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US policies put in place during the pandemic have effectively cut off access to asylum at the US-Mexico border.
Doctors and nurses at work in Port-au-Prince, wearing masks to protect themselves and patients from contracting coronavirus.
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A stonemason added the word "genocide" to a monument near the UN office in Geneva.
Humanitarian groups have been criticised for heavy use of English, such as on this “help desk” sign, even though most Rohingya do not speak English. This has included the use of complaints boxes, sometimes with English-only written instructions.
Health worker Yesmin Akter, centre, speaks to TNH while doing her rounds. Akter says she now understands Rohingya after a steep learning curve. But she’s still picking up new terms and phrases for common ailments.
Hossain Ahmed, right, with his son, Mohammed Tuha. The father says he rarely understands what staff tell him when he takes his son to the health clinic.
Illustrations are often used in place of written script, but these can also be ambiguous. Several Rohingya told TNH they did not understand this poster about child marriage.
These posters offer explanations written in Burmese, Bangla, and English. But many Rohingya can’t read, and there is no widely accepted Rohingya script. Language advocates say verbal communication is the best way to reach most refugees.
A woman and her daughter speak to Dr. Mohammed Edris at a Kabul health clinic run by local aid group Organisation of Human Welfare.
Fauzia Abrar, head nurse, sits at her desk at a COVID-19 hospital in Herat. Only a third of the coronavirus samples tested at the hospital come from women. Abrar is among several staff members who tested positive and recovered.
Community healthcare worker Gulnaz Janara says few women in her Kabul neighbourhood are willing to go to hospitals.
Community healthcare worker Gulnaz Janara says few women in her Kabul neighbourhood are willing to go to hospitals.
Nelson Diaz cooks in his new home in Panama City. Since mid-March, Diaz has been unable to earn his usual income from selling empanadas and send money back to his mother, who still lives in Venezuela.
Gino Latorre at his home in Mene Grande in Zulia, Venezuela, where he lives alone. Latoree, who takes multiple medications a day, has only been receiving $10 per month from his children abroad since the pandemic struck.
Migrants, many of whom are Brazilian, wait in a common area at the Casa del Migrante Diócesis de Ciudad Juárez.

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