Millions Paid, Services Denied: Residents of Lagos’ Prestigious Estates Face Daily Struggles Amid Failing Infrastructure

 

For many, the allure of Lagos' high-end estates lies in their glossy promise of prestige, security, and modern convenience. Behind the gates of Banana Island, Ikoyi, Lekki Phase 1, and Victoria Island, homes priced in the millions of dollars are advertised as paragons of urban luxury. Yet, reality offers a stark contrast to the billboards and brochures: dilapidated roads, brown tap water, and power outages remain the norm.

Despite paying premiums that rival those of elite neighborhoods in Dubai, London, or Johannesburg, residents of these Nigerian estates often find themselves operating like micro-governments—drilling boreholes, hiring private security, and running diesel generators to meet daily needs.

Paul Omenka, a Lekki Phase 1 resident, describes his experience as nothing short of a costly deception. “We pay service charges in the millions, yet the roads become rivers every time it rains, and power supply is a gamble,” he explained. Water, when it comes at all, often arrives discolored and foul-smelling.

Houses sold as luxury developments depend on tanker-supplied water and communal electricity managed by estate associations that many residents describe as opaque and unaccountable. Waste management and drainage systems fare no better, leaving stagnant water and piles of refuse as part of the daily scenery.

Service fees, sometimes hitting seven figures annually, are routinely collected with little to show in terms of tangible benefits. “This isn’t just about the absence of light or clean water—it’s about the absence of value,” Omenka emphasized.

Deji Giwa, a developer and businessman, voices similar frustrations. After investing over ₦106 million in a Banana Island property for short-term rentals, his business venture collapsed under the weight of poor amenities. “There’s no light, no water. I use bottled water just to brush my teeth. Guests leave after a day,” he said in a viral video that laid bare the grim reality behind the luxury veneer.

His experience echoes the sentiments of many investors in Lagos’ elite property market. He now resides in the apartment himself, not out of choice, but because mounting losses have left no alternative.

Across these neighborhoods, diesel generators hum day and night, private water vendors fill the gap left by dysfunctional public utilities, and security is often in the hands of ill-equipped private guards. As a result, residents pay both the price of luxury and the hidden cost of compensating for the state's shortcomings.

Monkey invasions in parts of Lekki have only deepened the irony. In some homes near the Lekki Conservation Centre, residents report damage to property and stolen food as hungry primates wander into kitchens through broken window screens. “I can’t even leave bread out anymore without it being taken,” one woman lamented.

Urban encroachment and habitat loss have been identified as major contributors to the monkey problem. Environmentalist Olumuyiwa Majekodunmi believes the animals are simply reacting to years of unchecked development. “They were here first. When ecosystems are stressed, nature fights back,” he said.

Meanwhile, frustrations have spilled into public protests. Over 100 estate communities along Lekki recently demonstrated against the leasing of the Lekki Coastal Road to private developers, demanding the road be completed as initially planned. Concerns are rising that without improved infrastructure, the area could descend into the kind of logistical chaos now associated with Apapa’s congested ports.

Dr. Meckson Okoro, a prominent Lagos-based estate surveyor, offers a blunt assessment. “Residents have become their own government. You want clean water? Drill a borehole. Want electricity? Buy a generator. This is what it costs to live in these so-called premium estates.”

Even where attempts are made to supply water through boreholes, challenges persist. Many estates struggle with high iron content or contamination, making the water unfit for consumption without extensive treatment. “You need to drill over 150 feet for clean water here. That’s expensive. Not everyone does it properly, and so, we get brown water,” Okoro added.

Government officials, when confronted, often cite Lagos’ geography as a mitigating factor. The city lies below sea level, making it naturally prone to flash flooding. Commissioner for Information, Gbenga Omotoso, argues that heavy investments are being made in infrastructure across the state, but insists residents must also change behaviors—especially regarding waste disposal.

Kunle Adesina, a spokesperson for the Ministry of Environment and Water Resources, pointed fingers at blocked drains and irresponsible dumping of refuse. “People complain about flooding and bad drainage, but many don’t even maintain the small drains in front of their homes,” he said.

However, such explanations do little to pacify residents like Giwa, who feel betrayed by both developers and local authorities. “We were promised 24-hour power and clean water. What we got was stress, loss, and silence,” he said.

International comparisons only further highlight the dysfunction. Cities like Dubai, where prices are similar, offer seamless infrastructure, regulatory oversight, and real service delivery. Johannesburg’s high-end estates are built with integrated amenities that align with the price tags.

Chibueze Ekeh, a Nigerian chef living in Dubai, noted, “You pay for luxury in Dubai and you actually get it. The roads are world-class, power never blinks, and your investment feels secure.”

In contrast, Lagos remains a city of contradictions—where wealth coexists with squalor and prestige is measured more by location than livability. As Lagos’ elite continue to fund a mirage, calls are growing louder for accountability, transparency, and systemic reform.

For now, however, residents of the city’s most expensive estates continue to live out a troubling paradox: paying for a dream, but waking up to disappointment.

[Source]