The first time I met the legendary Cuban leader Fidel Castro was at my father's funeral in Conakry, Guinea, in 1972. The last time was in Harlem, New York, where Castro was delivering a speech on the sidelines of the United Nations General Assembly meeting in 1995. “Imperialismo,” Castro screeched in Spanish. “A bas,” the Guinean people shrieked in French. As an innocent adolescent the first time I saw the Cuban leader I was astounded by Castro's charisma. This is only a minute part of Castro's achievements in Africa, but it was an eye-opener as far as I was concerned. It gave me an idea of the dark path of colonialism and neo-colonialism. There was an unmistakably defiant edge to his words. The dreamlike imagery used was morale-boosting. I can never forget Cuito Cuanavale, a battlefield in Angola that rekindles memories of a genuinely revolutionary generation of African and Cuban leaders who knew that the liberation struggle had to be better organised if it were to evolve beyond a few gung-ho combatants flying into far-flung war zones. To Africans of his generation, the timbre of Castro's revolutionary tone, his clench against the neo-colonialists, had the exuberance of fairy tales. Castro was at the forefront of the battle for African liberation and its emancipation from colonialism and neo-colonialism. The struggle for freedom from serfdom in Southern Africa retained the ideals of the founding fathers of Africa's anti-colonial liberation movements in particular. This handsome orator, or rather lector, was laden with a passion that had been hitherto unknown. “I find capitalism repugnant. It is filthy, gross and alienating... because it causes war, hypocrisy and competition,” Castro once said. “The revolution is a dictatorship of the exploited against the exploiters,” he explained. This notion resonated with many Africans at the time. The battle of Cuito Cuanavale and the Cuban intervention in Angola was one of the turning points in Southern African history. Apartheid in neighbouring South Africa was an absurdity, an outdated ideology, an anomaly, they all rightly thought. The battle lines were drawn with ideological conviction. Castro and Cuba were championing the underdog, and Cuban forces from Angola led to the independence of Namibia. “I began the Cuban Revolution with 82 men. If I had to do it again, I would do it with 10 or 15 men and absolute faith. It does not matter how small you are if you have faith and a plan of action,” Castro thundered. Many African leaders of his generation were left-wing, if they were not outright communists. “I'm still a dialectical materialist,” Castro said in no uncertain manner. “I am a Marxist-Leninist, and I will be one until the last day of my life,” he explained, and many Africans sympathised with his cause. Castro was also open to Africa's charms. Ahead lay an uncertain future. So Castro dispatched Cuban medical personnel to Africa, making them a crucial feature of Cuban internationalism. Since the early 1960s there have been no fewer than 31,181 such workers in 33 African countries. Angola was perhaps one of Castro's most successful medical missions in Africa and the world as a whole, and only one of the Angolan provinces out of 16 was without Cuban health technicians. Cuba's medical mission in Africa was initiated in 1963 as part of Cuba's foreign policy of supporting anti-colonial and anti neo-colonial struggles. Cuban medical personnel had to learn fast how to become proactive in engaging with Africans. It was no easy task, but Castro egged them on. He maintained an affection for Africa throughout his life. Unlike fellow Cuban revolutionary Che Guevara, Castro was not piqued by the African leaders he encountered, including former Democratic Republic of Congo leader Laurent-Désiré Kabila. Castro was more familiar with the breed of African leaders represented by Nelson Mandela. Earlier, he had befriended African leaders of the calibre of Ghana's Kwame Nkrumah and GuineaConakry's Ahmed Sekou Toure. Guevara worked with the Congolese revolutionary leader Kabila for a short time in 1965, appearing in the Congo with approximately 100 men who planned to bring about a Cuban-style revolution but judged Kabila as “not the man of the hour.” With Castro, on the other hand, there was something of an esoteric mechanism as far as the African leaders he championed were concerned. As I watched Castro's expression at my father's funeral, I had a sort of spiritual awakening. His words, “I think that a man should not live beyond the age when he begins to deteriorate, when the flame that lighted the brightest moment of his life has weakened,” still echo in my ears.
