Fidel did not rest, he walked the country from end to end, he was in the schools, in the Factories, with the athletes, with the workers. He was in the openings, in the streets, in the countryside.

The children saw him as the grandfather who grew old leaving us reflections in the News programs, and often appearing in photos with the high dignitaries who visited our country.

The elders told us the stories of their Caravan in January 1959, how the people, without knowing what time it would happen, stayed on the side of the roads waiting for him.

He did everything for us. He left the comfort of his wealthy family in Birán and took a daily risk under a strong goal: our freedom, that of everyone. Fidel always won, we know him victorious in all feats, and we know him witty, intelligent, leader, of a precise word and vision of the future more than right. He never stopped being the young man of the University, the athlete, the one who dared everything without fear, that of the Moncada and the Sierra. He saw his comrades die, but did not stop the march, on the contrary, his impetus was at every step stronger.

Since 59, Fidel was already more than Fidel, because we began to see schools where there were barracks, and hospitals, and polyclinics, and a literacy campaign that proved once again that ignorance would never triumph in Cuba.

It was he who guided us in Girón, and at all times. He was tall, he captivated, we love him all. One day, the pioneers in front of him chanted: Fidel! Fidel! What does Fidel have, that the imperialists can't get with him? The Commander replied: I have you.

There is a rock in Santiago de Cuba, large and made of granite, which has its name written. It seems that the child, who bathed in the river in Birán, or the university student, or the olive-green guerrilla, or the smiling bearded man, can go from behind it at any moment. There are always flowers for him in front. The people offered them, the same people that now without fail, shout in stands and parades: I am Fidel.

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