Even if chasing her athletic ambitions were only a matter of physical ability, odds would already be stacked against Zainab. For two months leading up to Afghanistan’s first official marathon in Bamiyan, her fitness regime was limited to jogging laps in her family’s small backyard because running outside was unsafe. Even when she did so, she would experience children were stoning her, people shouting bad words like ‘prostitutes, why don’t you stay at home? You are destroying Islam’. In October 2015 she became the first and only afghan woman to complete the first official marathon in Afghanistan

Roxshana, a 23 year old mother of 4 young children, has been widowed by the ongoing conflict in Afghanistan. Five months ago her husband went out to collect firewood, and was inexplicably struck by a stray bullet. After the death of her husband, she fled with her extended family, including her father in law, to Kabul, to seek the relative safety the capital offers. But with that safety comes slum-like living conditions. She and her children now live in half of a dirty shelter in the middle of one of Kabul’s informal settlements. “It’s so difficult here, we just have to take it day by day,” ... “After my husband died, my dreams died with him.” Roxshana helps make ends meet by selling cheap plastic bangles, on a good day making up to US$2. This barely covers food for the family, let alone other essentials, like medical care. More than 1.000.000 people are currently internally displaced in Afghanistan.

Children play on a Soviet-era tank painted by Iranian artist Neda Taiyebi in the outskirts of Kabul.

11 year old Saeed Ahmad i being fed by a fellow patient at the Emergency Hospital in Kabul. He was wounded when an US air strike hit the MFS hospital in the northern Afghan city Kunduz on the 3rd of October 2015. He was subsequently hospitalized at the Emergency Hospital in Kabul, more than 300 km away. The airstrike is among the worst and most visible cases of civilian deaths caused by US forces during the 14-year Afghanistan war. 12 staff and 10 patients was killed, including 3 children. MSF afterwards demanded an investigation under Geneva conventions.

Zagari, 30 years old from Nangarhar in Afghanistan, fled from her home 4 months ago to Kabul, when militants entered her family home and demanded their assets - her carpets, her jewellery, their livestock, everything. "All we could take was our clothes and a few blankets". She and her family now live in a tiny, half built mud home with little more than a kettle, a couple of blankets, and a tarpaulin for the ground, in Kabul's sprawling informal settlements (slums). Some of her children earn money for the family by collecting trash for recycling. Her children are constantly ill from the poor sanitation, and only get to go to school for one hour each day. "Usually we only get to eat bread each day, only sometimes do we get something nutritious like vegetables" ... "All I think about is how I can protect my children.”

The most used door to the psychedelic experience is hallucinogenic drugs. Those are illegal, often a taboo, and more over, dangerous if not handled correctly. While the foundation of traditional religions are fading away, the need for having an epiphany is still here. That’s why this bunch of people build a so called “dreammachine”. Basically you cut a piece of cardboard in certain patterns, fold it around a record player, puts a stroboscopic 100 Watt lightbulb inside, and stare directly at it with your eyes closed, while the recordplayer is spinning. This supposedly gives you a psychedelic experience. The light comes out through the cardboard in a frequen between 8 and 13 Hz, copying the alpha waves of the brain. The point is to simulate the stage right before you fall asleep

About 3 hours from Lake Victoria in Shinyanga lies Buhangiya. More than 300 kids with albinism lives here, in the worn down buildings of an special education school, and the number is increasing daily. The kids with albinism are sharing the place with more than 100 blind, deaf and handicapped kids. The rooms are cramped, the facilities are broken, and most of the time, only 2 or 3 adults are here looking after the kids.

One night in 2010 when Kabula was 11 years old, she was sleeping with her mother when three persons broke in to their house, and asked for their money. Since they didn't have any, the persons started beating her mother, and Kabula afterwards. To finish it of, they cut Kabulas right arm off. Since then she has been living in the safehouse.

“If you see them, they live like refugees. Sometimes even food is not sufficient here” the headteacher of the school, Peter Ajali says. He will not stop taking in kids with albinism, even though it’s obvious for everyone, that there are way to many of them. “Many parents are placing their kids here, especially during election periods, when politicians are known to use their bodyparts.” He urges the government to improve the livingstandards of the place, but most of all, to start educating people in the villages about albinism

Kids are lining up for one of two daily meals provided by the center. Most meals consists of beans or Ugali, the local staple food made out of mais. The government only provides around 50% of the necessary food, for the rest, the center relies on good samaritans. Even simple protection against the sun, long clothes or sunscreen, is not available to the kids in Buhangiya, causing most of them to get skincancer later on. Around 80% of people with albinism in Tanzania will die by the age of 30.

At evening time, the people at Buhangiya are cleaning their dishes, and must go to bed before darkness comes. Electricity in Tanzania is scarce, especially in rural places like Shinyanga. Buhangiya opened in 1960, and all ready back then, few kids with albinism was living here. The disease affects their sight as well, so they were put here as blind people. Back then only on or two were here though, now there’s more than 300

A kid is fiddling in the last sunlight of the day. At night time there’s no lamps or electricity in Buhangiya.

Kabula is a smart kid, and she dreams of becoming a lawyer, and fight for the rights of people with albinism. ”We are human beings, and we were created by the same god”…”Now I wonder why they are chopping us? Why are they using our colour to develop their believes.?”

Practically people with albinism are considered disabled people, even by themselves, similar to blind people. It is the lack of the pigment melanin in their skin, that causes the pink skin, eyes and hair. Officially they are not though. The vast majority of people with albinism are not registered at birth nor death, and are still considered ghosts.

Since the media first heard that Kabula had survived an attack, many good samaritans have send her money, which helps her buy school books and hopefully fulfil her dream. In many senses, she’s the special kid of Buhangiya.

A kid climbs the fences to the school building just before dusk. Everywhere you turn your head in Buhangiya, the place is filled with albinokids.

When bathing time arrives, naked kids run all around the yards of Buhangiya.

Every evening a solider comes to look after the place during nighttime. Here one is taking a selfie with the albinokids.

Only few of the older kids are allowed to leave the place unaccompanied during the day. At night, everyone has to stay inside. Since there’s never enough adults to take the kids outside the center, most of them stay in the safehouse their whole childhood.

Sid grew up in a normal middle-class family, but when he grew into his teens, he got fed up with his moms racists opinions. "One day she got divorced, and she just laid down on the couch, and didn't do shit. My sister left first with her boyfriend. When I was 14, I left as well". Ever since Sid has been crashing friends couches, abandoned houses, squats, parks and stayed around Copenhagen with the BZ movement. At 20 years old, he's gotten fed up, and have decided with Felix to act on his own. They've found a house, and are planning how to squat it.

Somewhere in central Copenhagen, this house has been empty for years. It's falling apart, fungus is eating the walls, and trash is everywhere. Copenhagen municipality owns the house, and plans are to build offices. Both Felix and Sid have slept here several times, and now they wanna squat it for good. They wanna create knitting clubs, cafés, homeless shelters and a free, open and tolerant house for everyone in Copenhagen. “We’re always talking about how we need more residential buildings in Copenhagen, but here is a super nice building, all ready with apartments, water, electricity and all the necessities. Across the road is an empty office building. Why build more?” Felix says. The house is three floors high, all with large apartments.

It’s in this house, that Felix and Sid want’s to create a new squat. A place that can unite people, and where Felix and Sid can live the way they have chosen: underneath the radar, and beyond the system. They wanna create both places to live and places to work. “We understand that people think it sucks if we have parties and concerts every night, and there’s dead punkers on the streets in the morning. We wanna show people, that we’re not like that." Sid says.

Felix is holding his favourite mask. In the squatting community, people talk about a certain two poled grass-root psykologi. On one side, there’s a pole, that are searching for the ultimate freedom. They wanna do what ever they want, without interference from the system or anyone else. On the other pole, some are searching for the ultimate comfort zone, because they don’t feel they belong anywhere. The community needs both, not to become to introvert or self-destructive

When Felix was 13, his mother got a bad depression, and he was adopted by his grandparents, whom decided to send to boarding school. When the school told him to cut of his mohawk, he ran away. “I wasn’t independent at all. I ran around living in empty houses, I was a child-punker you know, didn’t fit it anywhere, and ruined my grandparents couch with my rivets you know”. Felix is now 21.

Felix and Sid exploring the outskirts of Copenhagens infamous squat Christiania. Even though they use the place, they don’t feel free here. “There’s a huge straight-edge movement in the community.”… “For example they judge you if you don’t eat completely vegan. But have they ever tried living of food from the dumpsters like us? If you don’t find food until 3am in the morning, you really don’t wanna spend more time just because it ain’t vegan.” Felix says. “How can you try to decide other peoples eating habits and still call yourself anarchist?” Sid says.

At the empty house, some sleeping bags are lying around, most likely from illegal immigrants and romas. Sid and Felix wanna make room for these people, at their squat as well, cause they know, that those people are struggling as well. When they met each other one year ago, they quickly realised that they shared the same opinions. All around Europe they saw how squatting movements were alive and active, but how the danish movements quickly shut down their ideas to create anything. So they decided to take initiative themselves.

At the moment Felix and Sid are staying in Copenhagen south, at a friends rehearsal room. Squatting in Denmark is not easy The government are rough towards the activists - no places stay squatted for long. “If the squat is to small, the police will clear it immediately. If it’s big, and people are seeing us, they won’t come in the same way. We need to get people from outside the community to sympathise. It’s all about making it big enough” Felix says.

Security is intense at the gathering in front of the mosque, and everybody is worried that another attack will take place. Most of the people here are Shia muslims and Hazara people, a historically wanted target for the Taleban, whom are mostly Pashto and Sunni.

There are men and boys of all ages here, waiting for the ceremony to start, with their knives freshly sharpened, folded in old newspapers.

The crowd is heavy with grief and pulsing with intensity once the ceremony starts. The mood is wild, and loud moaning is blending with the sounds of metalblades clashing to the bare skin

A young guy looks up to his companions, while taking a brief break from the self-inflicted pain.

The knives comes in various shapes and sized, but everyone uses the same technique.

When the beating gets to rough, people faint or are pulled out of the crowd, to get their backs cooled down by water. Shortly after they return to beat themselves.

The damages to the back are immense, and the smell at the ceremony is stomach-turning - like a slaughterhouse. Most people tell me that the wounds will be gone by midnight, though that is very hard to believe.

When the ceremony ends, sheep are sacrificed and carried home for the evening feast with family and friends.

Majaliwa, 19, shows the best rock of the day. The gold veins going through the rocks are barely visible, but when he runs his tongue over the piece, a tiny thread of shiny mineral stands out. Around 0,2 grams are found daily at the average surface holes, where there’s still a lot of sand and dirt to dig through.

The small-scale miners started arriving here not more than 4 weeks ago. Sanitary conditions are not in place. No toilets are here, people just go further into the bush. Water is collected from a nearby river, and some workers has fallen ill. A Cholera outbreak is a serious threat here.

Godfred is working in one of the deep holes. He needs 200.000 TSH to bribe his way to a new job. He is 35, and feels worn out. He works from the late afternoon throughout the night, and breaks through the cliff with a hammer and awl, then fill the rocks into big white bags. Around 10 bags are filled each night, leaving 4 of them for the 15 workers at this hole.

Mattihu Mrena is 20 years old, and came here from Arusha, a 13 hour journey by bus. On a good day here, her can earn less than 1000TSH. He grew up in mines all over Tanzania, and was hoping to find much more gold here. Now he can't afford to go back.

Some miners wear headware made for skiing, to protect themselves from the scorching subsaharan sun.

When the sun is to hot to break the hard rocks, the miners cool down in the shade, smoke strong weed and drink Konyagi from small plasticbags, the cheapest Tanzanian alcohol.

Isa Djuma is working in one of the deeper holes. Dust and rocks sprays his bare body all day. The young guys blends the dirt with water, and pours it down a small slope, until only rocks are left behind. Hopefully with traces of gold. Around 0,2 grams are found daily at the average surface holes, where there’s still a lot of sand and dirt to dig through.

Around the mine a small village has risen, with small shops selling flashlights, batteries and women from the nearby village selling food. Flashlights are a core necessity to work in the mines at night, and the cost goes out of the miners pocket change.

Each hole has a leader, this way theft and violence between miners is down. But if rocks have the right yellow color, the diggers often takes some to themselves, before putting them into the big white bags. This way the sponsor won't know, and can't take his percentage.

Wild eyes on one of the miners, as intense trading goes on at dusk. The gold sells at 30.000 tanzanian schilling (15 USD) per gram. Most people here were hoping to find more gold, and desperation is slowly rising, as money and bhangi is running low.

Only one of the sponsors have put up a grinding machine so far, leaving the rest of the miners forced to pay their hard earned money, to break the gold from the rock. This machine is running 24/7.

Rashid shows of his gold. His been digging for two weeks, and have found less than half a gram og gold. He will continue until he has three kilos.

When night falls, the women from the nearby village, who comes here to sell food, take of. Alcohol and desperation can make the mines dangerous at night.