KAUQUIRA, Honduras — Scribbled on a chalkboard are several rows of
numbers. In the left column, the digits increase in increments of 10 while
on the right, a corresponding figure decreases but not proportionately.

Half a dozen studious adult men take notes in a bare church that serves as
a classroom. The mid-morning sunshine that pours through the window over
the chalkboard provides the only light by which these students jot down the
instructor’s calculations.

The raw mathematical data, when written out, offers the scientific proof of
what the men had understood on a rudimentary level — that their jobs are
dangerous. Whereas before these fishermen learned their trade on the
street, they’re now required to be certified before heading out to the sea.

These lessons are required because they could mean the difference between
life and death.

During the last four decades, the economy of one town in an isolated region
of Honduras has been dependent on the seasonal work of untrained divers.
Kauquira, with a population of 7,000 along the Caribbean Sea coastline, is
comprised predominantly of indigenous Moskitos and mixed-blood Hondurans
who have taken to the ocean to feed the world’s appetite for lobsters.

Although it’s a risky endeavor, many men are more than willing to sign up
as divers for the seven-month fishing season.

“Here in Honduras, there are no other doors for work for the divers,”
Hosceano Melaut said about the limited employment. “The Honduran government
has no other plans for work and for the divers, their life is limited.”

Melaut conducts the mandatory course that serves as a quasi-certification
for lobster divers. During the eight hours of classes, Melaut reviews the
calculations from the internationally recognized dive table — formulae
that have determined the depths to which divers can safely go.

One student with previous diving experience, Marco Haylock, sees the value
of taking these lessons.

“The deeper you go, sickness comes faster without knowing this course,” he
said. “This course helps us enough to know how deep we can go.”

The trouble, however, is that despite the economic foundation
lobster-diving provides for Kauquira, these divers go out into the sea
poorly equipped. They are often without watches or depth gauges to monitor
their activities, as such devices are too costly to purchase on their own
and boat owners rarely provide these fundamental tools of the trade. So
despite taking these courses, many of these fishermen rely on instinct when
it comes to making their jobs safer.

Kauquira is an hour by boat from Puerto Lempira, the departmental capital
of Gracias a Dios (Thanks to God). While at one-third of Honduras’
territory it is the country’s largest region, it is also the most isolated,
least populated and underdeveloped department within the nation. Kauquira’s
lack of financial opportunities is reflected in its business character: a
smattering of stores, a couple of restaurants and one bar make up the
downtown core while the population is spread out over a six-mile stretch of
land.

That’s why the lobsters’ lure can be so enticing. With a national average
income of $1,000 U.S. (and certainly much less in Gracias a Dios), an
average diver can make about $1,500 a season based on receiving 55
lempiras, or about $3, per pound.

Based on this paid-by-the-piece method, divers quite often risk staying
underwater longer in search of “just one more lobster.” But the number of
boats in the Caribbean cayes puts pressure on the lobster population, and
by the end of the season the crustaceans are found at even greater depths.

Normally, dives of 90 feet with the proper equipment, including
well-supplied oxygen tanks, are considered deep. It is not uncommon for
Kauquira divers to plunge to depths of 120 or 130 feet without good tanks.
They usually dive up to three times daily.

“There are times the guys don’t know the depth of the water that they’re
working in,” said Melaut.

Staying underwater too long, rising too fast without stopping to allow the
body to acclimatize itself to the pressure or diving too often without long
rest breaks means too much nitrogen is absorbed. Excessive nitrogen in the
bloodstream causes air bubbles to form, which clog the flow of oxygen-rich
blood. The result is nerve tissue death and disfigurement of the body due
to the crippling effects of decompression sickness, or “the bends.”

The number of paralyzed and crippled men in the Mosquito Coast region of
Gracias a Dios is estimated at around 1,000. To offset this preventable
work-related injury there is a hyperbaric chamber in Kauquira, a
recompression unit that releases pure oxygen at a higher atmospheric
pressure to reduce the air bubbles to a size that can easily be expelled by
the lungs.

Yet for the past three years, there hasn’t been a doctor or other qualified
person in town to operate the machine safely. Without the local hyperbaric
chamber, the injured diver — who has already had to endure a boat ride of
a couple hundred miles to shore — is forced to be flown to another coastal
community, costing him valuable time when time is so crucial in recovering
from the bends.

One victim of this diving disease is Benancio Haylock, who has limited
mobility below his waist. Walking with a noticeable limp, Haylock recalls
the fateful day in 1987 when he entered the boat.

“After I removed the tanks I used when I left the water, there was a pain
in [my lower back]. I wasn’t able to sit anymore and I had to lay down in
the boat for my back,” Haylock explained. “After another minute, I wasn’t
able to move [my stomach], as it died completely.”

Haylock was receiving three lempiras — only a few cents — per pound at
the time of his injury.

Often left without insurance or compensation, injured divers had few
employment possibilities in what is already a bleak working landscape. A
glimmer of economic hope for Haylock and others like him appeared when,
with the assistance of a grant from the European Union, an egg farm with
1,000 chickens was constructed this past March to provide employment for
these men.

Raising poultry has provided some dignity and reasonable wages for a
handful of older men, who are considered fortunate to have a job even
though it has come at a considerable physical cost. That’s why despite the
risks of the sea, more men of Kauquira are, quite literally, dying to dive.