By Kabiru Abdulrauf
From the vantage of a flyover in Abuja, the Federal Capital Territory glitters with new estates, rows of neatly painted duplexes, manicured lawns, and guarded gates promising comfort and exclusivity.
But beneath that gleam lies a paradox that has become a symbol of Nigeria’s urban inequality: a city overflowing with houses that few can afford to live in.
Across districts like Lokogoma, Gwarinpa, Guzape, and Jahi, new estates spring up every few months, promoted as “luxury” or “affordable” by real estate developers, yet many of these estates remain eerily quiet, empty, unlit, and uninhabited.
Behind their high fences and ornate gates, hundreds of units stand vacant, victims of the widening gap between property prices and the incomes of ordinary Nigerians, especially civil servants who form the bulk of Abuja’s working population.
For many government workers, the dream of living close to their offices within the Federal Capital Territory has become almost impossible, as the average rent for a modest two-bedroom apartment in a middle-income area of Abuja ranges from ₦2 million to ₦4 million per year, while those in upscale districts can exceed ₦10 million.
Even smaller flats on the city’s outskirts rarely fall below ₦800,000.
By contrast, most mid-level civil servants earn between ₦100,000 and ₦250,000 monthly, making rent within the FCT far beyond reach. As a result, thousands now commute daily from neighboring states like Nasarawa, Niger, Kaduna, and occasionally Kogi enduring long hours of traffic and the added costs of fuel and transport.
In places like Mararaba, Karu, Gwagwalada, and Suleja, entire communities have sprung up as “satellite towns” for the Abuja workforce, creating a pattern where the people who serve the capital can no longer afford to live in it.
Ironically, while many civil servants are priced out, Abuja’s skyline continues to grow with high-end estates. Developers argue that rising construction costs, high interest rates, and inflation drive prices upward.
But observers say a deeper problem lies in the disconnect between supply and demand with too many luxury units for investors, and too few affordable homes for residents.
A 2024 report by the Federal Mortgage Bank of Nigeria estimated that over 40 percent of newly built estates in the FCT remain unoccupied, some for years. These houses are often purchased as investment assets, not homes, their owners content to wait for higher resale values rather than rent them out at affordable rates.
This speculative trend contributes to Abuja’s unique form of “urban emptiness”, neighborhoods filled with houses but short on people.
In response to public concern, the Nigerian government recently introduced a policy restricting landlords and property owners from hiking rent by more than 20 percent at a time.
The move, according to the Ministry of Housing and Urban Development, is aimed at curbing “arbitrary rent increases” and easing the burden on tenants amid the rising cost of living.
While the policy has been welcomed by tenant associations, experts question its enforceability.
Without proper monitoring and sanctions, many fear that landlords will find ways to bypass the regulation, either by demanding large upfront payments or introducing hidden charges.
Still, it marks an important acknowledgment of a problem long ignored: that housing in Abuja has become more of an investment market than a human necessity.
Urban planners warn that without a shift toward mass housing for middle- and low-income earners, Abuja risks becoming a city of two worlds, “one of vacant estates and another of sprawling, overcrowded suburbs on its outskirts”.
Civil servants continue to spend a significant portion of their income on transportation from neighboring states, eroding productivity and deepening urban inequality.
Meanwhile, thousands of completed housing units remain empty, guarded and gated, but devoid of life.
Abuja’s estate boom was meant to symbolize progress, a modern capital befitting Africa’s largest economy.
Instead, it now tells a more complex story: of a city expanding outward while hollowing inward, of prosperity without accessibility, and of policies that struggle to bridge the gap between bricks and people.
The question remains whether the recent rent control policy and future housing reforms can reverse this trend or whether Abuja will continue to grow into a city of beautiful estates that no one can afford to call home.
