Denilson Ramos's family worried when he left for Ireland. Now they have joined him, with few regrets, reports Kathy Sheridan

It's five years since Denilson Ramos took the plane to Ireland "to change for a new life", but his wife, Celina, still quivers at what they nearly lost.

At the age of 36 he was a man who never left the house without his wife and children; now he was off on "the other side of the world", without them or a word of English, desperately lonely in a shared rented house in Drogheda, Co Louth.

Not a day passed when Celina did not go to church to pray. She prayed not just for his safe return; it was just as important, she pleaded, that "he would not come back a different man".

Sitting on the sofa beside their ever-smiling father, Michelle, who is 17, and Laudione, who is 15, nod tremulously in unison with their mother. The separation cut deep. They had seen too many changed men come back - not to mention the marriage break-ups that inevitably followed.

Although Denilson's understanding of English is limited, his aura of absolute contentment suggests there was never a chance of that. The move to a job in a Roscommon poultry factory from a "very, very rushed and very, very expensive" Dublin made it possible to bring his family over. They were the first Brazilian family in Roscommon.

Did his year-long solo adventure change him? "He's the same as ever, thank God," says Celina fervently, and they all nod fervently with her.

Grateful to God and Roscommon, and exquisitely polite, they tend to gloss over the difficulties of the early days. "I was so happy," says Celina. "I used to say I could stay here for 10 years. People I don't know would say good morning. In Brazil you only talk to people you know."

Michelle finally admits that, at 13, she was "a bit depressed", missing her friends, the shopping centres, "all the buildings", the way you could play outside, the church parties for saints' days and, most of all, the teenage television programmes.

Laudione, who looks as if he'd be equally happy in Thurles or Timbuktu, missed the endless football. "Brazilians play everywhere, it doesn't matter where. Sometimes we close the street." No chance of that on the Roscommon-Athlone road outside, we agree.

But the real problem was the lack of English, says Celina. In her first job she didn't eat for six hours, "because every time the lady asked if I wanted food I'd say OK, OK, because that was all I knew. In the end she pulled me to a table and pointed to the food".

The suspicion that sometimes surrounded their visits to the shops still stings.

"One lady made me very sad," says Celina. "I left my bag at the door of the shop, and when I was looking carefully at the prices she would move the things around and would say things like: 'That's too dear.' She still makes bad faces in the street."

When her brother and Denilson wanted to know the price of a toy in a shop, a boy snapped repeatedly to "put it back". But most shops "are nice and make you comfortable", she says.

"When you don't have English, people don't know you and are scared of you," reasons Michelle.

It could also be that shopkeepers have grown unaccustomed to Irish people looking carefully at prices, unlike our newcomers.

As an inveterate saver from a culture where it's the norm to buy half a cow for the freezer or a whole pig for the price of an Irish ham, Celina looks bemused at "the life of the Irish: they just go in and buy and it doesn't matter with the money".

Their staple diet is brown pinto beans and rice. "Very cheap," she says, but, even so, prices are carefully scrutinised. Why pay €2 for a pound of beans in the local shops when you can get a 25 kilogram case of them for €32 in Gort? That's one of the reasons why the Irish cost of living doesn't upend them.

They don't go to pubs; of the eight Brazilian guests coming this evening to celebrate Denilson's birthday, only two take alcohol. The nearest they come to restaurant life is a takeaway from Magnums in the town. And although they live a good 20-minute walk from town they don't own a car.

And they work hard. At one point, two years ago, Celina had seven jobs, cleaning houses and a hotel, then going home to do five hours of other people's ironing until 11 p.m. Now she works happily in Londis, Monday to Friday.

All of which explains why they've been able to save 12,000 reals (€3,300). "It's all for the children," says Celina. "I sold a house and a car, and now I want to buy a house. I am halfway. The savings are for them."

They value Roscommon for the safety it offers their children. "Here when they go out in the town I never feel worry," says Celina. "In Brazil, in our town, you often hear about women being raped or killed, or they kidnap a child - and most of the time they kill them."

Although guns are illegal in Brazil people keep them for protection, she says, adding that her mother was killed in her own home, 11 years ago, by a gunshot.

"We knew the man who did it. He was very, very drunk. If my mother had been rich he could have gone to jail for 20 years, but he got free after a month. We are as afraid of the police as of the criminals."

She is also anxious to acknowledge the efforts of many locals - people called Josie and Bridget and Maria - and in particular the staff of the local Vocational school who called around, offering help with their English and school places for the children.

Michelle has since moved to the convent school, where she found it easier to make friends. The two have done their Junior Cert, and although Michelle talks vaguely about doing psychology or journalism after school she really wants to be a model.

Four years on she still misses her friends in Brazil. "I still call them. Some of them I know since I was born. Ireland is a good place, but I'd like to go back to Brazil." Laudione says he still feels very Brazilian.

Denilson and Celina, by contrast, look well settled, doing what Irish emigrants used to do: scouting out jobs for siblings and in-laws in places such as Athenry, Gort and Roscommon and advancing their fares if necessary.

Denilson's parents visited for three months and liked the moderate Irish climate; in November temperatures in Brazil can reach 45 degrees.

Their religion is very important to them, and they all miss the intense engagement with parish activities back home: the colourful two-hour processions, the nine-day celebrations of saints' days with dancing, sports and games and Celina doing the barbecue and Denilson the auction.

It's what Celina misses the most. "I'd like people here to be more involved . . . " But she feels at home here, she says. "If I go to Dublin, when I come back and put my feet out of the train I say, 'thank God I am at home'. I don't care that I walk 20 minutes to get here."

As for Denilson, he says he only misses his parents. "I could live here for ever." They smile contentedly at each other.

"God made the world for all," says Celina. "Anywhere you feel happy is home."