From American to Brazilian Lawyer: My Immigration Story

The Discovery of Brazil at Eighteen

I was still a teenager when everything changed. In boarding school in Canada, during my last years of high school, I met a group of Brazilian students who completely captivated me. It wasn’t what they said about Brazil—it was how they lived. They saw life in a way I’d never witnessed before. Everything was a celebration. Everything was joyful. Everything was genuine friendship.

They invited me repeatedly to visit, and in every conversation, I saw that unmistakable glow in their eyes that only appears when someone talks about a place they truly love. I had to see it for myself.

At eighteen, I bought a plane ticket. Nowadays you click “purchase” in five minutes, but back then I needed a travel agent. I didn’t have much money. At fifteen, I’d bought a beat-up blue 1967 Mustang coupe—practically junk—for two thousand dollars. I spent years on weekends and summers fixing it up. I sold that car I loved to afford a plane ticket and some seed money for this new life. I didn’t yet understand that I was selling my American past for a Brazilian future.

Arrival in São Paulo

We landed at Congonhas. My friends picked me up from the airport, and the first lesson began immediately: “You need to cheer for Palmeiras!” I laughed, thinking it was a joke. It wasn’t.

We headed to Barra Funda Bus Station in São Paulo. I expected something structured, organized, American. What I encountered was controlled chaos—people everywhere, noise, smells, the movement of a living metropolis that never slept. My heart raced. My friends laughed at my expression.

I tried my first pão de queijo. I drank Guaraná. Everything was different, strange, terrifying, and absolutely magnificent.

I spoke almost no Portuguese. Zero. My level was that of a five-year-old at best. But there was something contagious about it all. The Brazilians around me didn’t see a lost American—they saw a person who had chosen to be there, and that was enough.

We drove to Presidente Prudente, where I stayed with friends and their families. There I observed, I absorbed. I watched how Brazilians truly lived—not tourist Brazil, but real Brazil. How they treated family. How they celebrated simple things. How a weekend churrasco brought generations together. How a birthday cake wasn’t just an event—it was sacred.

Complete Immersion

At eighteen, alone, speaking children’s Portuguese, in an interior São Paulo city, I began learning how to live.

I volunteered in community activities. I taught kids to play soccer in a social project. It was humbling—but humbling in the best sense. Humanizing. Those children smiled with so little and played with such passion. I learned that happiness wasn’t something you purchased. It was something you built—with friends, with community, with purpose.

I began understanding the culture in a way no tourist ever could. I learned that Brazil wasn’t just a country—it was a way of being in the world. It was optimism. It was resilience. It was embracing every second of life as if it were your last.

Parties lasted until sunrise. Graduations went on for three days—not a two-hour ceremony in an auditorium. Weddings celebrated not just two hearts, but entire families discovering each other.

The way of life was profound. There was no rushing toward some future moment. Life was happening now. This party. This meal. This conversation with your friend. This was wealth.

The Risk of Staying

I spent three months living this life. Three months was all my tourist visa allowed. But something had shifted in me. I wasn’t the American kid who’d landed at Congonhas anymore. I was someone who’d discovered something essential—the feeling of choosing a place because you loved it, not because circumstance demanded it.

I knew this would be forever. Not as a trip. As a life.

My mother back in the States didn’t understand. “How long are you staying?” she asked. I didn’t have an answer because the answer was: “Forever.” And that terrified her.

But I knew. That blue Mustang had taken me home—and home wasn’t America anymore. Home was Brazil.

Law School at USP

The decision to study law didn’t come from some abstract intellectual calling. It came from necessity. I needed to understand the system that governed my life in Brazil—visas, contracts, taxes, rights. And if I was going to live here forever, I wanted more than to survive within that system. I wanted to master it.

Getting into USP was a monumental challenge. The FUVEST entrance exam demands deep mastery of the Portuguese language, Brazilian literature, Brazilian history. I was an American who’d learned Portuguese on the streets. My classmates in the prep course had spent their entire lives reading Machado de Assis and studying the 1988 Constitution. I could barely conjugate verbs in the pluperfect tense.

I studied harder than I’d ever studied in my life. I woke up at five in the morning. I read everything I could find. I did a year and a half of prep courses. When I finally passed, I cried. Not from pride—from relief. I’d proven to myself that I belonged there.

USP’s Law School at Largo São Francisco is an institution with nearly two hundred years of history. Walking through those corridors, knowing that presidents, Supreme Court justices, and lawyers who shaped the nation had walked the same paths—it was intimidating. And motivating. I was the only American in my class. It was a novelty for everyone, including me.

The courses were intense. Constitutional Law, Civil Law, Civil Procedure, Criminal Law—each subject was its own universe. But what marked me most were the classes in International Law and Immigration Law. There, for the first time, I saw my personal story reflected in the textbooks. The cases we studied weren’t abstract to me—they were my reality.

I made friendships that last to this day. Classmates who helped me with legal Portuguese, who reviewed my papers, who laughed at my agreement errors. The academic environment at USP taught me that intellectual rigor and human warmth can coexist.

Studying for the OAB Exam

Finishing law school was only half the battle. To practice law in Brazil, you must pass the Brazilian Bar Association exam—the OAB. The exam is notoriously difficult. The first-phase pass rate hovers around 20% to 30%. Many Brazilians who graduated from excellent law schools don’t pass on their first attempt.

For me, the challenge was doubled. Beyond mastering Brazil’s vast body of legislation—the Civil Code, the Criminal Code, the Federal Constitution, the Labor Code, the Code of Civil Procedure, the Child and Adolescent Statute—I had to do it in a language that wasn’t mine. Legal Portuguese is dense, formal, filled with Latin terms and constructions that challenge even native speakers.

I built a rigid study schedule. Three months of intensive study, eight hours a day. I took practice exams until I lost count. I memorized statutory provisions until I dreamed about them. When exam day arrived, my hands were shaking. I sat down, opened the question booklet, and began.

I passed. On my first attempt.

When I saw my name on the approved list, I felt something that’s hard to describe. It wasn’t just a professional achievement. It was confirmation that an American kid who sold a beat-up Mustang to buy a plane ticket could, in fact, become a lawyer in one of the world’s most complex legal systems.

The Culture Shock of Practicing Law in Brazil

Practicing law in Brazil is fundamentally different from anything I could have imagined based on American legal culture. In the United States, the practice is adversarial. Here, it’s relational. Negotiations happen over lunches, over coffee, in conversations that begin with “how’s the family?” before reaching the substance.

In my first months as a lawyer, I made mistakes that seem comical now. I tried to be too direct in meetings—American-style—and realized it was interpreted as rudeness. I learned that in Brazil, building personal trust is a prerequisite for any professional relationship. You don’t hire a lawyer who knows the law; you hire a lawyer you trust.

The Brazilian judicial system was also a shock. The slowness of proceedings, the notarial bureaucracy, the tax complexity—all of it demanded a patience that I, as an American accustomed to efficiency, didn’t naturally possess. I had to learn. And I did.

My First Cases

My first cases were immigration cases. It made sense—I knew that pain. I knew the anxiety of not understanding a form. I knew the fear of having a visa denied. I knew the loneliness of being in a foreign country not knowing if you could stay.

One of my first clients was a Canadian engineer who wanted to bring his wife and two children to Brazil. He had a guaranteed job in São Paulo, but the family visa paperwork had been stalled for months. When we resolved the case and I saw that family reunited at Guarulhos Airport, I understood why I’d studied law. It wasn’t for the books. It was for this.

Then came more complex cases: regularizing foreign companies, tax planning for expatriates, naturalizations, dual citizenship matters. Every case carried a human story behind the legal question. And it was that humanity that drove me.

What It Means to Practice Law in Brazil

Being a lawyer in Brazil is more than a profession. It’s a mission. In a country where the legal system is complex, where bureaucracy can be suffocating, where rules change frequently—the lawyer is often the only person who can translate that chaos into something comprehensible for the client.

For me, being an American lawyer in Brazil is a unique position. I understand both worlds. When an American arrives in Brazil confused by the CPF, the RNE, the INSS, the FGTS—I know exactly how they feel. Because I was them. When a Brazilian needs to resolve a legal matter involving the United States—I know that system too.

This bridge between two worlds is what defines my practice. I’m not just a lawyer who speaks English. I’m a lawyer who lived the immigration, who understands the emotion behind every document, who knows that behind every case there’s a person with fear, hope, and a dream.

---

The Next Chapter

My greatest challenge still lay ahead: figuring out how to actually live permanently in this country I loved, without speaking its language properly. But that’s another story.

If you’re considering coming to Brazil or you’re here feeling lost—understand that those initial feelings are just the beginning. Brazil will change you. It might seem scary now, but it’s exactly where you need to be.

If you’re navigating your own immigration journey to Brazil, ZS Advogados is here to guide you at every step. From visas to permanent residency, my team understands not just the laws, but also the emotion of this transition. We’ve lived it ourselves—and we want to help you have the same success story.

---

Related Reading

• The Definitive Guide to Immigration to Brazil
• Americans and Canadians Moving to Brazil
• Brazilian Citizenship and Naturalization
• Essential Documents for Immigration

---

This article is for informational purposes only and does not constitute legal advice. Each case has specific circumstances that should be analyzed by a qualified attorney.