Uganda has one of the world's most liberal refugee policies. About half a million people from war-torn countries within the region are looking for shelter here. They come from eastern Congo, South Sudan, Somalia, Eritrea and Burundi. Up to 100 people arrive at the huge refugee camps in southwest Uganda every day.

Currently, refugees mostly from Burundi are urgently looking for shelter in Uganda. In July 2015, Burundian Pierre Karimumujango fled to Rwanda with his wife and three children. "We lived in congested camps. It is hard to settle down there," he says. It is from there that they continued their journey to Uganda by bus.

"We had nothing when we arrived - apart from the clothes we were wearing," Karimumujango said. He was given kitchen utensils, water canisters, tents and groceries by the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR). The Ugandan government allocated a piece of land to each family on which they could build a house and cultivate foodstuffs. The Burundian farmer planted cassava.

The newcomers are given second-hand clothing, often donations from Europe. The United Nations High Commission for Refugees and several international non-governmental organizations help in providing for the refugees. Uganda is a poor country itself. Without support it would be utterly swamped by the asylum surge.

The Nakivale camp in the southwest of Uganda is the biggest in the country. More than 100,000 refugees live in an area of 180 square kilometres (69 square miles) - Nakivale is like a city. The land in the dry, almost uninhabited savanna belongs to the government which distributes it to the refugees. They burn clay to make bricks to build their own houses.

In Nakivale the refugees live in "districts," according to their country of origin. Since the outbreak of the Burundian crisis in the past year, 22,000 Burundians fled to Uganda. In Nakivale they established "Little Bujumbura," named after the capital of their country. A lot of them come with all their belongings and savings in order to start a new life.

The center of Nakivale is like a small town: Here you find carpenters, workshops, tailors, hairdressers, shops and pharmacies. A lot of refugees try to pick up and carry on with the professions they formerly had in their home countries. Some of them bring goods and tools with them and create new jobs.

A Burundian miller brought his flour mill to Uganda. 16-year old Michel Tweramehezu from Burundi is happy to have found a job in the camp. "There is not much to do here," he says. The Ugandan government sees the refugees as an economic asset, a work permit is not required. All they need to do is take part in economic activity.

Ugandan president Yoweri Museveni likes to present himself as the grandfather of the region and pursues a brand of superpower politics in which refugees play a major role. Opposition activists and rebels from neighboring countries are among those fleeing to Uganda which is well aware of the political dimensions attached to its refugee policy.

Within the camps, the regional conflicts continue: Rwandan Hutus and Tutsis in Nakivale still live in different districts. Frictions often occur, that´s when the camp police have to intervene and mediate. Sport is a good way to reconcile the parties. Breakdance competitions, a youth center and a radio station can help reduce the potential for violence.

Olive Nyirandambyza fled from her village in eastern Congo in 2007. Five of the 38-year-old's seven children were born in Nakivale. She receives 50 kilograms (110 lbs) of corn monthly from the United Nations World Food Programme. "It´s often not enough, so my husband has to go to the city to work for the Ugandans," she says. She lacks soap, sanitary products and medicine.

The majority of the inhabitants of Nakivale are children of school age. There are six state-run elementary schools in the camp which are free of charge. There are no more advanced schools, secondary students have to walk long distances to the next village. The school there is a private one and most of the refugee families cannot afford the fees.

Some refugees - for example Banyamulenge from eastern Congo or Tutsi from Rwanda or Burundi - bring their cattle herds with them to the camp. In Uganda´s fertile grassland around Nakivale they find enough to eat. For many families the cattle herds act as living bank accounts. To pay school fees, cows are sold at the cattle market in Nakivale.

Ndahayo Ruwogwa believes that he will die in Uganda. The 69- year-old lost his right arm during the war in his home country of eastern Congo. He has been living in Nakivale for the last 13 years with his family of 13. "At least it's peaceful here in Uganda. We got a chance for a new life," he says. "My home country is still at war. We will probably never be able to go back there."

In a migrant shelter in the southern Mexican city of Tenosique, near the Guatemalan border, a refugee from Honduras says he originally planned to move to the United States with his family. Trump's election has changed everything. "I wanted to go to the United States with my family, but we've seen that the new government there has made things harder."

Concepcion Bautista from Guatemala cradles her newborn son in the same migrant shelter. She says she plans to head for the United States, but will linger in Mexico to see how US President Donald Trump's immigration policies play out. Her goal is to reunite with her family up north...

…but for the time being, she believes applying for asylum in Mexico is a smarter move. Mexican asylum data and testimony from migrants in Tenosique suggest that although fewer Central Americans are trying to enter the US, plenty are still fleeing their poor, violent home countries, with many deciding to stay longer in Mexico, which has traditionally been a transit country.

The Trump administration has pointed out a sharp decline in immigrant detentions in the first few months of this year as a vindication for the president's tough immigration policies. The measures are already having another effect. In California, where farmers usually rely on workers from Mexico to bring in the harvest, many Mexicans are staying away, preferring to find work in their own country.

Migrants from Central America play football in the migrant shelter in Tenosique. The number of people applying for asylum in Mexico has soared by more than 150 percent since Trump was elected president. These days, Mexican immigrants would rather set up in Canada than the United States.

One man from Guatemala says the prices charged by people smugglers have risen sharply since Trump took office, now hovering around $10,000 (9,100 euros), up from about $6,000 a few years ago. Migrants sit below a mural in Mexico with the words: "Our demand is minimal: justice."

With Mexico's immigration authorities controlling migration more assiduously, Central Americans were forced to take more isolated, dangerous routes where the chances of being mugged were higher. "We've gone north several times, but every time it's got harder," says one man, who was deported from the United States in December. "Now, it's better if we travel alone, along new routes."

Since August, more than 600,000 Rohingya have fled from Myanmar into Bangladesh. "The day the military came, they burnt down the village and shot my mother as she was trying to escape. My father couldn’t walk, so they stabbed him. I saw this with my own eyes," says 10-year-old Mohammed Belal who managed to run away from his village.

Mohammed’s sister Nur also watched the slaughter. She and her brother now live in a shelter for unaccompanied children in Bangladesh. She can play there and gets regular meals, a stark contrast to her journey from Myanmar where she and her brother nearly starved. But she is still haunted by the trauma of the recent weeks. "I miss my parents, my home, my country," she says.

The conflict, which has been going on for 70 years and is rooted in the post-World War II social organization of the country, has claimed more than 2,000 victims since 2016, including the mother of 12-year-old Rahman, above. "They set fire to my home, and my mother was ill, so she could not leave," he says.

Dilu-Aara, 5, came to the camp with her sister Rojina after she witnessed her parents being murdered by the military. "I was crying all the time and the bullets were flying over our heads. I escaped somehow." The international aid agency Save the Children is helping minors who come to Kutupalong without parents. Children make up to 60 percent of all Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh.

Jaded Alam is among the hundreds of kids who came to Kutupalong without parents. Fortunately, his aunt cares for him — and very well, he admits. Jaded grew up in a village called Mandi Para where he used to love playing football, but everything changed when the military attacked. "They told us to leave our home. When I was running with my parents, they shot them. They died on the spot," he says.

Not all families have been separated during their plight, however. Rahman Ali has been scouring the refugee camp for weeks now after his 10-year-old son Zifad disappeared. Rumors of child abductions have swirled around the camp for years, and Rahman fears his son has fallen prey to human traffickers. "I can't eat, I can’t sleep. I’m so upset! It’s like I’ve gone mad."

When the shooting started, Sokina Khatun did all she could to protect her children — but she couldn't save Yasmine,15, and Jamalita, 20, who were in a neighboring village at the time. "Their throats were cut in front of their grandparents," she says. "I was numb, I couldn’t feel the pain. Right now my mind is not normal," she says. She managed to rescue nine of her offspring.

Yasmine thinks she might be 15 but looks considerably younger. In her village, she used to play with marbles and run in the nearby fields, but different memories haunt her now: The attack by Myanmar forces, the beating and murder of her beloved father and brothers, and the rape by a group of Burmese soldiers who also robbed her. "I felt lots of pain in my body," she says.