A Sprint & Marathon with Steve & Orvalho: In the Spirit of Global Health Education in Mozambique

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“Migoide!” Over the course of a career in global public health, one accumulates experiences that shape not just what you know, but how you see. Field visits, policy engagements, cross-cultural collaborations all add something over time: a new lens, a revised assumption, a deeper appreciation for the complexity of the work. This study abroad program in Mozambique was not a beginning for me. It was a meaningful addition to a body of experience I have been building for some time, and it deepened my thinking in ways I did not fully anticipate when I arrived.

I came to this program with a specific purpose. Mozambique could be where my doctoral research trajectory is headed, and I wanted more than a literature review could offer. I wanted to stand inside the system, meet the people who run it, and understand the country not as a collection of health indicators but as a living, complex, historically layered place. The field visits were the heart of this. Moving through the health system from rural health posts to urban clinics, engaging with community health workers and senior ministry officials alike, offered a panoramic and grounded view of a system that is simultaneously remarkable in its reach and deeply constrained by the structural conditions it operates within. The disparities were visible and sobering, but also legible in a way that only direct experience can make possible. I came to understand, more concretely than before, how colonial history, class, race, and geography intersect in Mozambique to determine who receives care, what quality that care is, and how much agency communities have in shaping the systems that are meant to serve them.

These are themes I have encountered across other contexts in my career. But Mozambique carries its own configuration of these forces, and sitting with that specificity mattered. The legacy of Portuguese colonialism is not a distant historical footnote here. It lives in institutional structures, in urban planning, in the distribution of resources between private and public health infrastructure, and in the subtler dynamics of who holds authority and who defers to whom in professional settings. Racism and class are not comfortable topics in global health spaces, but they are unavoidable ones if the work is to be honest. This program did not shy away from them, and I found that intellectual honesty both refreshing and necessary.

Equity and power dynamics in the global health arena were a constant undercurrent throughout the program. As someone who has occupied various positions within those dynamics over the years, as a recipient of global health programming, as a practitioner, and now as an emerging researcher, I am attuned to the tensions that surface when foreign institutions engage with health systems in low- and middle-income countries. The question of who sets the agenda, whose knowledge is legitimized, and whose priorities ultimately shape resource flows is one I have never been able to set aside, and this program brought it into sharp and specific focus once again. There is an inherent contradiction at the heart of much global health work, where a genuine desire to contribute can sit alongside structural conditions that inadvertently reproduce the very inequities one seeks to address. What made this program exceptional was the way its instructors navigated that contradiction with integrity, self-awareness, and genuine relational depth.

Steve and Orvalho coordinating in the presence of ‘Globey’ – The Department of Global Health’s Mascot.
© Rupal Shah-Rohlfs

Professor Steve Gloyd and Dr. Orvalho Augusto did not simply teach this program. They embodied a model of global health engagement that I found both instructive and genuinely moving. Professor Gloyd’s more than 40 years of continuous presence in Mozambique have produced something that cannot be manufactured or accelerated. He brought institutional knowledge, trusted relationships, and a quality of friendship with the country and its people that was felt in every room we entered. People did not receive him as a visiting foreign expert. They received him as someone who had stayed, who had returned year after year, and who had earned his place through consistency, humility, and genuine care. Dr. Augusto brought an equally indispensable dimension to the program. His authority and intellectual grounding as someone who is of Mozambican heritage, who has dedicated his career to understanding and strengthening its health system, gave every engagement a credibility and depth that no outsider could have provided. Together they created a learning environment that was rigorous, human, and deeply relational. For anyone preparing to enter a country as a researcher, watching how they moved through that world was instructive in ways that extended well beyond the formal curriculum.

What I carry most strongly from this experience is a renewed and sharpened sense of what responsible research engagement looks like in a context like Mozambique. The health workers and policymakers we encountered throughout the program, navigating extraordinary constraints with resilience and ingenuity, reminded me that local knowledge and local agency are not resources to be extracted but foundations to be built upon. I leave not with a sense of having arrived at understanding, but with a clearer sense of the kind of researcher I want to become and a more honest appreciation of how much that becoming still requires.

Obrigado!

How many people can you fit in/on a motor vehicle?” – Loosing Loved Ones on the Streets of Bangladesh

In this short piece, I highlight that road traffic accidents are a major public health problem in Bangladesh and argue the critical need to address this issue, and present an evidence-based approach to support my argument.

Every day thousands of families have to cope with the unexpected loss of a loved one as a result of a road traffic accident (RTA) worldwide. Over 1.2 million people are killed each year in RTAs (World Health Organisation [WHO], 2009). The Organisation for Economic and Corporate Development (OECD) defines a RTA as “an accident with occurred or originated on a way or street open to public traffic; resulted in one or more persons being killed or injured, and at least one moving vehicle was involved” (OECD, 2012). It has been estimated that without concerted global effort, road traffic injuries (RTIs) are predicted to escalate from the ninth leading cause of death in 2004 to the fifth by 2030 (WHO, 2009).

Alarmingly, 90% of road traffic deaths occur in low-income and middle-income countries, despite owning less than 50% of the worlds registered motor vehicles (WHO, 2009). According to the Global Burden of Disease Study 2010, road injury is the eleventh leading cause of disability-ability adjusted life years (DALYs) in South Asia (Murray, 2012).

Road traffic crashes occur on a daily basis in Bangladesh, and yet there are no planned medical emergency services in the country. According to the police reported road traffic accident database, there are at least 3,000 road traffic fatalities in Bangladesh each year, with direct costs of road traffic accidents estimated to be 76 million US dollars (Mashreky, 2010). However, the World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates the road traffic death rate to be 12.6 per 100,000 persons with around 20,038 fatalities per year (WHO, 2007).

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Can Empowering Women End Poverty

Guardian Angels in Rural India

Today it is not hard to find references in the media and elsewhere to individuals, groups and communities that are described as empowered. One place to observe achievement of women’s empowerment is in the semi-arid rural villages of Maharashtra in India. It was back in mid-January 2011, Asif the representative from Comprehensive Rural Health Project (CRHP) who was born in the CRHP Hospital, and Ismail the designated driver, picked me up from Pune. The 200km drive from Pune to Jamkhed was surprisingly a smooth ride. As we drove through sun-down I could see communities living in scanty homes, herding goats and cows, travelling by oxcart and growing sorghum (staple food).

It’s a sunny Thursday morning, and a stream of 50 high-spirited women draped in brightly coloured saree’s wearing red ‘bindis’ at the center of the forehead, carrying knapsacks make their way by bus, in rickshaws, on foot, or by hitching a ride to CRHP’s training centre in Jamkhed taluka (block level), in Ahmednagar district, Maharashtra State, India. At first glance these women seem like ordinary village women in their mid-thirties who sell fruit, vegetables and spices at the local bazaar (weekly market) or work assiduously on farmland, but they are remarkably different from their village peers. You realise this when they make eye contact with visitors like myself and greet with a sincere, ‘namaste’, when they talk in ‘marathi’ (Mother tongue) amongst themselves, and the confidence they exude while speaking in the weekly training sessions. These women, many of whom have been coming to CRHP for over two to three decades, are the respected village health workers (VHWs).

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