It was just a Friday afternoon in February 2022. For Fyzal Kurban, Kazim Ali Jr., Rishi Nagassar, Yusuf Henry, and Christopher Boodram, it was supposed to be a standard maintenance job at Berth 6 in the Gulf of Paria. They weren't doing anything flashy. Just hyperbaric repairs on a 30-inch pipeline for the Paria Fuel Trading Company accident site that would eventually become synonymous with one of the most harrowing industrial tragedies in Caribbean history.
Then, the "Delta P."
Basically, a massive pressure differential sucked all five divers into the pipe. It happened in a flash. Imagine being dragged into a narrow, oil-slicked tube underwater, pitch black, with no room to turn around. One man made it out. Christopher Boodram crawled through that nightmare, through the sludge and the darkness, to tell the story. The others? They waited for a rescue that never came. This isn't just a story about a technical failure. Honestly, it’s a story about what happens when corporate bureaucracy and "safety protocols" actually get in the way of saving human lives.
What Really Happened Inside the Pipe?
People talk about the "Delta P" like it’s some abstract physics concept, but it's terrifyingly simple. It’s a vacuum. When the divers removed a flange, the pressure difference between the inside of the pipe and the outside water was so violent it created a suction force no human could fight.
They were dragged deep into the line.
Christopher Boodram’s testimony during the Commission of Enquiry (CoE) was gut-wrenching. He described hearing the others. They were alive. They were calling out for their families. They were banging on the pipe. They were huddled in an air pocket, gasping, hoping that the people on the surface—the ones with the cranes, the air tanks, and the radios—were coming for them. Boodram managed to sludge his way to the surface, but when he got there, the rescue operation didn't kick into high gear. It stalled.
Paria Fuel Trading Company took a "wait and see" approach. They focused on risk assessments. They worried about the safety of secondary rescuers.
While the clock ticked, the men in the pipe were breathing what little oxygen they had left.
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The Role of Paria Fuel Trading Company
Paria isn't just some small outfit. It’s a state-owned entity in Trinidad and Tobago, born from the restructuring of Petrotrin. Because of that, the stakes were political from the jump. The company’s management faced immediate, blistering criticism for how they handled the hours following the disappearances.
Why wasn't a rescue dive authorized immediately?
According to the Commission of Enquiry, led by Jerome Lynch KC, Paria’s response was characterized by a "lack of urgency." They basically treated it like a recovery mission rather than a rescue mission far too early. Expert divers on the scene, including those from LMCS (the contractor the divers worked for), were reportedly blocked from going back in to save their colleagues. Management was worried about another "Delta P" event. They wanted data. They wanted a plan on paper.
In the meantime, four men were dying.
The report eventually recommended that the Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP) consider charging the company with corporate manslaughter. That's a huge deal. It’s not just a fine or a slap on the wrist; it’s an indictment of a culture that prioritized "procedure" over the pulse of a human being.
Misconceptions About the Rescue Effort
You've probably heard people say it was impossible to save them. That’s a common defense. But the experts who testified at the CoE suggested otherwise. There was a window. A small, muddy, dangerous window, but a window nonetheless.
- The air pocket: The men weren't submerged in oil immediately. They had found a pocket of air.
- The distance: They weren't miles into the pipe; they were within reach of a determined rescue team.
- The gear: Other commercial divers on-site had the equipment and the willingness to go in.
The bottleneck was the decision-making at the top. It’s a classic case of "analysis paralysis." When you have a room full of engineers and managers looking at blueprints while men are banging on a pipe 60 feet away, something is fundamentally broken in your safety culture.
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The Commission of Enquiry’s Brutal Findings
The final report wasn't some watered-down corporate apology. It was a 380-page hammer. Jerome Lynch didn't mince words. He called the decision-making "lethargic." He pointed out that Paria didn't even have a proper emergency response plan for this specific type of accident, despite it being a known risk in subsea work.
The report also highlighted the disconnect between the contractor, LMCS, and the client, Paria. They were pointing fingers at each other while the families waited on the pier. It was messy. It was public. And for the families of the deceased, it was an agonizing display of incompetence.
One of the most shocking details? The fact that Paria officials apparently didn't even realize for several hours that the men could still be alive in an air pocket. They assumed the worst and acted accordingly, which ironically made the worst a certainty.
Why This Accident Changed the Energy Sector
You can't just go back to business as usual after something like this. The Paria Fuel Trading Company accident forced every major energy player in the region to look at their subsea protocols.
Safety isn't just about wearing your hard hat and high-vis vest. It’s about who has the "Stop Work Authority" and who has the "Go Authority" during a crisis. If the people on the ground—the ones with the fins and the tanks—are told they can't save their friends because of a corporate liability concern, then your safety system is actually a hazard.
The industry is now leaning more heavily into ROVs (Remotely Operated Vehicles) for pipe inspections. If a robot gets sucked in, you lose a few hundred thousand dollars. If a human gets sucked in, you lose a soul.
Actionable Insights for Industrial Safety
If you work in high-risk environments, there are actual lessons to be pulled from this tragedy. It's not just "be careful." It's about structural preparedness.
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1. Demand Clear Rescue Protocols
Before the work starts, ask: "Who is the Incident Commander if something goes wrong right now?" If the answer involves calling a board member or waiting for a third-party consultant to arrive from across the country, the plan is garbage.
2. Understanding Delta P
If you're a diver or a supervisor, Delta P training needs to be visceral. It’s one of the most common causes of commercial diving fatalities because it's invisible until it's too late. Use sensors. Use redundant barriers. Never rely on "common sense" when dealing with pressure differentials.
3. The Ethics of "Stop Work"
We always talk about the right to stop work if it’s dangerous. We need to talk more about the right to act in an emergency. Corporate hierarchies shouldn't be able to veto a life-saving intervention without a damn good, immediate reason.
4. Independent Oversight
The Paria case showed that self-regulation is a myth. Companies need external, third-party audits of their emergency response drills. Not just the "fire drill" in the office, but the "diver trapped in a pipe" drill.
The tragedy at Berth 6 wasn't just an "accident." It was a series of choices. Every choice made by the management that evening prioritized the preservation of the asset or the mitigation of further risk over the slim, flickering chance of a rescue. Christopher Boodram survived, but he carries the weight of being the only one. For the rest of the industry, the weight is in the lessons we refuse to learn.
To move forward, companies must integrate real-time emergency response into their daily operations. This means having rescue teams on standby during any high-risk subsea activity—not just a phone number for a contractor who is two hours away. It means empowering the boots on the ground to make the call when seconds matter. It means realizing that a "safety manual" is just paper if it doesn't account for the chaotic, terrifying reality of a Delta P event.
Ensure your organization holds regular, unscripted emergency simulations. Don't just check the box. Actually test the communication lines between the divers, the supervisors, and the executive team. If there is a lag in communication during a drill, there will be a death in a real crisis.
The names of the five men should stay at the forefront of these discussions. They aren't just statistics in a CoE report. They are the reason the rules must change. Keep your pressure gauges calibrated, your communication lines open, and never, ever assume you have "plenty of time" when someone is underwater. Time is the one thing you can't buy back once the pressure shifts.