A genius and a personality. His frame like an oak, eyes with a crafty look through his glasses, black skin, collar and tie perfectly arranged and a straw hat that at one time people compared to a fried egg.

He sat amidst his troupe - something that came with age, ironic for a constant mover. Starting at an early age, he went from town to town with his tres at the ready, guaracha melodies on his finger tips and a rhythm that may seem simple, but given its syncopation, requires dexterity and endurance.

Faustino Oramas Osorio was the name he was given on June 4, 1911, in his humble Holguin home, where he died March 27, 2007, but along the way he acquired another, as he sang of the fright he suffered in the town of Guayabero where he had romanced an enchanting olive-skinned girl, who turned out to be none other than the lover of the local rural guard chieftain. This man swore he would implement the ‘machete plan’ to rid Faustino of his audacity. The musician high-tailed it out of town and sang about the adventure, "en Guayabero, mamá me quieren dar..." becoming, once and for all, El Guayabero.

When I met him in the 1970’s, at a popular festival in a central Cuban city, I wrote that, when it came down to it, he was a melancholy man. He made his contribution to the event, made everyone laugh and then returned to silently observing all that was going on around him. I remember I asked him what solitude was to him and he answered, "A very homely, but loyal friend." On a stage farther along El Niño Rivera was tearing apart his tres and, in the midst of the merrymaking, they were two enveloped in solitude.

That time, and a couple more, we talked about the human and the divine, of the grandeur of Pacho Alonso who promoted En Guayabero, of the reality of each anecdote recounted in his sones, of the trouble his quick tongue had brought him, his admiration for Matamoros, of the women who could have been and weren’t.

Recognition of his enormous talent came slowly but definitively. In time, he received honors in his own country and abroad. In Seville he created quite a scandal when he traveled there with other venerable musicians in the 90’s to a festival devoted to son and traditional folk songs. From New York to Cali, salsa fans began to notice him.

He has contributed unforgettable tunes to Cuban music with his sense of humor: "Marieta," "Ay candela," "Tumbaíto," "Como vengo este año," "Cuidado con el perro que muerde callao," "Mañana me voy a Sibanicú." He has been called the king of double entendre, but more than once he has said, "I just have a sense for it, the rest comes from people’s minds. There’s a lot of bad thinking about."