It is 10 a.m. in downtown São Paulo, Brazil, and a queue is already forming outside the civil society organisation Pacto pelo Direito de Migrar (PDMIG – Pact for the Right to Migrate). They are men, women, and children from Angola, Venezuela, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Cameroon, Afghanistan, and many other countries. Each face tells a story, carries pain, and holds hope.
PDMIG has become, for many, a place of new beginnings. People share their stories of hunger, war, persecution, gender-based violence, and joblessness. They have questions answered and draw on support while they await the outcome of their visa and asylum applications. One thing unites all who go there: the desire to be recognised, to legally exist in a foreign land so they may rebuild their lives.
A safe space in a hostile world
Founded in 2014 by migrants and refugees, PDMIG was created to provide a safe and welcoming space for all those arriving in São Paulo. It offers a range of services focused on regularisation, social integration, and the empowerment of migrants in public and private spaces. It is especially active in helping migrants navigate the job market, where countless barriers to access, recognition, and inclusion exist.
Since 2020, the organisation has served over 43,000 individuals, 51% of whom are women. These figures do not simply reflect the volume of services provided, but the complexity and diversity of profiles arriving daily in search of answers – or, at the very least, of someone willing to listen.
Jean Katumba, Executive Director of PDMIG, said the main challenge lies in dealing with "invisible labyrinths".
Documentation is only the first step, but it’s not everything. What we face in everyday life are structural obstacles: a lack of accessible information, language barriers, institutional racism, gender inequalities, and the absence of effective public policies for reception and integration.
Gender and labour issues are large parts of the organisation's work. “Domestic violence, especially against migrant women, is worsened by cultural male chauvinism and their vulnerable legal status. Many women find it difficult to report abuse, especially when their cultural support circles discourage breaking the silence,” Katumba said. “In the labour sphere, migrants often face abuse, such as non-payment of wages, lack of basic rights, and threats of dismissal.”
When public policy fails, solidarity networks can reinvent themselves to guarantee the basics: the right to exist with dignity
PDMIG responds to these challenges as best it can. Apart from simply giving advice, it offers itself as a mediator in conflicts between employers and employees, and pursues programmes and partnerships that broaden access to justice and social protection for migrant women. It also advocates for migrant rights in national and international fora, arguing for the development of migration policies that are more humane, inclusive, and sensitive to the specific characteristics of mixed migratory flows.
Working with migrants in Brazil, where humanitarian resources are shrinking and poverty is increasingly criminalised, demands creativity, resilience, and strong alliances. PDMIG has invested in community empowerment and the political education of migrants as key pathways to break the cycle of invisibility. The organisation has become a symbol of collective resistance in São Paulo. It is proof that, when public policy fails, solidarity networks can reinvent themselves to guarantee the basics: the right to exist with dignity.
Recognised in law, but not always in practice
The integration of migrants and refugees into the Brazilian labour market is a key step in rebuilding their lives in a new country. But doing so is marked by intense challenges. One particular hurdle is navigating the bureaucracy to reach a regularised status, so they can actually exercise their right to work.
Nyota*, a Black woman from Tanzania, came to Brazil in 2014 at the age of 19. She has lived in São Paulo ever since. She shared her experiences of the Brazilian bureaucracy with us, so we could pass it on in her own words.
After completing my studies in Brazil in 2019, I faced significant barriers in regularising my stay. I didn’t fit the profile to apply for asylum, so I had to seek legal alternatives. I initially opted to change my student visa to a work visa.
The process proved complicated and bureaucratic. One of the main requirements was to present an employment contract that followed a specific format set by the Ministry of Labour, including unusual clauses — such as obliging the employer to cover the cost of my return to my country of origin in the event of work termination. This requirement caused resistance from the company, which saw it as an undue financial burden. Attempts at mediation failed.
To avoid becoming undocumented, I undertook three postgraduate courses at private institutions, all self-funded, to renew my student visa. I also sought guidance from the Public Defender’s Office and the Federal Police, where I was told that the only viable options were to marry a Brazilian or have a child in the country. This highlighted how limited the formal regularisation paths are for foreign graduates in Brazil.
A major shift in my situation came in 2024. A new regulation was published that allowed the conversion of a student visa into a work visa for up to two years, provided certain criteria were met. Nevertheless, my case continued to encounter significant hurdles, including additional rejections owing to non-compliance with the contractual format recommended by the Ministry of Labour.
Consequently, despite the existence of a legal provision, my situation remained unresolved for a further six months. It was only in June 2025 that my name was finally published in the Official Gazette of the Union, thereby enabling me to proceed with my affairs in peace.
Nyota’s account illustrates the structural challenges faced by many highly qualified African migrants in Brazil. It reveals gaps in Brazil’s migration system, and the need for a more informed and inclusive approach to guarantee the rights of individuals wishing to contribute to society. Her experiences highlight the urgency of training and raising awareness within institutions, so that not only lawmakers, but also those responsible for enforcing the law, understand the complexity and realities faced by migrants in Brazil.
Colonial legacies
Legacies of Brazil’s colonial past still sit at the core of contemporary migration policies. The experiences of African and Afro-Caribbean male migrants in Brazil expose this, as they often face the stigma of being seen solely as manual labourers. This labelling sets them apart from other migratory flows originating in the Global North and directs them toward manual jobs in sectors such as construction. Their intellectual and cultural backgrounds are overlooked in the process, perpetuating invisibility and historical inequalities.
Despite the challenges, some informal opportunities end up being better than the registered jobs migrants left behind
Patrice, a 37-year-old Black man from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, arrived in Brazil in early 2020. He initially lived in São Paulo and later moved to Brasília, where he currently resides. As he describes his experience:
I came to Brazil intending to work in the healthcare sector and further develop my original training in medicine. It was a very difficult period, as social isolation was imposed just one month after my arrival. I had to recalculate my plans and adapt to a completely unexpected reality.
In 2023, I attempted for the first time to revalidate my medical degree in Brazil. This process is, according to the Brazilian Law of Guidelines and Bases of National Education (Law No. 9,394/1996) and regulated by CNE/CES RESOLUTION No. 2, DATED DECEMBER 19, 2024 of the National Education Council, is long, costly, and full of steps: document analysis, theoretical and practical exams, as well as very high fees. These obstacles greatly hindered my ability to practice the profession for which I had trained, leaving me temporarily excluded from the medical field.
While waiting for a chance to return to work in healthcare, I had to seek other ways to earn a living while also improving my Portuguese. Although I arrived in Brazil in more stable financial conditions than many of my compatriots, who migrate from the DRC due to armed conflicts or economic crises, the opportunities available to me were all in the service sector.
One in particular left a deep impression on me: I was offered a position as a construction assistant in a shopping mall. I thought that if I were injured doing a manual job for which I had no experience, how could I later specialise as a surgeon, building on the medical degree to which I had dedicated so many years of study and preparation?
This experience made me realise the urgent need to adapt. Beyond survival jobs, I began investing in intensive Portuguese courses, daily practice with Brazilian colleagues and community members, and the use of professional vocabulary specific to the medical field. These efforts are not only helping me integrate into society but also preparing me to re-enter the job market with greater confidence and readiness, both in healthcare and in broader professional spaces.
Legba Ceridor, Cultural Adviser at the Haitian Association in Brazil (USIH), adds to this description of the challenges facing new arrivals, and the paths they end up on as they move forward:
Another important point to highlight is that, for us migrants – women and men alike, whether younger or older – when we arrive in Brazil as working-age adults, we usually start out in formal jobs, with a contract and registration. Over time, however, many leave these formal positions and turn to what are considered irregular or informal activities, such as small businesses or street sales, often under precarious conditions. Paradoxically, despite these challenges, some of these informal opportunities end up being better than the registered jobs they left behind.
For men, the difficulties of entering the labour market are much the same as for women. Any one of us, upon arrival, has to adapt and accept work far from our training or profession. An engineer may have his first job as a construction helper, just as a lawyer might also begin as a construction helper.
I do not mean to devalue this type of work – but in those early days, the professional skills of the engineer or the lawyer are not recognised. Over time, however, it becomes possible to find a better fit, pursue further studies, have one’s diploma revalidated, and gradually move closer to the field of one’s original training.
Factors such as race, gender, and class all impact migrants’ experiences in the labour market. Migrant women, for instance, are often confined to care work, while men are directed toward jobs considered “masculine,” even when these do not align with their qualifications or experiences. In this way, migrants can be excluded from the opportunity to work in the field they have chosen. Their specific skills and capacities are systematically ignored, despite what formal legislation guarantees.
Labouring on the margins
In Brazil, migrant women often find themselves trapped in informal and precarious jobs – cleaning, care work, and domestic services. For many, these roles are not just a source of income, but the only route to survival in a country as vast and complex as Brazil. The lack of opportunities for professional development, combined with social and economic exclusion, presents a daily struggle and poses serious challenges for policymakers trying to ensure economic inclusion.
In São Paulo, Filipino women are employed in private households, often isolated and at the mercy of informal arrangements. African women, many escaping conflict or economic instability, frequently find themselves channelled into domestic or care work with little protection. Afghan women arrive with their families, hoping to build a safer life, yet encounter similar barriers.
As Bárbara Bonet, from the Executive Secretariat of USIH, reports:
Haitian women face challenges very similar to those identified by PDMIG, rooted in a patriarchal and sexist culture. Often, they need their husbands’ approval to participate in awareness-raising activities on issues related to their specific needs. When such approval is not granted, their participation is limited, restricting access to spaces that could strengthen their presence in Brazilian society, whether in the labour market or in education. These obstacles highlight how gender norms and family dynamics can directly influence opportunities for empowerment and social inclusion for migrant women.
In the case of Haitian women, it is possible to identify key factors that shape their insertion into the Brazilian labour market. Older women are often found working in the food sector, selling vegetables, ready-made meals, and other products in street markets or on the roadside. Among younger women, however, some are arriving in Brazil with higher education qualifications, which highlights not only a generational divide but also one of education.
Another sector with a strong presence of Haitian women is clothing sales in Brás, where many work informally, selling products on the streets. In this activity, they are frequently exposed to police violence, ranging from intimidation to the confiscation of their goods – a severe blow for those who depend on this income to support their families. At the same time, the daughters of these women, who can be considered part of a second migrant generation, are increasingly able to access other job opportunities, supported by their investment in education and their experience of growing up in Brazil.
Despite these differences, these women share vulnerabilities: forced labour, sexual exploitation, domestic abuse, and other forms of exploitation loom large, highlighting how gender, nationality, and migration pathways intersect to shape labour outcomes.
Migrants share experiences, build solidarity networks, and demand their rights – forging pathways where the state has failed to be present
External policies and regulatory shifts further shape these realities. Immigration laws, work permit schemes, and regularisation programmes can either open doors or shut them, directly affecting women’s ability to access formal employment and build sustainable livelihoods.
PDMIG’s experience shows that these policy changes, combined with entrenched sociocultural norms, often reinforce gendered inequalities, leaving migrant women juggling precarious work, temporary visas, and gaps in legal protection. Navigating these challenges requires not only physical movement across spaces but also constant negotiation with legal, social, and cultural frameworks that limit mobility and opportunity.
Yet, even in the face of these challenges, migrant women demonstrate resilience and creativity. Many navigate bureaucratic systems, legal frameworks, and societal expectations with ingenuity, often seeking collective solutions to improve their circumstances. Still, public perception and governance frameworks tend to oversimplify their lives and work, ignoring the complex strategies they use to survive and thrive. Understanding these experiences is essential to creating policies that genuinely support economic inclusion, gender equity, and empowerment for migrant women in Brazil.
A long way to go
Although Brazil presents itself internationally as a welcoming country, in practice, this hospitality often proves selective and marked by structural omissions. The lack of robust public policies for the social and labour inclusion of migrants and refugees reveals a persistent gap between discourse and reality.
What is observed is the precarisation of migrant life, intensified by gender inequalities, language barriers, institutional racism, and cuts in institutional funding. Migrant women, in particular, bear the brunt of these exclusions, facing the daily challenge of claiming dignity within a system that renders them invisible.
Yet, far from being mere victims, many migrants have taken on transformative roles by acting as social educators within their communities and in Brazilian society at large. They share experiences, build solidarity networks, and demand their rights – forging pathways where the state has failed to be present.
These individuals expose the “invisible labyrinths” of the system while simultaneously constructing alternatives. It is urgent that Brazil moves beyond the rhetoric of welcome and commits to concrete public policies that recognise migrants not merely as recipients of assistance, but as political and social agents of change.
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Kyaw Thura
Beatrice Jemeli Chelimo is a researcher and community leader of the Kenyan diaspora in Latin America. After studying journalism in Kenya, she received a degree in computer science from the Faculty of Sumaré in Brazil. Her work focuses on building and strengthening migrant networks and African communities in contexts of international mobility.
Clarissa Paiva Guimarães e Silva is a doctoral candidate in law at the University of Brasília and a postgraduate student in international humanitarian law at PUC Minas. She is a researcher at the São Paulo Migration Observatory, with professional experience at Missão Paz and Cáritas Brasileira in the fields of migration, refuge, and protection.
Mariana Zawadi Kitenge Mukuna is Congolese living in Brazil. She is a master’s student in humanities, rights and other legitimacies at the University of São Paulo, researching forced migration and immigrant inclusion. She holds a BA in international relations.
