Lazy Wednesday afternoon in Rostock. Families are strolling around the old part of town. You could hardly guess that in less than two days, the city will be loaded with a special class of tourists. On the market place, a bright yellow and blue container called the “Action Box” is trying to attract passersby with music. It stays empty for a while. Perhaps people aren’t that interested in raising their “voices against poverty”, as the container seems to suggest. All of a sudden, a bunch of hip kids hop into the container. Rhyming and rapping for 

The baby floats upon the water, dreaming to herself of those things of which babies dream. Lighter than the element which carries her along, alone and adrift upon the tides, Madele is a long way from home. “She is the soul of young Africa, the baby soul,” says the artist who brought her into being, Ernst Handl. “She's helpless in one way and perfect in another, but she isn't being well-treated by the rest of the world.” Named for the daughter of a cotton-farmer, whose three syllable appellation struck Handl as a “very simple, cute”