In the early months of 1959, Celia Cruz was hired to sing with a pianist at the house of the cuban businessman Miguel Ángel Quevedo. Quevedo owned the magazine Bohemia, the most influyent of Cuba and who had supported the revolution in the last few years. The guerrilla with a certain Fidel Castro in front proclaimed in Santiago the beginning of the revolution. At these moment, Celia enjoyed great popularity for ‘Yerbero moderno’, ‘Tu voz’ and ‘Burundanga’ songs she had stuck with the Sonora Matancera. As a guest artist of Rogelio Martínez's group, the Guarachera was free to accept other contracts as a soloist. This allowed her to show her talent on the different radio station of La Habana and performance in México, Venezuela and Perú. Since the militar regime took the power, , it had begun to seize business, radio and television. The revolution was something like a hope and that joy, possibly, prevented us frome thinking about all we had to do still. For the guarachera, Fidel was ending with the free speech and the art in her country. The night of the show, Celia was stand up singing next to the pianist when, suddenly, the guests ran to the door of the house. Fidel Castro had arrived. Neither she nor the pianist immuted and continued to sing. Suddenly, Quevedo approached Celia and told her that Fidel wanted to meet her because in his guerrilla days, he cleaned his rifle by hearing Burundanga. Celia replied that she had been hired to sing along the piano and that this was her place. If Fidel wants to meet her, he had to come. But the commandant didn't do that. A second meeting One year later, on 1960, Celia was hired to sing at the Blanquita theather of La habana with several other orchestras. After rehearsal, the show’s director announced that they would have a very special guest that night. And he asked each of them to come down and say hello. At that moment, Celia had taken an even critical stance towards the regime. Something made her sense that that special guest was Castro. And she was’nt wrong. According to the guarachera, , that night almost all the artist who participated in the show were portrayed with Fidel. The commander, upon learning that Celia was on the poster, urged the organizer to ask her to sing Burundanga. However, the guarachera would not agree. As she knew all the musicians who would perform with her, minutes before she went on stage, they agreed to say they didn't bring the scores and that no one knew the song. That night, instead Burundanga, Celia sang ‘Cao cao, maní pica’o’. At the end of the number, the entire theater applauded standing surrendered to her voice. But Celia didn’t want to know anything about Fidel. So, in the midst of the ovation, she left the stage. On her way to the dressing room, the artistic director told her that he wouldn’t pay her because she had’nt bowed to the commander. Celia watched him to the eyes and replied that if she had to get down to make money, she’d rather not have it. Fidel’s revenge These year, men of the goverment had searched for Celia many times to show up up for communist activities, but she always refused. The situation was becoming more and more harassing. Only those who cheered for Fidel got a job. For that reason, on july 14th 1960, Celia traveled to Mexico to make a series of presentations. Since that, the communication with her family would be limited to phone calls. The guarachera knew her calls were intercepted, so -for the sake of her family-, she didn’t mention political issues. Although she was against the regime and didn’t plan to return to the island, an event would change things in April 1962: the death of her mother. When she found out, Celia wanted to say goodbye to her mother in person. So she started doing the paperwork for her return. However, when she least expected it, Fidel would be charged his rematch: the permit was denied. On the day her mother was buried at Colon Cemetery, Celia was invaded by anger and despair. She felt her eyes dry out of so much crying. Since then, she swore that while the regime was in power, she wouldn’t return to Cuba. All my life, I've sung joyful music. I never like to sing anything sad, because I must have my moments of sadness. I don't have mom. Who's already died. I don't have my dad. Being outside I don't have my family. But, thet is for me, for myself. Sometimes, I'm thinking I would like to be with them, but I don't want to broadcast it public. I think the public pays to see Celia Cruz cheerful, not the sad one.
