It was in 2022. I was on the road to Abeokuta for one of Governor Dapo Abiodun’s campaigns when my phone rang. It was MISA. We had not spoken in close to a year, and at the time, we were on opposite sides in court. I answered expecting the friction that comes with litigation. Instead, I was met with a voice that was calm, disciplined, and focused on business: “Suji,” he said, “I know we are in court, but I need concrete. I have a project and I need it now, and I hear you have the best”.
I sat back, momentarily stunned by the pragmatism of the man. The sheer decisiveness, the brilliant separation of personal interest from professional necessity. He didn’t care about the optics of calling an adversary; he cared about the integrity of his project. That was Oga MISA.
This grace was his signature. Our paths crossed again not long after, at a restaurant, where we were both involved in the same land deal. When we eventually sat across from each other, he said, almost immediately, “Yes, I know you are the one coming to buy the land. Don’t worry, I will make sure you get it… but I will still beat you in court o.”
We both laughed. It was a joke, but it carried the quiet weight of his character. Beneath the strength of a fierce competitor was a remarkably decent man—a fantastic man in the truest, most unfashionable sense of the word. He possessed a rare kind of emotional intelligence: the ability to protect his interests firmly, without ever allowing malice to define how he dealt with people.
I watched him closely over the years, silently revering him not just as an elder, but as a grandmaster of the game. MISA had been moving heavy pieces on the volatile board of Nigerian real estate for three decades. He understood the mortar, the market, and the minds of long-standing clients who trusted him with their generational wealth.
Even when I was building the Lucrezia—committing heavily to a vision and refusing to compromise on the ultra-luxury standards of the Sujimoto DNA—while others thought I was overreaching, MISA reached out to caution me like a mentor. “Suji, this is not how to do a JV,” he said. He advised that while my intense focus on the luxury market was bold, I could not afford to ignore the middle-income sector. The Nigerian economy, he explained, was too volatile to be anchored on luxury alone.
He did not have to say any of this. He had every reason to stay silent. But he didn’t. He chose to guide, even in the middle of disagreement. And that, more than anything, told me the kind of man he was.
When I later heard that he had fallen ill and was battling serious medical challenges, the walls of our rivalry crumbled instantly. I reached out. I prayed for him. But what stayed with me the most was what happened after. In 2025, during one of the most difficult periods in the history of Sujimoto, when we were under intense pressure and facing challenges that tested everything we had built, it was a truly difficult time for us.
During that period, Muritala—a man who was fighting his own battle for his health—reached out to me. Twice. He called to advise me. He called to pray for me. “Never give up,” he said, his voice steady with the weight of experience. “This is entrepreneurship. It is tough… and real estate is the hardest of them all.” To receive strength from a man dealing with his own struggle, yet still choosing to strengthen another, was a humbling revelation.
It reminded me that kindness is not a weakness; it is strength—and it is rare in its truest form.
Today, he is no longer with us. The man who taught me how to fight with grace has been called to a peace that surpasses all our earthly ambitions—reminding us, in the most humbling way, that the most expensive thing in life is the time we can no longer buy back.
I wish he were still here, so I could tell him that 90% of our debts are gone, and that Lucrezia now stands completed.
His passing is a sobering reminder of the absolute truth that governs us all: death is the one debt we cannot escape. It will come for all of us. And if that is where we are all headed, then the true measure of a man is not just in the high-rises he leaves behind, but in the bridges he chooses not to burn.
We must be good to one another—while we still can.
To my fellow entrepreneurs—the disruptors, the fighters—what are we truly fighting for? This life is fragile, and it is far too short to carry the burden of unforgiveness. There is no need for the bitter wars we wage against one another. Let us settle our differences. Let us compete with grace. Let us move forward and build, rather than destroy.
I refuse to let the sun set on my pride. Life can call any of us home at any moment, and I do not want to leave this earth without making my peace. So I will use this moment to say this, clearly and without hesitation: if I have offended you—knowingly or unknowingly—I am sorry. Please, call me. Let us settle it.
