The world of luxury real estate in Nigeria has been shaken to its core, and it is not because of a glamorous launch or an iconic skyscraper. Instead, it is the name on everyone’s lips: Sujimoto and its flashy CEO, Olasijibomi Ogundele, now caught in a whirlwind of accusations, scandal, and a nationwide EFCC manhunt.
According to the Enugu State Government, what started as a dream project to build 22 Smart Green Schools worth a staggering ₦11.46 billion has turned into a nightmare of abandoned sites, quack engineers, and a vanishing act worthy of Nollywood. The government insists it paid Ogundele half the contract sum upfront ₦5.7 billion - yet when officials and EFCC operatives visited the sites in May, most were either untouched or shoddily handled.
The allegation is simple but deadly for reputation: Sujimoto took the money, used inexperienced workers, and delivered next to nothing. In the government’s own words, the CEO “vanished into thin air” after cashing in, ignoring calls, messages, and even official invitations. For many observers, this is more than just a contractual breach, it has the flavor of betrayal that fuels gossip, headlines, and late-night debates on WhatsApp groups across the country.
But the scandal thickens. Ogundele had presented a bond from Jaiz Bank as security, yet the payments were quietly directed to a Zenith Bank account linked to his company. To Enugu authorities, this was a calculated move to block accountability from Jaiz Bank. To gossip circles, it looks like the classic play of a man who knows the system too well.
The response from Enugu was swift and brutal. Not only have they reassigned the contracts to other firms to beat school resumption deadlines, but they also branded Ogundele’s tearful video denial as “theatrics and crocodile tears.” The phrase itself has become a trending keyword in discussions, right alongside Sujimoto fraud, Enugu school scandal, and EFCC wanted list.
In his defense, Ogundele released an emotional video on social media, insisting, “I’m not a thief, I’m not a fugitive.” He claimed the matter is a simple contract dispute blown out of proportion. The video shows a man choking back tears, dressed down in a way far removed from the image of the Banana Island big boy he has long sold to Nigerians. Yet for every sympathetic viewer, there are a hundred comments accusing him of stage-managing his breakdown.
The EFCC, however, is not moved by emotions. On September 5, 2025, the commission officially declared him wanted, urging the public to provide information about his whereabouts. His last known address: the glittering Banana Island residence that now feels more like a gilded cage than a luxury symbol. The EFCC’s notice reads like a warning to anyone who once admired his rise: when the anti-graft agency comes calling, no amount of Instagram shine can save you.
What makes this scandal even juicier is Ogundele’s past. Less than a year ago, he was detained over an alleged $325,000 fraud involving a property deal. He got out on bail and returned to high society like nothing happened. Now, the ghosts of old controversies have caught up, and this time the stakes are billions, not thousands.
Whether Ogundele clears his name or goes down in history as the man who scammed a whole state, one thing is certain: Nigerians are watching, searching, and talking. From “Sujimoto EFCC news” to “N5.7bn fraud Nigeria,” the keywords are flying across Google, TikTok, and Twitter. This is more than a news story; it is a scandal mixing power, betrayal, and the irresistible flavor of gossip.
And like every Nigerian gist, it is bound to linger long after the schools are finally built.
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