How do you avoid the coronavirus in a refugee camp?
We spoke to a group of young refugee filmmakers as the pandemic hit the island of Lesvos. For months they’ve been living in Moria, a camp that is so overcrowded that access to running water is limited.
It was dark, in the early hours of a Sunday morning, when he called.
A stormy wet wind was spitting at the kitchen window. The table was a mess of phones and laptops, wires and mugs.
Carlos and Jacinta had been answering calls all night. It had gone quiet for a short while - and then the phone rang again.
A month after Boko Haram militants stormed their school and kidnapped 110 schoolchildren, I received panicked phone calls from Dapchi parents - the militants were back. Their terror soon turned to joy when they realised Boko Haram had come to return their daughters - 105 children were brought back. Five of the girls had been killed.
On 19 February, Boko Haram militants stormed the town of Dapchi and kidnapped 110 schoolgirls. A week later we travelled to Dapchi to meet the parents of those children taken and some of the young people who escaped from their dormitories when the militants came.
As evening falls on Benin City, outside the mildewed 1960s block of one of the city's many hotels, a group of men and women are sitting on a scattering of plastic chairs, under a sign advertising "exotic cocktails" and "groovy nights". But they are not here for drinks or dancing, they are about to start the hard work of rebuilding their lives.
We found that the Nigerian army was just kilometres from Boko Haram's main hide-out when they were ordered to stop, attacked and eventually forced to retreat. When they stormed the hide-out over a week later the Boko Haram leader was gone. We spoke to those involved in the battle, including a Boko Haram commander who had since defected, to file this report.
A young boy is sitting under the shade of a wide Neem tree, playing with sticks in the sand. A man, not his father, is watching him closely. And a woman, not his mother, picks him up to go inside. This mismatched family of three has been brought together by the most tragic of circumstance.
Falmata was just 15 when she was forced to become a suicide bomber - twice. This is her incredible story.
Two million people have been displaced by the war against Boko Haram, most of them are children. We travelled to Gwoza, a town at the centre of the crisis to meet three children who have grown up knowing little else but war.