Nigerian Real Estate: The New Theatre of Material Expression
Ibadan
Credit: Aisha Ayan
Postcolonial Nigeria has long grappled with its identity across political, cultural, and economic lines. These struggles for stability paint almost every corridor of nigeiran life including its architectural scene and interior spaces. While modernism gained global traction as an expression of progress and innovation, in Nigeria, it evolved into something uniquely eccentric what might be described as “Nigerian neo-classicism.” This style is characterised by outlandish proportions, overly grandiose pillars and tacky luxury core.
Arguably, Nigerian design has become a reflection of materialism rather than culture. Homes and buildings are no longer shaped by a cohesive vision or philosophy; instead, they have turned into symbols of wealth and status. As one critic observes, "Architectural practice in Nigeria (and for most of Africa) is largely bereft of any form of philosophy or ideology." This absence of a unifying vision has left the nation’s environment as fragmented as it’s societal backdrop. Materialist and capitalist culture have also exacerbated this, stripping Nigerian homes of character and cultural depth. The focus has moved from creating meaningful, functional spaces to constructing "vanity projects" which are ostentatious houses filled with materials devoid of personality. These homes, much like the broader architectural situation, mirror a society wrestling with its identity and priorities.
Pre-Colonial Nigeria: The Homes That Told Our Stories
The homes and structures of pre-colonial Nigeria were much more than shelters; they had meaning. The dwellings echoed cultural life, designed to be both practical and purposeful for the people who inhabited them. From the mud brick compounds of the Hausa to the thatched-roofed huts of the Yoruba, these structures were as much about function as they were about cultural expression.
Local materials, such as mud, clay, bamboo, and palm fronds were the primary building materials, ensuring the designs meshed with the environment and were perfectly suited to the climate. The homes provided natural ventilation, insulation, and durability, demonstrating that homes actually understood the land. This alignment with nature can also be linked to Yoruba spirituality, which holds reverence for the natural world. As is common in many indigenous cultures, the Yorubas perceive nature and their environment as sacred. This belief can be seen in their veneration of the natural elements like mountains, rivers, lakes, trees, hence pre-colonial homes, can arguably be said to also be symbiotic of the relationship with one’s environment.
The colonial period, however, disrupted this. British administrators imported architectural styles that prized grandeur over cultural relevance and ultimately paved way to status symbolism. Iconic structures such as the Cathedral Church of Christ in Marina and Mapo Hall in Ibadan still stand today as relics of this imposed vision. The establishment of Government Reserved Areas (GRAs), particularly in neighbourhoods like Ikoyi, are visible reminders of the foreign ideals of space and prestige, replacing indigenous approaches with architecture rooted in prestige and status symbolism.
Today, Nigerian design finds itself at a crossroads. The modernist new builds developed by Lagos’s burgeoning real estate industry, lack the soul of their predecessors. The real estate market is very much a lifeless caricature of luxury, with little greenery, overburdened with gaudy aesthetics, and constrained by cramped spaces. Although, one thing they do succeed in building is an overly manufactured idea of “luxury” and “class.”
Bland homes
To witness this, one only needs to go online to see the digital showcase of Nigeran real estate, displayed by the likes of Eden Oasis, Ola of Lagos and Steven Ndukwu. The “grand” designs, are mostly defined by, sterile white spaces, ornate chandeliers, glossy marble, oversized furniture, gold accents, and colour changing LED lighting.
While “good” design is somewhat subjective, there are some universal truths on the matter. Homes should at least be functional, contextually appropriate, and reflective of the society it serves. And so, when evaluating the current trends in Nigerian interior and architectural design today, one must ask: why? Why do these modernist homes look the way they do? What purpose do they serve in society? What story are they attempting to tell?
Europe
Consider the brutalist movement in post-war Europe, a sharp contrast to Nigeria’s current real estate trajectory. Emerging in the 1950s, brutalism was as much a social critique as it was an architectural style. Its raw concrete and imposing forms offered a rejection of the elitism and ornamentation that defined earlier architectural periods. Post-war Europe, contending with economic hardship and changing social attitudes, sought to prioritise the practical needs of the masses, particularly the working class. Brutalism’s emphasis on communal spaces and functionality reflected an anti-bourgeois sentiment, therefore creating a critique of capitalism, consumerism, and superficial displays of wealth.
While Europe has since moved on from brutalism, its legacy is a reminder of architecture’s ability to mirror and critique of societal values. Nigerian architecture, by contrast, has succumbed to a shallow obsession of flamboyance and “class”. The sprawling mansions and self proclaimed “luxury” properties of today are monuments to elitism, disconnected from both the environment and the people they serve. These homes designed to impress, prioritise superficial grandeur over substance, projecting affluence while lacking the depth and intentionality of pre-colonial homes or even the utilitarian pragmatism of colonial structures. At large it appears that the modern Nigerian home is a rather unsightly submission to capitalist aesthetics. The absence of green spaces, the cramped, inefficient layouts, and an over-reliance on imported materials is indeed the new age Nigerian home.
This trend also points to a culture of greed and misguided notions of luxury, where the primary focus is on profit rather than creating meaningful living spaces. Real estate developers, driven by the desire to maximise their returns, build homes in close proximity to one another, sometimes, disregarding local regulations on setbacks, to pack as many units into a given area as possible. This, ultimately, exposes a systemic lack of interest in building homes that are purposeful and sustainable, exposing a prioritisation of money over the needs of the people.
Materialism, luxury and over pricing
Barowski defines materialism as “an infatuation with physical objects over intellectual or spiritual experiences and relationships.” In contemporary Nigeria this infatuation has become commonplace. The country finds itself gripped by a value system with an uncritical reverence for wealth. To be rich is to be revered. To be visibly rich is to be sanctified, regardless of how that wealth was obtained. Respectability is no longer earned through integrity, but acquired through access and affluence. The social compass has been recalibrated to orbit around money.
Religious institutions, which should serve as a moral anchor, have become complicit in the same ideology they should critique, with the unescapable promotion of prosperity gospel. This ideology equates faith with financial gain, sanctifying wealth as a divine blessing while almost always side lining values like integrity, humility, and communal service.
Political leaders, too, for time immemorial have exploited society with corruption and the mismanagement of public funds in their pursuit of personal wealth. A 2023 report by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) revealed that approximately $1.26 billion or 0.35 percent of Nigeria’s GDP was paid in bribes to public officials. Beyond this, over one-third of citizen interactions with public officials in 2023 involved bribery. Alarmingly, bribe payments in the private sector also surged, rising from 6 percent in 2019 to 14 percent in 2023.
The relentless pursuit and admiration of wealth is not without consequence. These behaviours, rooted in selfishness and individualism, is an anthesis to the communal ethos that used to define traditional African societies. Ikeke writes, “Materialism is manifested in different ways in Nigeria. People may not necessarily call themselves materialists or even know they are driven by it. When some people have a drive that all that matters to them is material wealth, earthly prosperity, social fame, and popularity no matter how it comes, then they are influenced by a materialist culture. They are driven by the material attitude to life that values comfort, sensual pleasure, and wealth above all others.” Indeed, these are the very material values that have found its way into the physical spaces that characterise home designs.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in the rise of new build properties in cities like Lagos, where there is an obsession with status and spectacle. Clearly, the developers view more traditional forms of architectural and interior design as outdated. With traditional architectural forms dismissed as antiquated too modest, too local, too unfashionable. They routinely ignore culturally and environmentally relevant designs in favour of forced copy and paste modernist “luxury” aesthetics, it is at this point we begin to see a detachment of Nigeria’s environmental realities in our physical spaces.
A key example of this is the rejection of greenery in urban designs. Lagos, mockingly referred to as the "concrete jungle” boasts more cement than it does trees, lacking in nature save for those areas which were formerly GRAs. This rejection is a serious environmental and cultural concern. It suggests a held perception of nature as primitive or rural, incompatible with the modernity and by extension a disregard for substantial living. Obscurely, artificial plants, synthetic grass and front yard titling are commonly used outdoors, in a tropical country that could easily nurture lush, natural landscapes; and it is the absence of this that is arguably contributing to Lagos's worsening environmental conditions, from poor air quality to its infamous "stink." It is no coincidence that the city now struggles with worsening air quality and unbearable heat.
The overpricing of homes in Lagos has become a major issue, with many properties being sold for exorbitant amounts that far exceed their true value in terms of quality and functionality. This can be attributed to a combination of factors, including speculative real estate development, inflation, greed, and a tendency to cater exclusively to the wealthy.
Real estate developers, seeking to capitalise on the growing demand for "luxury" properties, tend to inflate prices by touting “high-end finishes” and imported materials, while the actual quality of construction may not reflect these claims. The focus then shifts to superficial aesthetics, without consideration for the structural integrity, safety, or long-term liveability of the building and surrounding neighbourhood. While these elements may give the appearance of luxury, to some, they do little to address the real needs of residents or the practical challenges of urban living. The inflation of property prices is also disconnected from the realities of the average Nigerian household. The majority of citizens are priced out of the market, with high rental rates and purchasing costs that are simply unaffordable.
This disconnect between price and quality is a huge issue in Lagos. As more homes are built to impress rather than serve community needs, the housing market continues to be out of touch with the needs of the broader population.
Final thoughts
Nothing exists in isolation. The concept of 'home' is as much psychological as it is physical. Yet, the rise of modernist real estate, characterised by sterile, uniform designs, reflects a society increasingly preoccupied with class elitism and materialism.
These architectural and interior design choices seem disconnected from environmental sensibilities and character, reducing homes to mere status symbols. The concrete landscaping and artificial plants have an almost dystopian like barrenness, whereby there is a deliberate neglect of spaces that nurture community, tranquillity, and ecological balance.
As Nigerian society continues to evolve, it is worth questioning: What are our values, and how are they mirrored in our built environments? Does the architecture of our cities reveal a society striving for inclusivity and sustainability, or one driven by aspirations of decadence and exclusivity? These physical spaces are more than just dwellings; they are also ideological. They tell the story of who we are and who we aspire to be. If our homes and by extension, our cities are reduced to mere symbols of luxury, what does that say about the Nigeria we are building?
