In recent weeks, Nigerians have been sharing horror stories online about Lagos house agent scams, with agents charging exorbitant, often fraudulent fees under the guise of helping tenants find homes. From Lagos to Port Harcourt, Twitter threads and viral videos have laid bare a system where hopeful renters are squeezed for thousands of naira—sometimes multiple times—before they even see a single apartment.

On this week’s episode of BraveHumans, we follow the story of one of our investors, Kehinde, whose journey to find a modest home in Lagos turned into a cycle of scams, disappointment, and a drained wallet.

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If you’ve ever tried renting an apartment in Lagos, you know that the rent itself is just the beginning of your problems. I learned this the hard way.

My name is Kehinde. I work in tech and I’d been saving steadily with Bravewood to finally move out and get my own place. I wasn’t even aiming high—just a decent one-bedroom in the Ikeja or Ojodu axis. My budget was ₦1.2 million, which I thought was fair considering Lagos’ notorious rent inflation. Turns out, I was just unprepared for how mad the system really is.

The madness started the moment I called my first agent. I told him my budget, and he scoffed, “Madam, that money no go work. But if you come for inspection, we fit find something.” I reluctantly paid ₦10,000 for that inspection. The apartments he showed me were in horrible condition. One had a broken gate and a leaking roof, the other was in such a remote area that I didn’t even have network reception on my phone.

When I said they weren’t suitable, he said, “If you want better options, you’ll have to pay again.” I thought it was just him, but it became a pattern. Over the next two months, I paid more than ₦60,000 in inspection fees—some agents didn’t even show up, some sent me fake pictures, others charged me again just to “arrange transport.”

On X, I think someone summed it up perfectly: “That thing called ‘Inspection fee’ is the biggest scam in Nigeria Real Estate.”

And then came the real shocker: the actual cost of getting an apartment. One day, I finally saw a place I liked. Rent was ₦1.8 million. That already stretched me, but I was willing to go for it. Then they dropped the rest of the bill.

Agreement fee – ₦200,000.
Commission – ₦300,000.
Caution fee – ₦400,000.
Legal fee – ₦150,000.
Agency fee – ₦150,000.

I stood there doing silent math. That’s over ₦3 million for a one-bedroom. When I asked what the “agreement fee” was for, the agent shrugged and said, “That one na standard.” When I asked why I was paying both a commission and an agency fee, he said, “One is for the landlord, one is for me.” The caution fee? “It’s refundable… but it depends.” I knew right there that if anything went wrong, I wasn’t getting that money back.

I even tried bypassing agents by reaching out directly to landlords. One man in Magboro told me I still had to “go through our agent.” Turns out, he was the agent himself, pretending to be the landlord to charge double. It was exhausting.

At one point, I got connected to an “agency” that looked legit. They had a website, sent me watermarked photos, even emailed me listings. I paid ₦15,000 for inspection. We drove for 40 minutes, only to end up at a building that looked like it had survived a bomb blast. The gate was missing, the compound was waterlogged, and the “luxury” apartment had no water or electricity. I told him this wasn’t the same as what he sent. His reply? “Madam, na Lagos we dey. If you no like am, find another agent.”

That night, I cried. Not because of the money—though I’d spent more than I’d planned—but because I felt like I was being punished for trying to do things right. I saved, I planned, I followed up. And still, I was being treated like a fool.

Eventually, I got lucky. A colleague introduced me to her cousin who knew someone with a vacant flat. No agent, no caution fee, no drama. We talked, negotiated, and I moved in within a week. It’s not perfect, but at least it’s honest.

But even now, I get triggered whenever someone says “I know an agent.” I triple-check every listing. I ask for videos. I no longer pay for anything without seeing proof. It’s made me hyper-alert, which is good—but also sad. Renting a home shouldn’t be this traumatizing.

The crazy part is, I’m not even the worst case. Scroll through social media and you’ll see people talking about “drink money” in Port Harcourt, agents demanding 20% commission, landlords insisting on ghost charges like “legal fees” for agreements written on plain A4 paper. And no one is regulating anything.

So if this has happened to you, please know: it’s not your fault. You’re not being difficult. You’re just stuck in a broken system that thrives on exploiting people who are trying to live decently.

My only advice? Keep saving. Keep asking questions. Keep pushing back. And if you’re using a platform like Bravewood to build toward your next big step—don’t stop. You deserve a safe, honest place to call home. We all do.

And maybe, just maybe, if enough of us keep sharing these stories, something will finally change.

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This story is part of our BraveHuman series, where our investors share their bravest moments to inspire others. We never use real names or identifying details.

Have a story to share? Email us at [email protected]—your journey could inspire the next person. 💙

Bravewood provides Nigerian professionals with low-risk, high-return investment products, licensed by the Central Bank of Nigeria.