Receiving this care reminds me that I'm a person
Em Aracaju, equipes de saúde e assistência social levaram vacinas e cuidado diretamente às pessoas em situação de rua, reconhecendo que a dignidade não pode depender de um endereço. O programa Pop Rua Aju, em seu segundo ano, representa uma inversão simbólica e prática: em vez de esperar que os mais vulneráveis cheguem ao sistema, o sistema foi até eles. É um gesto antigo — o de ir ao encontro de quem foi deixado para trás — revestido de política pública.
- Pessoas em situação de rua enfrentam exposição diária a doenças e barreiras profundas para acessar serviços de saúde, tornando-as das mais vulneráveis a surtos e agravamentos evitáveis.
- O estigma, o medo de maus-tratos e a impossibilidade logística de chegar a uma unidade de saúde fazem com que muitos evitem o sistema até que a situação se torne crítica.
- Equipes de vacinação montaram pontos de atendimento no Centro Pop e em duas casas de passagem, levando imunizantes contra influenza, Covid-19, sarampo, difteria e tétano diretamente a quem precisava.
- Moradores em situação de rua relataram que receber esse cuidado vai além da proteção médica — é um reconhecimento de que ainda pertencem à comunidade e merecem seus recursos.
- A integração entre saúde e assistência social abre caminho para um modelo mais amplo de atenção digna a populações marginalizadas, mas sua continuidade depende de compromisso institucional sustentado.
Em uma manhã de quinta-feira no final de maio, equipes de vacinação da prefeitura de Aracaju se instalaram no Centro Pop — um centro de convivência para pessoas em situação de rua — com seringas, paciência e uma proposta simples: levar proteção a quem o sistema de saúde tradicional frequentemente não alcança. Era o segundo ano do Pop Rua Aju, programa que integra saúde e assistência social para atender populações vulneráveis onde elas estão.
Além do Centro Pop, as equipes atuaram nas casas de passagem Freitas Brandão e Acolher, garantindo que quem já recebia algum suporte habitacional pudesse atualizar sua caderneta de vacinação sem precisar navegar sozinho pela rede de saúde. Os imunizantes incluíam vacinas de rotina e de campanha — contra influenza, Covid-19, sarampo, difteria e tétano, entre outras doenças que se instalam com mais facilidade em quem dorme ao relento.
Os responsáveis pelo programa foram diretos sobre a lógica da iniciativa: pessoas em situação de rua desconfiam de clínicas, muitas vezes por experiências anteriores de maus-tratos ou pela impossibilidade prática de chegar até elas. Ir ao encontro dessas pessoas, explicaram coordenadores de saúde e assistência social, reduz o estigma, fortalece vínculos e torna o cuidado real — não apenas disponível no papel.
Quem recebeu as vacinas falou sobre o que esse gesto significou. Sandra Lima, que vive nas ruas há dezenove anos, disse que muitas vezes se sente tratada como lixo pela sociedade. Receber esse cuidado, para ela, foi um lembrete de que ainda é uma pessoa. Sinval Correia, de 61 anos, conectou a vacinação a algo maior: a força para continuar, para buscar tratamento para o alcoolismo, para tentar uma vida melhor. Anthony dos Santos falou sobre aprender, com o apoio do Centro Pop, a cuidar de si mesmo.
O Pop Rua Aju sinaliza uma mudança de postura: a cidade não espera que seus moradores mais vulneráveis se adaptem ao sistema — ela se move em direção a eles. Se esse modelo poderá ser sustentado e ampliado depende da continuidade da coordenação entre secretarias e do compromisso com um princípio que o programa já pratica: o acesso ao cuidado não deveria depender de ter um endereço.
On a Thursday morning in late May, vaccination teams from Aracaju's health and social services departments set up at the Centro Pop, a day center for people experiencing homelessness. They came with syringes and patience, offering routine vaccines and campaign shots—protection against influenza, Covid-19, measles, diphtheria, tetanus, and other diseases that take hold fastest among those living without shelter. This was the second year of Pop Rua Aju, a program designed to bring care directly to the people the city's traditional health system often fails to reach.
The initiative grew from a simple recognition: homeless residents face barriers that most people never encounter. They sleep outdoors, exposed to pathogens constantly. They distrust or fear health clinics, sometimes because of past mistreatment, sometimes because the logistics of getting there feel impossible. So instead of waiting for them to come to the clinics, Aracaju's municipal government decided to go to them. On this day, vaccination teams worked at the Centro Pop itself, and also at two residential shelters—Casa de Passagem Freitas Brandão and Casa de Passagem Acolher—ensuring that people already receiving some form of housing assistance could update their immunization records without having to navigate the city's health system alone.
Márcio Augusto Oliveira, the strategic advisor for the Street Clinic program, described Pop Rua Aju as now entering its second year of consolidated work. The program's monthly actions, he explained, aim to bring public services directly into neighborhoods marked by poverty and vulnerability. "Our mission is to expand access and provide dignified, effective care to people living on the margins who need it most," he said. The language matters—dignity, access, care—because these are precisely what the homeless population often lacks in their encounters with institutions.
Aizla Carolainy Santos, who oversees immunization for the municipal health department, emphasized why this approach works. People living on the street face daily exposure to multiple diseases and often resist seeking help at traditional clinics. "Offering care this way, directly and promptly, is essential to protect them and prevent their conditions from worsening," she said. Ygor Machado, a social worker and technical coordinator for homeless services, added that the vaccination action strengthened collaboration between health and social assistance—and that bringing services to people rather than requiring them to come to services reduces the stigma and fear many experience.
The people themselves spoke to what this meant. Anthony dos Santos, who has been supported by municipal health services since adolescence, talked about the importance of self-care and the support the Centro Pop provides. "It's hard, but you have to try to take care of yourself," he said. "I've always been helped by the city's health system, and now I'm starting to care for myself even better with their support and referrals." Sandra Lima, who has lived on the street for nineteen years and has been connected to the Centro Pop since 2012, received vaccines against Covid-19, influenza, and diphtheria-tetanus. For her, the action carried symbolic weight. "Many times we're treated like garbage by society," she said. "So receiving this care brings me comfort and relief, because it reminds me that I'm a person."
Sinval Correia, sixty-one years old, saw the vaccination campaign as more than medical protection. "I feel very happy with this protection and the care you show us," he said. "It gives me strength to keep going, even with life's difficulties. I'm an alcoholic, and I'm trying to get treatment and take care of myself to have a better life." His words captured something the program seems to understand: that healthcare for homeless populations cannot be separated from dignity, from the simple acknowledgment that they belong to the community and deserve its resources.
The Pop Rua Aju program represents a shift in how Aracaju approaches public health for its most vulnerable residents—not as a problem to manage from a distance, but as people whose care requires the city to show up where they are. Whether this model can be sustained and expanded depends on continued coordination between health and social services, and on whether the city remains committed to the principle that access to care should not depend on having an address.
Notable Quotes
Our mission is to expand access and provide dignified, effective care to people living on the margins who need it most.— Márcio Augusto Oliveira, strategic advisor for the Street Clinic program
Many times we're treated like garbage by society. So receiving this care brings me comfort and relief, because it reminds me that I'm a person.— Sandra Lima, homeless resident
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does a vaccination campaign for homeless people require two separate city departments to work together?
Because homelessness isn't just a health problem—it's a social problem. A person sleeping on the street faces barriers that a vaccine clinic can't solve alone. They need housing support, mental health care, addiction treatment, food. When health and social services coordinate, they can address the whole person, not just the disease.
But couldn't the health department just set up mobile clinics anywhere?
They could, but it wouldn't work as well. The Centro Pop and the shelters already have relationships with these people. Staff there know them by name, understand their histories, have built trust. When vaccination teams show up with that existing trust already in place, people are more likely to accept the care.
The article mentions people resisting healthcare. Why would someone refuse a free vaccine?
Fear, mostly. Past experiences of being treated poorly by institutions. Shame. Practical concerns—if you're living on the street, you might worry about side effects when you have nowhere safe to rest. Or you might distrust the government entirely. When services come to you with respect, it changes the calculation.
Sandra Lima said she's been homeless for nineteen years. How does a vaccine campaign address that?
It doesn't solve homelessness. But it prevents her from getting sick on top of everything else. It's a small dignity in a life that's been stripped of many. And it signals that the city sees her as worth protecting, which matters psychologically.
Is this sustainable? Can Aracaju keep doing this every month?
That's the real question. It requires budget, staff, coordination across departments. The program is in its second year, which suggests some commitment. But whether it lasts depends on whether city leadership stays convinced that this is how public health should work for the poorest residents.