, a contribution group, and high-interest loans from online lenders. In all, Seun spent over N800,000 just to move in.
Within weeks, hidden flaws in the flat emerged: damp walls, a failing water pump, and a communal meter that guzzled electricity credit at alarming speed. Appeals to the landlord were met with curt dismissals.
By March 2025, a terse WhatsApp message announced a 50 percent rent hike—from N400,000 to N600,000—giving Seun just seven days to accept or vacate.
With salaries stagnant since 2022 and daily living costs skyrocketing, the demand was crushing. “Where does he expect N200,000 extra to appear from?” she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and despair.
Nearby flats weren’t cheaper: a half-finished mini flat was listed at N1.2 million. Seun’s mother now sells adire fabric from a shared shop in Ogba, a rent Seun also covers. “We may soon be homeless," she admitted.
Today, two suitcases stand ready by the door—just in case. “I’m tired of crying,” she said. “But I must keep a roof over my family. That is non-negotiable.”
Two Years, 41 Viewings: Akpan’s Odyssey for a Place to Sleep
For Udoette Akpan, 31, securing shelter in Lagos was an odyssey.
After his tech company relocated him from Uyo to Lagos’s Silicon Lagoon, he assumed it would take weeks to settle. It took two years and 41 apartment viewings, at inspection fees ranging from N5,000 to N7,500 each.
In that time, Akpan watched rents inflate overnight: a mini flat in Akoka listed at N600,000 suddenly jumped to N950,000. His budget of N1.2 million, once adequate, quickly became a relic of hope.
The tiny bedsit he eventually accepted in Yaba, roughly the size of a shipping container, came at a steep cost—over N1.96 million after rent, agency fees, legal charges, service charges, and inspection fees. Half a year's salary vanished in advance payments alone.
"It’s not what I wanted," Akpan said, surveying the hastily painted walls. "But if you wait even one more month, it gets worse."
Now saddled with credit card debt for basic furnishings, Akpan can only hope his “Beta Apartment 2026” plan—freelancing to supplement income—pans out.
His experience highlights a broader trend: young professionals pushed further to the margins, caught in an endless cycle of escalating rents and dwindling options.
Social Media Chronicles: The New Housing Outcry
Online, Lagosians chronicle their struggles daily under hashtags like #RentTooHigh. Twitter users share shocking tales: Moe lamented a 150 percent rent hike mid-lease; Fisayo Olowu, a fashion designer, revealed how a two-bedroom flat's renewal rose from N450,000 to N1.2 million overnight.
Rent inflation cuts across class and geography: from the densely packed suburbs of Ojodu to the high-end enclaves of Lekki, rent hikes between 200 and 400 percent were documented over just 18 months, according to property aggregator HutBay.
Middle-class survival strategies have emerged: group savings cooperatives, rent-now-pay-later platforms, and desperate relocation to remote suburbs.
Yet, for many, even these workarounds feel like sticking plasters over a gaping wound.
Why Rents Are Soaring: Inflation, Scarcity, and Weak Laws
Experts trace Lagos’s rent crisis to a perfect storm of factors:
- Economic Inflation: The naira’s collapse and 30+ percent inflation have decimated purchasing power.
- Housing Shortage: A deficit of three million units fuels landlords' leverage.
- Lack of Regulation: The 2011 Tenancy Law forbids advance payments beyond one year, but enforcement is virtually nonexistent.
While other African cities like Nairobi and Accra impose rent caps and regulate increases, Lagos remains a free-for-all, with agents often pocketing substantial "sundry" charges.
Chief Dozie Ebikam, Vice Chair of Lagos’s Property Agents Association, insists agents are hurting too: “If tenants cannot pay, we earn nothing.” Still, he supports proposals for moderate rent controls.
Seeking Solutions: Reform, Regulation, and Hope
Experts and policymakers propose urgent interventions:
- Monthly Rent Payments: Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu’s proposed monthly rent scheme for civil servants is expected to roll out by late 2025.
- Stronger Rent Tribunals: Fast-tracked courts to resolve disputes within 21 days.
- Incentives for Affordable Housing: Lower mortgage rates, VAT waivers on local cement, and faster building approvals.
Development economist Adedayo Adenubi calls for a "progressive vacancy tax" to compel owners of idle properties to lease or sell, following models in cities like Vancouver.
Meanwhile, the federal government’s Renewed Hope Cities project promises 50,000 housing units—but execution remains key.
The Price of a Roof
In a city where 98.5 percent of residents rent, the stakes are existential. Rents now swallow nearly 40 percent of household income, outpacing wage growth fourfold.
Without swift intervention, Lagos risks becoming a megacity not for its people, but for profit—where the simple dream of safe shelter becomes a luxury only a few can afford.
As Seun, Akpan, and countless others navigate this new reality, one thing is clear: in Lagos, the scramble for shelter is no longer about finding a home. It’s about surviving the city itself.