Land Matters — Episode 3: My Story

By Marlon Bute (Entrepreneur · Construction Worker · Writer)

“So there it was. My dream, poured into concrete and left to dry into a monument of betrayal.”

I Bawled All the Way to the Airport — Then I Built a Business

One man’s journey from rock bottom to entrepreneurship, and the hard lesson he learned about land in St. Vincent.

I remember the day as if it were yesterday.

It was the 11th of April, 2003.

I cried. No, I bawled all the way to the airport. I was leaving behind a young family. I was broke and almost broken. No job. No money. Just a borrowed suitcase and the faint light of possibility flickering somewhere far off.

It didn’t matter that I was a university graduate.

It didn’t matter that I was bilingual.

None of that mattered in that moment.

I was a man on a mission.

To organise myself.

To rejoin my family.

To eke out an existence and flourish — though, at the time, all I thought about was leaving in search of opportunity. My oldest brother had recommended Canada, with its over 30 million people and its high quality of life, as the place to go.

My story, to be sure, isn’t unique.

It’s special — special to me. But it isn’t unique.

There were many who walked this road before me, and many who will walk it after. Men and women who, in pursuit of ambition and a better life, did what I did. Took what work they could find. Washed dishes. Cut lawns. Cleaned plazas. Carried burdens silently and with dignity.

Because there is no shame in work.

The difference is that few have told their story as I tell mine.

I remember the snow-peaked roofs on the neatly stacked rows of houses.

Mounds of snow piled high in plaza parking lots.

And the giant legs of pork — twenty dollars a piece.

Fruits like I had never seen in such abundance. Watermelons. Apples. Strawberries. Blackberries. Bananas. Oranges. Tangerines. Pears. Peaches. Row after row. Aisle after aisle.

The highways seemed endless, and everything moved quickly — except the seasons, which took their time to announce themselves.

The trees were orange, their leaves rustling like paper. And beneath them lay an orangey-crispy bed.

Soon, it would all turn a soft green, and the squirrels would come out to forage for nuts.

Spring was beckoning.

It was a new world.

And I had arrived not just in a new country, but in a new life.

What followed was hard. Brutally hard.

I washed dishes. I cut lawns. I swept plazas clean of cigarette butts and coke bottle covers. I cleaned up after a world that never looked down to see who was doing it. But I did it all diligently because dignity lives in effort. And I was determined to rise.

Then came the winters. Long. Biting. Unforgiving.

Labouring on frozen construction sites where your fingers go numb, your breath comes in clouds, and your bones ache with ambition. And where the cold pierced your steel-toe boots with such painful sensation that you had to run inside one of the houses being built to warm your toes and hands around propane heaters.

But the experience turned out to be a gift.

It left in me discipline, gratitude, and diverse skills.

And through it all, hope remained perpetual.

I learned. I adapted. I survived.

My status was regularised. I joined the union. I took on painting, carpentry, flooring, tiling, stair installation. I developed a deep appreciation for finishings. As a handyman in the union, it was my job to correct the oversights, fix the blemishes, and make homes beautiful before they were handed over. That attention to detail became second nature.

And one day, I started my own company.

I became not just a worker, but a general contractor. Not just an employee, but an employer. Not just a dreamer, but a doer. An entrepreneur.

That company — District Stairs — was born in Canada. Out of hardship, sacrifice, determination, and resilience, a successful business emerged. We specialised in railings, staircases, and finishings, and became known for excellent work in residential, commercial, and institutional projects.

Building on that success, I turned my eyes homeward. I wanted to bring the same level of quality, service, and vision back to St. Vincent. I wanted to give back. To help others build. To create opportunity.

So I founded District Stairs SVG Ltd. It was to be a beacon. Our flagship store. A modern, eco-conscious, beautifully finished facility just on the outskirts of Kingstown.

I applied to the government for concessions. Some were granted.

By that time, I had already secured a long-term lease and had architectural plans approved by the Planning Department. I broke ground. Poured concrete. Paid rent. Hired people. Spent hundreds of thousands of dollars bringing the dream to life.

And then the betrayal became clear.

After all of that, the entity I had leased the land from approached me to buy it outright.

And I was ready. It made sense. I had already invested a considerable sum. The foundation was completed. Things were in place to accelerate construction.

But when we prepared to close the sale, the title search revealed that the title was not clear.

And if it weren’t so serious, it would be funny. Comical, even.

Had it not been for the lawyer I used at that stage, who did her work and did it well, I could have ended up paying for a property that would never be legally mine.

Someone leased me land that had no clear title.

They watched as I built. As I spent money.

And never said a word.

So there it was. My dream, poured into concrete and left to dry into a monument of betrayal.

Because in St. Vincent, land matters.

And when the land is uncertain, everything else becomes uncertain too.

But if the story ended there, it would be tragedy alone.

Except the universe, in its quiet wisdom, had moved again.

Around the same time I had broken ground on the flagship site, I had, by a stroke of providence, secured a second property. I did not know then that the flagship would falter. I did not know the foundation I was laying would become a battlefield. But something in me insisted that I secure that second space. I went to work on it, spending significant funds to renovate it to the standards I had come to know in North America — to the standards Vincentians deserve.

And that space has kept the work going.

It has allowed me to continue serving.

To move forward, even when the original vision had to be paused.

Had I not acted when I did, I would have been stranded — with a dream, but nowhere to house it.

So yes, land matters.

Because had the land I leased been legitimate, the flagship would have been completed or near completed by now. A centre for beauty, training, craftsmanship, and employment.

And because someone played loose with the truth, the dream was delayed — and others were denied its benefits.

Still, we move.

The disappointment is profound. The frustration, real. The betrayal, undeniable. But the dream is still intact.

And it’s from the proceeds of that business that I’ve been able to contribute to St. Vincent and the Grenadines.

To give the Carnegie building a facelift.

To provide tools to the prisoners.

To donate toys to children.

To offer charitable support wherever I could.

To help give the Public Relations office of the RSVG Police Force a much-needed makeover.

And that is my story.

I share it only so that no one else has to go through what I went through.

That’s why I wrote Land Matters — Episodes 1, 2, and now 3.

Because land matters.

And so do the people who build on it.

I want to thank the many Vincentians — at home and abroad — who reached out, who read, who understood, and who supported this story and the first two episodes of Land Matters. Your encouragement reminded me that truth still matters, and so does fairness. We live in the Information Age. Knowledge is seconds away. Answers are at our fingertips. So don’t let anyone — lawyer or otherwise — convince you that you can’t ask questions, do your research, and protect your interests.

Thank you for reading. And perhaps, just perhaps, there’s an episode 4 to come.

The opinions presented in this content belong to the author and may not necessarily reflect the perspectives or editorial stance of iWitness News. Opinion pieces can be submitted to [email protected].